Highlander's Touch (7 page)

Never had she desired to kiss a man as she did Ewan. Odd, too, because she barely knew the man. But just one look at his mouth, and the enticing words he said to her, the way his mouth had moved over hers before—she knew he would be a very good lover. He would please her to no end.

She blew out an annoyed huff and shoved all thoughts of the wicked Highlander from her mind. He might have been talking about kissing and making love tonight, but judging by the redness in his eyes, he’d only be begging for mercy on the morrow as fever waged a battle inside his body.

And for that battle, she needed to be prepared.

WAS he back at Hildie’s?

Ewan lay upon a small, soft bed in a darkened room, but judging from the scent of the place, he was not at the debauched inn where a man’s deepest desires were promised to come true.

Nay, this place had a mixture of smells that were foreign to him. Faintly floral, herbal. There was also a tang of blood and whisky.

“Where am I?” he croaked.

There was a rustling from somewhere in the dark.

“Ye are safe,” crooned a soft voice. Like that of an angel.

Though he couldn’t see her, he was instantly warmed by her. Did he know her? He didn’t feel afraid of her. A ribbon of recognition wound around her voice.

“Who are ye?” he asked.

There was a sad sigh, and then more shuffling. Should he have known who she was?

“It doesna matter who I am,” she said, then he felt the coolness of a cup at his lips and a bitter herbal tisane flowed into his mouth.

He sputtered.

“Dinna spit it out,” she warned.

Ewan gritted his teeth and swallowed. “Are ye trying to kill me?” he asked.

She laughed, a sweet tinkling sound he wouldn’t have minded hearing again. She moved away from him and he wished to call her back.

“Sleep, warrior.”

“Sleep?”

“Aye, ’tis night, and ye need your rest.”

Ewan was not used to taking directions from anyone but his laird, so it was odd to him that his eyes simply closed and his body prepared to sleep once more.

“Nay,” he said, more to himself than to his fae warden. “I will not.”

Another sigh came from several feet away—though this time she wasn’t so much sad, as she was annoyed.

“Suit yourself, but ye’ll have a wicked time in healing enough to be on your way if ye ignore your body’s demand for sleep.”

He raised his eyebrow skeptically in the dark. “How do ye know what my body needs?”

As the words left his mouth—and she gasped—he realized exactly what he’d said could be taken another way. But before he could yank back his words and explain himself, she answered.

“I am a healer. I seem to know more about a man’s body than even a man. The lot of ye keep getting yourselves nearly killed, causing me to lose many night’s sleep. Now I’ve got ye here, and ye’re all sewed up. So get some rest, else ye take away another few hours of rest I so dearly need.”

Ewan frowned. He didn’t want to take away anything she needed. In fact, he felt an overwhelming urge to give her
everything
she needed or wanted.

That made him frown all the more. Who was she to make him feel such things? Must be the tisane. He felt sotted. That was it. Was thoroughly into his cups.

Aye, he’d had more than the tisane—he smelled whisky, too. Ewan realized the scent of it was on him, that her herbal mixture had washed away the remnants of it in his mouth. And he was glad of it, for all of the sudden, he started to feel each and every new wound.

“Go to sleep, Ewan,” she said.

“Good night, Shona.” Holy hell, he did know her name—and he’d not even been aware of it.

This time, a contented sigh filled the darkness.

A clatter from outside woke Shona with a jolt.

Hand automatically reaching for the dagger she’d taken from Ewan, she sat straight up from her makeshift bed.

The fire had gone out completely, and only a little bit of light filtered through the shuttered window from outside.

But the sound was unmistakable.

Something—or rather
someone
—was outside.

A glance toward her bed showed that Ewan still slept. Thank goodness. Whoever was poking around outside would certainly hear him if he decided to thrash about and groan as he’d done periodically throughout the night.

With the dagger in one hand, she whipped back her woolen blanket with the other and swiftly, but quietly, came to her feet. Avoiding the furniture and various other objects, she tiptoed toward the door.

The noise came again—a shuffling sound and then, a bump against the outside wall.

Her breath hitched, heart pounded. Sweat glistened her palms.

No one—not even when Rory was alive—had ever come to the cottage with the intent of doing harm. Since he’d been gone, she’d been lonely, and had sometimes been afraid when the wind particularly howled, but never as much as she had since bringing the warrior into her home.

’Twas his fault she felt so unsafe, so out of her skin.

But all thoughts of blame quickly dissipated with the next nudge at the door.

Someone was trying to get in.

Shona pressed her free hand to the bar, not that if someone wanted to bang down her door the bar would do much good.

Rising up on her tiptoes, she moved aside a tiny slat of wood and peered through the small hole that Rory had carved for just such instances. Typically, her visitor would be one of the healers from the castle or a nearby village. But she saw no one.

And then a massive blur of black and brown swung before the hole, and a horse neighed from the other side.

Saints!
They would have their horse kick down the door?

As if hearing her thoughts, a swift
thump-thump-thump
sounded at the base of her door.

Shona remained silent, not willing to even breathe. With no fire to cause smoke to curl from her chimney, they wouldn’t know she was within. Though her few animals in the barn may give away that someone lived here—and blast it, but the warrior’s horse was in there, too!

The blur of black and brown again, and then a puff of fetid air pushed through the hole.

Shona scrunched up her face and coughed.

Horse breath.

And three more kicks.

The tiny hole was not big enough to see what was truly happening beyond her door. No one spoke to her, ’twas as if they simply waited for her to make her presence known. Sheathing the dagger in her belt, she picked up a stool and took it toward her shuttered window. When Rory had built the cottage, he’d made certain the windows were sufficiently high up and small enough that no one could easily climb inside them. Windows were made for light—not for entry. She completely agreed.

And now she needed to see just exactly what was happening.

Shona carefully climbed on top of the stool and closed her eyes as she cracked the shutter, wincing at the tiny creaking sound and imagining whoever stood outside jumping in front of her to shout out,
“We’ve got ye now.”

No one shouted. In fact, only the horse nickered.

“What in god’s name?” she murmured. “Horse?”

Ewan’s horse stood at the door—and knocked—as if begging entry. He was still covered in mud. She’d given quite a hacking to his once luscious mane, and he no longer looked as noble as he truly was. He was completely alone—at least that was how it looked. Shona scanned her grounds and saw no one.

But, how had he gotten out?

She peered toward the barn but could only see a corner of it. Shona frowned. What did she expect of the warrior’s horse? He could perform various tricks if issued the right Gaelic command. And here he was at her door, most likely intent on checking in on his master.

Blowing out an annoyed huff, Shona jumped down from her chair and moved to lift the bar. As soon as she had the door open, the horse barged his way in and, as if he owned the place, sauntered over toward the bed where Ewan slept.

Shona re-barred the door then followed the horse to the bed, and grabbed onto the reins before he could nudge the sleeping man.

“Leave him be,” she muttered.

But the horse managed to stretch his neck just far enough forward to press his muzzle against Ewan’s cheek for a brief second before she could tug him back.

“Did ye see her?” Ewan asked, a smile touching his lips. “A fair maiden, just for me, Bhaltair. Do ye think she’ll cast a spell on me and then ravish me? A man can hope can he not?”

The horse preened at hearing his name—raising his head, lips pulled back, forelegs stomping and a gleeful whinny. Shona pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

“Ah, Bhaltair, where have ye been? Did she take ye away from me?” Ewan rolled his head toward the both of them and opened his eyes. “Ye look a fright, my noble steed.”

A smile covered Ewan’s lips that she’d not seen before—not that she’d known him long. ’Twas the smile a father often gave a child, or a brother to his sister, an indulgent curl of lips.

She was envious of that smile. Covetous of what it meant. When she’d first arrived in Inverness some years ago, she’d been lost, alone, and without a memory of much. That’s when she’d found Rory, and he’d tried to help her remember. Some things had come back to her slowly—others just naturally present, like her abilities with herbs and the knowledge that she enjoyed the touch of a man.

But one thing she’d not been able to shake was the incessant loneliness in her heart. Wherever she’d come from, she’d been alone there, too, she was certain of it. Perhaps that was one of the reasons that made having Rory around so wonderful. A constant companion. A true confidant to hear her woes and cheer her on when she accomplished something new.

Tears stung her eyes.

Rory deserved so much more than what fate had offered him.

There was no way he would have simply left her alone. None at all. She refused to believe it.

Discreetly swiping at her tears, she said, “Your horse’s name is Bhaltair?”

The horse bobbed his head at the mention of his name, and Ewan glanced at her. “Aye. And ye are the maiden.”

Shona smiled through her sadness. “I promise not to lay a spell on ye, nor to ravish ye.”

The warrior winked, his lip curling in a sinful grin. “Och, but dinna ye know? ’Tis what I want, lassie, for a beautiful maiden to ravish me.”

Shona waved away his words, bending forward to press the back of her hand to his forehead. He was warm, not burning up quite yet, but definitely a low-grade fever. “I’ll get ye an herbal drink for your fever.”

Ewan pressed his hand to his heart. “Ye see, Bhaltair, my wish will come true!”

“Out with ye now, horse.” Shona tried her best to give a stern look to her wounded warrior. “No animals in the cottage.”

Ewan grunted, then laughed, though he ended up gasping in pain. “What happened? Why do I hurt so damn much?”

“There was a battle. Ye won.”