The Highlander’s Witch (5 page)

She should be afraid of him, but the way he treated the injured dog made him seem more human and less god-like.

Skye’s stomach growled and she wondered how long it had been since she’d eaten. Because she thought she was meeting her aunt for dinner and not going to a speed dating event, she hadn’t worried about food, then she’d became too disgusted to even think about eating.

Looking around, she tried to forget about her angry stomach as she worked on figuring out where she was.

From their language, she figured Scotland. Probably the backwoods because they hadn’t passed any towns. They were scruffy, had bows and arrows, and that thing that kept hitting her thigh when she was lying across his lap earlier was probably some kind of holster for a gun.

Hunting season in the backwoods of Scotland.

Just great.

The language they spoke wasn’t the Gaelic she knew but it was close enough that if she concentrated she could figure most of it out, like when they were discussing if they should stop for the night, their main concern on if Seelie, the wounded dog, could make it.

Her stomach growled again and she winced. A moment later, she felt him poke her and she looked up to see something in his hand.

“Eat.” He commanded.

Too hungry to be offended by his rudeness, she took the piece of dried meat and forced herself to chew slow, not knowing when she would eat next.

Skye told herself that as soon as they stopped, they would probably start a fire and then she would have a chance to get a hold of her sister to get her out of there.

Then, by damn, she was going to have a one-sided conversation with her family.

No more of this trying to set her up with someone because, obviously, Aunt Gladys had lost her marbles sending her here. She knew it was her aunt, because Miss Kitty only listened to Aunt Gladys and the cat only used Skye or Sarah when she deemed them worthy, like letting her in from the cold.

Finishing the meat, Skye was jerked out of her thoughts as they came to a halt.

Looking around, she watched the second man walk behind his horse and crouch by the litter, checking the dog.

“How be she?” The man in front of her asked in Gaelic.

Collin looked up. “I think the wee lass will make it.” He stated with surprise written all over his face.

Skye relaxed slightly. She’d been worried she didn’t have enough strength to do all that was needed to make sure the dog would live.

The other man looked around. “So, do we make it home or stop at the auld shepherds place?”

“Tis gonna rain.”

“Aye.”

“We could make it no long after night fall.”

The other man grinned. “We would be wet but we would be home in a warm bed.”

“Cover her up an let us get. I be tired, an the thought of a night with the smell comin from the lad isna apealin.”

It wasn’t until they were on their way that Skye figured out what he’d said and snorted.

Chapter Three
 

S
kye collapsed against her captor’s back.

She couldn’t help it. Worn out, freezing, and soaked to the skin from the chilly rain that had started a couple hours ago, her body finally shut down.

Aiden felt the lad fall against him and he twisted around carefully to keep him from falling.

He should have given the boy some kind of cover but he didn’t know who the lad was or where he came from and too many years of battle had taught him to err on the side of caution.

Concern was the last thing he would show the intruder.

They were close to their destination. It was already dark as the rain began to fall and would be pitch black when they reached the castle gates but he was tired of being away and looked forward to the comfort of his own hearth.

Aiden’s thoughts centered on his home and not some small campfire out on the march or in a field surrounded by men who didn’t know there was better than the present.

He was tired of war and the worthless spilling of blood.

Tired of the nobility’s failure to unite to strengthen Scotland for all, instead of the individual.

He, Collin, and their men, had just returned from the brutal battle in Edinburgh where they battled alongside Robert Stewart against imprisonment of the young Duke of Rothesay. A man whose actions threatened to destroy the very aristocracy Aiden was weary of.

All he’d wanted was to be left alone, laird of his own keep. Concerned with nothing but the improvement of his people and the land they lived on.

Not even given a moment to remove the grime from his body or the hair from his face, his people had begged him to hunt down and kill the cougar that was destroying their cattle and had killed the last man sent after it the previous night.

When Collin, his longtime friend and younger sister’s husband, had seen Aiden readying himself to do as his people asked, he had kissed his pregnant wife and saddled a new horse.

Now he was returning to his castle.

He should be happy.

Instead, he was concerned.

He knew that there was alarm over recent fear of the English crossing their boarders and aligning with Reivers to steal land and slay those they couldn’t make into slaves.

Now, here was this English boy caught just inside his property.

He was going to get answers before he would be able to rest. Mayhap they should have stopped for the night at the old hut. He sighed, knowing Collin wished to return to his family as much as he did.

*     *     *

She was dreaming about a chant to get her home, confused by the water that seemed a part of it.

Then she was falling again.

“No!” She cried out hoarsely, struggling to reach the surface.

Arms held her tight as she fought with all her strength, her bound hands unable to break free against the grip on her.

“Stop!” Came a vaguely familiar voice, stern in its demand.

Skye stilled in shock before sagging in relief as she realized it was pouring rain and she’d only been hauled off the horse’s back and hadn’t actually cast a spell sending her to the bottom of the ocean.

A small amount of light came from somewhere behind her, making it difficult for her clouded mind to make out details so when he grabbed one of her fists and felt something cold slice between her wrists she stiffened even as her body shivered from the god-awful cold.

Gritting her teeth, she looked up at him, the heavy downpour causing rivulets of water to course from her cap down her face.

Aiden stared down at the barely illuminated face in front of him, eyes narrowed as something tickled his brain.

Hauling the lad up the stone stairway by the arm, he ignored the cries of protest and dragged the boy inside where torches lit the entryway.

Ignoring his mother and sister’s welcome, he glowered at the person before him.

“What?” Skye croaked in frustration.

She cringed when his meaty hand reached out, yanking off her cap.

There were gasps and then silence as her hair unwound from its twist in thick clumps.

“Yer a lass.” Aiden accused.

“Well, duh.”

Realizing this was not the appropriate time to get snide, Skye snapped her mouth shut feeling her teeth grind against sand.

Aiden shook his head and walked around her, poking here and there. When he returned to stand in front of her and poked a breast, her hand lashed out to slap him but his reflexes proved faster than hers.

As he caught her wrist, Skye glared up at him.

“You are an ass.” She spit out, enunciating each word as if she was talking to a simpleton.

When she made to go on, he leaned into her space and whispered fiercely. “Hold yer tongue!”

Straightening himself, he called out to one of his men and when approached, he pushed her into his arms.

“I want her washed, presentable, an before me in one hour.” He demanded as he stormed off, his family following.

Led to a place resembling a kitchen that would have fit in perfectly in medieval times shocked Skye and she stumbled to a stop.

She didn’t remember seeing where they were before they got to wherever it was they were because of the night rain and she’d been sleeping, but the things she saw now was cause for concern.

She began to tick off clues.

Torches, tapestries, the gowns the women were wearing, the kilts and trousers the men wore.

“No way.” She remarked.

Looking at the woman gathered, Skye noted some were watching her curiously as they chopped, kneaded bread, or stirred pots hanging over fires. Two were filling a large metal cauldron in the center of the large room while an older woman eyed her with intent as she rolled up her sleeves.

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“No . . . way.”

*     *     *

An hour later, with her body scrubbed raw, hair washed three times and braided, a dress too short and tight covering her, Skye was led on bare feet into a large hall by the same man who had promptly left her with those evil woman who gave no pause to the humiliation they put her through.

She felt defeated, mortified, and small in a world she had no knowledge of but she walked with her head up, willing her tired limbs to keep going. Her only sign of unease was how she played with the ring on her thumb.

Led through the great hall with over a dozen men standing on either side to allow her to pass through, Skye watched them watching her and worked hard at not biting her lower lip, trying instead to keep her focus on the man who seemed to dwarf everyone around them even as he sat in a larger wooden chair.

He wore a green, red, and yellow plaid kilt that showed off muscular legs and a loose, cream-colored shirt covered his chest that did nothing to hide its broad expanse. A wide belt exemplified a lean waist and she licked her lips nervously at the male specimen in front of her.

Embarrassed that her mind was drifting and not wanting to see that he had caught her staring at him, she glanced at the roaring fire and thought of her sister.

So close.

She glanced at the men between her and the fire.

So far away.

“What be yer name?”

Skye frowned at the sound of his voice and turned back to the man before her.

Looking into his face, she took in the gleaming black hair that flowed past broad shoulders as braids on either side of his temple kept it from his piercing blue gaze.

It was a strong face. A face full of angles that had her swallowing hard and thinking wicked thoughts she had no right to think of.

Then she frowned and looked closer.

It was him! The same brutish thug who’d captured her and made her suffer.

His hair now washed and combed and the beard removed but his eyes where the same vivid blue ringed in a deeper color and slanted with determination.

Damn, he was beautiful.

The square jaw, high cheekbones and straight nose had her staring again.

“What be yer name?” He repeated slowly, demanding an immediate answer.

“I already told you it was Skye.”

“What kind of name be ‘Skye’?”

“Something about being born outdoors on a bright clear day and all that. I suppose it inspired my mother to give me such a name.” She clamped her mouth shut, knowing she’d been blabbering nervously.

“Where be yer clan?”

That made Skye pause for a moment.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“How can ye no ken?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ye dinna ken the question?”

“No. Yes. I just don’t know how to answer the question.”

“What be yer clan name, lass?”

“Clan name?”

“Yes.” An older woman stepped around a group to her right and walked up to her, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Your surname, love. What is it?”

Skye looked at the small woman who was an exact replica of the man in front of her, only smaller, and was surprised at the perfect English accent spoken with a gentle squeeze of encouragement on her arm.