Highlander Unchained (43 page)

He did love her. Despite her circumstances, for a moment a surge of nearly incomparable pleasure filled her.

There was so much she wanted to say to him: to tell him she was sorry for running, to tell him she loved him, to beg for another chance. And though she knew he could not see all that, she felt that he understood.

He turned back to Hector with his hand on his sword. She tensed, knowing how badly he wanted to attack Hector. She breathed a sigh of relief when he spoke. As the conversation between the two men unfolded, though she could not hear exactly what they said, it became clear what Hector intended—to let her drown if Lachlan did not surrender.

“You bastard!” Lachlan roared.

Flora didn’t have to strain to hear that. Lachlan lunged for Hector, but Rory held him back.

“Get my sister off that damn rock right now,” Rory said.

“Stay out of this, MacLeod. She’s my sister as well,” Hector said.

She couldn’t hear Rory’s reply, but she could tell he took umbrage at Hector’s claim of kinship.

“Flora will come to no harm,” Hector swore. He gave Lachlan a meaningful look. “Assuming Coll here cooperates.”

“What do you want?” Lachlan’s voice was deadly calm.

“It’s simple. You surrender to me, and MacLeod here will be allowed to rescue Flora.” Hector had planned it perfectly. A battle would eat away at valuable time. Lachlan might be able to break through and reach her…might. He seemed to have reached the same conclusion, because when he turned back to Hector, she could see the resignation in the set of his wide shoulders.

“No!” Flora didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until the men turned to face her.

Their eyes met, and her heart squeezed. She shook her head. “Don’t,” she whispered. She didn’t want to die, but neither could she bear the thought of Lachlan giving his life for hers. Another wave hit, and she lost her footing but scrambled to hold on by sticking the tips of her slippers into a crevice.

Lachlan swore and then shouted to her, “Hold on just a little longer!” She couldn’t hear what he said to Hector, but she knew what he was doing when he dropped his dirk and started to unfasten his baldric. He didn’t hesitate, acting without thought. He was surrendering to his enemy, to the man he’d fought his entire life, exchanging his life for hers. Once Hector had him, it would be too late.

God, how could she have doubted his love for her?

A Maclean life is given in love for a Campbell
.

The words of Elizabeth Campbell’s curse came back to her. She couldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t allow the curse to become a reality.

Flora knew what she had to do. Lachlan was right: She was strong. She’d allowed her own fears to be the weapon that had nearly killed her; she would not allow it to kill the man she loved.

“No!” she cried again. “Wait!”

And taking a deep breath, she jumped into the icy blue water.

Lachlan heard her cry and turned just in time to see the splash. His heart lurched.
God, no! Flora!
Panic gripped him. He knew what she was trying to do, but she wasn’t a strong enough swimmer for these stiff currents. She’d never make it.

He glanced at Hector, who was even more surprised than he by what Flora had done. Obviously, he’d assumed she still could not swim.

Lachlan realized that she’d given him an opening. Taking advantage of Hector’s shock, he pulled his claymore from his discarded baldric and attacked—his only thought to save the woman he loved.

Hector raised his own sword, but it was too late. Lachlan would not be denied. Not this time. Not with Flora’s life in the balance. He felt a surge swell through him of almost inhuman strength, and with one mighty swing of his claymore, he knocked the sword from Hector’s hold. He spun sideways, rammed his elbow into Hector’s nose, heard the satisfying sound of bone crunching, and had his sword at Hector’s throat in a single move.

It all happened so fast, Hector’s men hadn’t had time to react. They did so now, but Rory and his men held them back.

“Call them off,” Lachlan warned. “Or I’ll stick this blade through your damn throat like you deserve.”

Hector’s face turned red with rage. He looked as though he wanted to argue, so Lachlan dug the tip of his blade a little deeper, drawing blood. He’d never wanted to kill a man so badly; bloodlust pulsed through him at a frenzied pace. It would be so easy to draw the blade across.

But something held him back.

He was Flora’s brother. And despite what he’d done, he knew she would not want him killed. Not like this.

He glanced out to sea, relieved to see her still moving atop the water. Damn, he was proud of her. She was doing it; she was swimming. But even with the tide coming in and carrying her toward shore, she was struggling. The current was taking her east, and she was trying to swim directly toward the beach. “Call them off,” he repeated. “Now.”

Hector’s eyes met his with such hatred, Lachlan thought he might refuse. He hoped he would. Then Lachlan could kill him with impunity.

Much to his regret, Hector lifted his hand and motioned for his men to stand down. It was over. Lachlan’s victory was definitive and swift, but strangely anticlimactic. Defeating Hector meant nothing if he lost the woman he loved.

Lachlan twisted Hector’s arm behind his back and shoved him toward Rory. Without another glance he raced down the beach, tearing off his cotun and helmet along the way—knowing they would only drag him down. Hector’s men parted like the Red Sea, and Lachlan dove headfirst into the waves.

Flora was exhausted, but she refused to give up. Realizing that if she continued to fight the current she would soon grow too tired, she rolled on her back and floated as Lachlan had taught her—conserving her strength and allowing the water to carry her in.

It was growing dark, and she could no longer see what was happening on the beach, but she wouldn’t give in to her fear, even when a big wave dragged her under for a moment. She had too much to live for. She wanted Lachlan to hold her in his arms again and tell her that he loved her. She wanted to call him husband. She wanted to make a life with him. Her throat squeezed. She wanted to hold their first child in her arms.

If only it weren’t so cold. Her teeth were chattering, and her limbs had gone stiff. All she wanted to do was close her eyes. Her lids fluttered….

“Flora!”

The mere sound of his voice jerked her fully awake. “Here,” she cried, tears of relief springing to her eyes. “I’m here.”

“Thank God.”

Though it was only a few moments, it seemed to take an eternity before she caught sight of him. Her emotions, barely contained, shattered when the achingly familiar ruggedly handsome features came into view—the hard angles of his face made more pronounced by the shadows of the beckoning night. A pillar of strength in a sea of danger. He’d found her; the nightmare was over. With a strangled cry, she swam toward him.

Seconds later, he had her. His steely arms wrapped around her and pulled her against the solid wall of his chest. She breathed him in, savoring his strength and vitality. He gripped her tight, his fingers raking through the tangle of her hair and pressing into her back as if he would never let her go. She clung to him, taking refuge in the security of his embrace.

His wet cheek pressed against hers, the scrape of his day-old beard against her chilled skin achingly familiar. He was breathing hard, and she could feel the heavy beat of his heart against hers. Even soaking wet in the freezing sea, a subtle warmth radiated from him.

Overwhelmed, she started to sob.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, smoothing her hair. “You’re safe.” Cupping her chin, he looked into her watery eyes. “You nearly scared the life out of me. I thought—” His voice broke. “I saw you floating like that, and I thought you were dead.”

Flora shook her head. “I’m afraid you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Get rid of you?” He pulled her close and pressed a hard kiss on her freezing lips. She tasted of salt and sea, but nothing had ever tasted sweeter. “Never,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. And then he kissed her again, longer this time, with an aching tenderness that sent a tingle of warmth to her icy limbs. “Now if we both don’t want to freeze to death, I suggest we get back to the castle as soon as possible.”

She nodded, and with Lachlan’s aid and instruction, they swam for shore—not directly, as she’d attempted before, but diagonally with the current.

Soon she could see Rory and Lachlan’s men wading toward them and knew that she’d done it. She’d fought her fear and won. And though she felt ready to collapse, the feeling of accomplishment gave her an unexpected swell of strength that carried her through the last few strokes.

As soon as the water was shallow enough, Lachlan stood and cradled her in his arms, carrying her the rest of the way. She pressed her face against the familiar hard planes of his chest, savoring the simple sensation of being held in his arms again.

Rory rushed toward them. “Is she all right?” he asked Lachlan.

Flora could hear the worry in his voice and immediately moved to reassure him. “I’m fine.”

“Thank God.” He drew off his plaid, which was blissfully dry, and gave it to Lachlan to wrap her in, covering her near nakedness and providing much needed warmth.

“She’s freezing,” Lachlan said. “I need to get her to the castle as soon as possible. Have my room prepared.”

“Look here, Coll,” Rory said, blocking his path to the castle. “I thought we agreed. I’ll not have my sister forced into this marriage. It’s best if you put her in another room.”

Why, he’s trying to protect me,
Flora realized. Warmed by the show of brotherly affection, especially after what she’d just been through, she gave Rory a grateful smile. One that Lachlan mistook.

His jaw flexed, and she could tell he wanted to argue, but instead he pushed past Rory and said through clenched teeth, “Any damn room, then.”

Flora hid a smile and thought about teasing him for a bit longer, but he was right—she was freezing. “I thank you for your concern, Rory,” she said to her brother, who’d kept pace with them. “But the laird’s bedchamber will be perfect.”

Lachlan stopped midstep and gazed down at her, hope glistening in his eyes.

“Are you sure, lass?” Rory asked.

But Flora couldn’t look away from Lachlan. The depth of his feeling for her had been splayed open to her gaze, revealing her heart’s desire. She would remember this moment forever. Remember how it felt to know without a doubt that she was loved—totally and completely. Despite what he’d done in manipulating their marriage, he’d been willing to give his life for hers.

“Aye,” she said softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Lachlan squeezed her tight and, not giving Rory the time to respond, carried her through the crowds of cheering clansmen. The Maclean of Coll had come home.

The door closed behind his serving woman Mairi, but despite her assurances, Lachlan still could not relax. He checked the fire, adjusted her pillow, and tucked another plaid around Flora.

He heard a muffled giggle and whipped around to look at the source. Crossing his arms across his chest, he narrowed his gaze in warning.

A warning the wee harridan promptly ignored. “You would make a horrible nursemaid with that forbidding frown. Stop fussing. You heard what Mairi said, I’m perfectly fine. As soon as I got that wet sark off me, I warmed right up.”

His gaze traveled down the length of her, heating at the thought of the naked body underneath. He frowned, realizing that’s exactly what she intended—the little minx. “Stop trying to distract me. It won’t work, you need your rest.”

Her eyes were bright with laughter. She lowered the plaid a bit, revealing a flawless swell of ivory skin. Her brow arched in naughty invitation. “It won’t?”

He sat beside her on the bed, pulled the blanket back up to her chin, and swept a stray lock of damp hair from her forehead. His palm lingered to cradle the baby soft skin of her cheek. “God, Flora, when I saw you jump—” His voice broke, and he turned his head slightly, shielding his burning eyes from her view. After a minute, he looked back at her. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again. I thought I would lose you.”

“But Hector was going to kill you,” she protested.

“Aye, but it was a choice I would gladly make.”

“But not one I could live with.” She hesitated. “What of Hector?”

“Alive, but taken. Argyll will hold him until his punishment is decided by the king.”

He could see the relief sweep her face and knew he’d made the right decision in sparing Hector’s foul life.

“I know he doesn’t deserve my compassion, but I’m glad he was not killed. Defeat and imprisonment is a much better punishment, one for which the pain will endure.”

He nodded. “If he’d delayed any longer, I would not have had a choice. I had to reach you.” He would never forget the sight of Flora disappearing beneath the waves. That same sense of panic gripped him. “If you ever do anything so foolish again, I will lock you in that tower. My heart stopped when you jumped into the water.”

She covered his hand with hers. “Then you know how I felt. I know what Hector intended. I couldn’t let you die for me.” She pressed a finger against his mouth to stave off his protest. “I was scared, but you made me believe that I could do it. You taught me the skills; I just had to be brave enough to use them.”

His gaze softened. “I’m proud of you, lass. But next time, save the swimming lessons for the loch.”

“Agreed.” Suddenly, the smile fell from her face and all signs of teasing fled. “I cannot believe my own brother could do something like that.”

“Hector has the moral compass of a snake. I should have warned you, but I didn’t think you would believe me.” He shook his head. “I never thought that he would try to harm you.”

“His hatred for you was stronger than his feelings for a sister he didn’t know. And I ran right into his trap. I never should have left like that.”

Lachlan’s face turned serious. “No, you shouldn’t have. You can’t run away every time you are scared or angry.”