Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (5 page)

“Exactly.” She cocked her head at him, as if his sudden movement confused her. Voices sounded from the direction of the castle,
pulling her attention away from him. A small line formed between her brows and she rubbed at it absently. “He should have been clear, but if he was not… well, as much as it would solve certain problems, I could not leave him there to die. Please, I need you to go quickly, and if you do not find him, pray, do not tell anyone I sent you looking for him.”

Nicholas was shocked that she would trust him with her cousin’s secret when she knew nothing of him except his name, but he also knew leverage when he saw it and he wasn’t one to pass up such a weapon.

“As you wish, mistress,” he said as he rose to his feet.

He quickly scanned the area around them, trying to see into the deep shadows of the nearby forest for any sign of Archie. Why was the man not here? Where had he got to? It would be better if one of them stayed with her, to be seen as the rescuer of the lass when her kinsmen arrived. Manipulating their way into the castle would be simple, playing on her kin’s gratitude, but since Archie was choosing to remain hidden, that opportunity was slipping through Nicholas’s fingers. He glanced about once more, searching for the man in the forest shadows to no avail.

“Is there someone there?” Rowan asked, scanning the forest as he had.

“Nay mistress, ’tis only a habit to keep watch about me in unfamiliar places. I would not wish to leave you here alone if there was danger about.”

“I doubt there is more danger lurking than what we have just escaped,” she said, the line between her brows growing deeper. “Please, go and look before we are joined by others. If the lad is there, we need to get him help quickly.”

Irritation gripped Nicholas but he had no choice. Archie was nowhere to be seen, and he needed to keep the bonny Rowan in his debt. He nodded to her and moved back down the rubble- and scree-strewn hillside. Archie would have much explaining to do when he came out of hiding.

R
OWAN SAT ON
the hard ground, holding herself upright stiffly. The sharp burning in her side pulsed with each heartbeat. The deep ache in her shin and the echo of her headache throbbed in time with it. A faint nausea kept her from trying to get up again in spite of her need to see if anyone else was hurt, inside or outside the destroyed castle wall.

But Jeanette wouldn’t let her up anyway, so she sat, stoic, as her cousin examined her injuries. In spite of the destruction that had just occurred, the thing that should be their sole concern in this moment, four surly Highlanders stood in a ring at Rowan’s back where she couldn’t see them but she could feel their wariness washing over her. She knew it wasn’t aimed at her but at the stranger who had helped her and Scotia escape the falling wall. Scotia stood behind her as well, but she was sure that was to avoid having to look Rowan in the eye.

Anger pushed away the nausea and dulled the pain. If it were not for Scotia’s tryst, neither of them would have been in the path of the wall and all of them could be seeing to the needs of the clan right now, rather than hovering over her while her injuries were tended.

“Who is with Auntie?” she asked.

“Helen,” Jeanette said.

Rowan stifled a gasp as Jeanette pulled the stone shard from her side.

“Uncle?” Rowan grimaced as she twisted to look over her shoulder at Kenneth, the glowering man she loved like a father. His hair hung to his shoulders, a hint of the jet-black he’d had in his youth peeking through the steely-grey braids at his temples. “Is anyone else hurt?”

“Hold still,” Jeanette said as she tore Rowan’s gown and kirtle a little more than the stone had. “You were lucky. It does not look too bad. I shall have to bind it, but I do not think you need stitches.”

Her uncle suddenly moved in front of Rowan, drawing her attention with him. The three other Highlanders stepped up on either side of the chief, forming a wall of men with the women behind them. Nicholas must be returning, though she could not see around her kinsmen.

“Was anyone hurt inside?” Rowan asked again, trying to stand to see if Nicholas had found young Conall, but her head swam. Jeanette’s firm hand on her shoulder pushed her back down to the ground.

“Da, if you could answer her, she might not try so hard to get your attention that she further injures herself.” Jeanette shook her head and Rowan didn’t correct her assumption.

“I’m not hurt that badly.” Rowan tried to hide the wince as her cousin pressed a cloth to the oozing wound in her side, then began wrapping a long length of linen around her torso to hold it in place.

“No one was hurt but you,” Kenneth said, but he did not turn when he spoke to her, keeping watch on the hillside. “The wall is not going anywhere. I can attend to it when I’m done with the outsider Scotia spoke of.”

“His name is Nicholas of Achnamara.”

Kenneth grunted but did not move. She leaned over enough to peer between her uncle and the shaggy black-haired Uilliam, the chief’s best friend and Champion, catching sight of the stranger as he closed the distance between himself and the Highlanders.

She had not really looked at Nicholas of Achnamara before. His touch had played havoc with her senses, but she’d been too dazed by their near escape to truly see him. He had broad shoulders, a trim waist, and it was clear, in spite of the dust that dulled its shine, that his hair was as inky as Scotia’s. But where her cousin’s was smooth and mostly straight, his was wavy and a bit wild about a face that was just rugged enough to keep him from looking pretty.

“That is the man that helped you?” Jeanette whispered.

Rowan nodded but she was trying to see if he had Conall with him. He glanced down at her as he drew to a halt a man’s length from Kenneth, then locked eyes with her uncle.

“I found no one below,” he said and Rowan closed her eyes and gave thanks.

“Who are you?” Kenneth demanded, icy suspicion frosting the air between them.

“He’s the one that saved us!” Scotia’s heated words melted the cold and Rowan nodded, though she knew no one was looking at her.

“Thank you for saving my sister and my cousin,” Jeanette said, standing and leaving Rowan the only one not on her feet. She pushed herself upwards, ignoring the burning in her side and the wooziness in her head. Jeanette sighed but helped her, looping her arm around Rowan’s waist. Rowan leaned into her cousin.

“ ‘Saving’ is a bit of an overstatement, mistress,” Nicholas said, a smile on his face as he dipped his head slightly, though his eyes never left Kenneth’s. “I
only
helped them to safety.”

There was a long silence and Rowan knew her uncle was weighing each and every word the man had spoken, determining the truth or lies therein.

“Jeanette, should not you and Scotia be getting Rowan inside?” Kenneth’s question was a command.

“But, Da—” Scotia complained.

Kenneth raised a hand to cut her off but Scotia paid no attention.

“—You owe him hospitality,” she said. “He has done a great service to the clan this day.”

Kenneth growled again. “Jeanette, get them inside.”

Rowan looked straight at Nicholas, waiting for some reaction from him that would reveal something about this man, this stranger, who had appeared out of nowhere just as the wall fell, but he never took his eyes off her uncle. Canny man.

“Come on, Ro, Scotia.” Jeanette took some of Rowan’s weight as she turned her toward the castle gate.

Rowan looked over her shoulder at Nicholas once more. She was grateful to the man for helping her escape the wall, but there were questions that needed answering: Why was he here, and who or what had he been looking for after the wall fell?

“Come, Rowan,” Jeanette said quietly, urging her cousin along.

Rowan limped where she’d been hit in the leg and took care to breathe shallowly. Scotia moved with them, trailing behind.

“Try not to injure him too much, Da,” Jeanette said over her shoulder. “He did get two of your lassies clear of the wall.” She winked at Rowan. “Mostly.”

N
ICHOLAS GLANCED OVER
the chief’s shoulder and an unwanted concern further threatened his calm. The women were moving slowly toward the gate. Rowan limped and he knew the stone shard in her side had hurt, but she hadn’t complained once about pain, and none of these men had offered to help her, to carry her. He forced himself to take a deep breath and look away from the distraction of the women.

But now he stared at the men who stood by and let Rowan limp into the castle with only her cousin for support. Would they have helped her if she’d cried and moaned? But she hadn’t. She was strong, stoic—and yet Nicholas itched to sweep her into his arms and…

But he could not. He turned his attention once more back to the line of men in front of him. No matter how quickly Rowan had gotten under his skin, he had to stand here and face her scowling kinfolk.

He’d already taken the measure of the chief. The man was fiercely protective, as was his duty, and he was used to having his orders followed without objection, and yet the impertinent comments from Jeanette revealed that he must have a soft spot for his family, for she showed no fear in speaking so and he showed no anger at it. Anyone who had dared speak to Nicholas’s own father that way would have regretted it quickly and painfully, as he had cause to know firsthand.

“Who are you?” the bear of a man standing to the chief’s right asked. His black hair was so shaggy and his beard so wild, it was hard to see more of his face than a glimmer of eyes and the tip of his round nose.

“Nicholas of Achnamara,” he replied. “And you are?”

“It does not matter who he is.” Kenneth’s glare grew razor sharp. “What are you doing here?”

No “Thank you for aiding my daughter and niece.” Straight to the point.

And Nicholas must answer him.

“I have been traveling,” Nicholas said, which was true. “I’m trying to find my way home again.” Which wasn’t.

“You do not ken your way home?” the bear scoffed. “Are you deep in your cups then?”

Nicholas found it interesting that the chief did not seem to mind sharing this interview with the other man, as if they had done this many times together.

“Nay, not deep in my cups.” He let the tiniest sliver of irritation sharpen his words. “Lost. I was but a wean when I left my home, only ten and two. It has taken me a long time to return and I confess I do not remember exactly where Achnamara is, except that it is in the Highlands.” Which was a lie. He knew exactly where it was, far away from here. “Do you ken where it is?” he asked the bear pointedly.

The man grunted. “I do not.”

“Where have you been all these years?” the chief asked.

“My father’s home, in the borders.” Again, the truth would suffice and it would account for his rusty Gaelic.

The bear bobbed his head a little. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” Nicholas tilted his head a little to the left, trying to see the man’s eyes. Did he suspect something? Did he distrust Nicholas’s story? It was, so far, the truth except for the part about looking for his home. He could not return to that place.

“You are a Sassenach, no?”

An old visceral reaction to the word—Sassenach, “outlander”—fisted in his gut. Everyone was an outlander to Highlanders. “Do you have a problem with that?” Nicholas raised his chin and stepped closer to the man.

The bear stepped forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Nicholas. “That depends. Which side of the borders would you be from? The feckless English side, or the feckless Scottish side?”

Nicholas fought a smile. He knew this dance and had instigated it himself many a time to throw an adversary off. He pulled his shoulders back, letting his chest puff out.

“Well, your own dear da must have been from the feckless English side,” Nicholas said, cocking his head as if considering an interesting bug. “ ’Tis a pity your mum had not the good sense to turn him and his money away before they made a great lout like you.” Nicholas waited, still trying to see the man’s eyes for some clue as to whether he was about to get run through with a claymore, or had interpreted the insult as the test it seemed to be.