The Wolf and the Highlander (Highland Wishes) (2 page)

He lowered his head and plowed on. Nothing would stop him from catching her. This was his lucky year. He could feel it in his bones.

The scent of pine burst over him as he tore a hole through the line of trees. He didn’t see the sow at first. A scrabbling noise to his right drew his gaze just in time to see that beautiful mottled hide disappear into the bracken. She was tan and black with just enough white to make her stand out against the autumn-brown forest.

Come on, sweetheart. You know you’re mine. Stop fighting it.

From the way her sides heaved and her pace had slowed, he could tell she was tiring. He was tired too after running full-out most of the night, but once he caught her, the exhaustion would be worth it. Oh, would it be worth it.

There! She tried to jump a fallen log and caught her hoof in the rotted wood.

He lunged and fell on her. His nails dug into her hide like daggers, holding her bucking body. He opened his mouth wide, ready to tear out her throat.

“What’s that racket?” A rumble of a voice coming from a nearby copse of trees made him freeze.

“I’ll go check.”

Shite. Larnians.

The sow took advantage of his distraction. She twisted around and gored his thigh. Pain ripped through his leg. Worse, the sow slithered out of his grasp. She tore off in the direction of the voices. Smart girl. She knew he’d come from Marann’s side of the border and wouldn’t risk becoming outnumbered by enemies.

She dashed into the copse of trees. Yells erupted.

“A marbled boar!”

“Get her!”

“Where’s my dagger?”

“Don’t just stand there with your thumb up your ass! Go after her!”

“We’ll mind the trap. Hurry! Don’t let her get away!”

Riggs made out four voices. Must be a hunting party. Only reason Larnians tolerated their own company was to hunt or make war. Rest of the time, they’d just as soon slaughter each other as work together.

There were sounds of men shucking their clothes and giving chase. Two sets of running feet took off into the forest. Two men stayed behind.

If he wanted to pursue the boar, he’d have to kill the Larnians for her, because now that they’d spotted her, they wouldn’t give up until they had her.

He didn’t mind killing Larnians, but couldn’t countenance it for a quarry, even a marbled boar. Shite. He punched the ground.

He sat with his back to the rotted log to catch his breath. The bark scratched his skin with a refreshing bite. The scent of the marbled boar lingered like a taunt in his nostrils.

Only thing worse than losing such a rare quarry was the thought of her fine hide being sullied by Larnian filth.

Run, sweetheart. Run like the wind.

He let his head fall back on the log and gazed past the treetops.
By the moon, he was tired. And hungry. And bleeding. He needed breakfast. Best if he snuck away quietly and hunted on Marann’s side of the border.

He started to get up to go when murmuring from the copse of trees caught his attention. “We could play with her,” one man said. “Give her a taste of what’s in store for her once we get back to Saroc. Huh, beautiful? How’d you like to come out and play?” The sound of a wooden cage being rattled.

A growl. Then the sounds of an irritated animal thrashing.

Ah, shite. They’d caught a she-wolf. Riggs had heard rumors about the Larnians that had turned his stomach. He’d hoped they were just rumors, but now he knew there was some truth to them. Despicable. And not something he would stand by and let happen. Looked like he might get to kill some Larnians this morning after all.

“You got a muzzle in your pack?” one of the men said.

“Yeah
, here.” Silence while Riggs crept closer. Then, “Come on, beautiful, hold still.”

He’d gotten close enough to see the men through the boughs of a pine. They were shirtless but wore faded blue war kilts. Soldiers, like most of the remaining Larnians. And like most remaining Larnians, they were older than Riggs, their beards streaked with gray. One had stuck a pole collar through the bars of the trap-cage. He got the loop around the neck of a snarling she-wolf and tightened the collar. “Got her. Go on. Open the cage.”

The other man held a muzzle and lifted the door of the trap. “Not as pretty as the little females Bantus likes to flaunt, but she’ll do for a quick rut while the others are distracted with the boar.”

King Bantus flaunting females? Did they mean she-wolv
es? They must, because Riggs’s king, Magnus, had evacuated the remaining women from Larna in the last war. Since then, Larna’s King, Bantus, had been ruling a dying country of men with no hope of living on through their young. Some claimed that justified the Larnians’ interest in she-wolves. Riggs disagreed. No creature deserved to be rutted against their will.

The man holding the pole struggled to keep the wolf still while the other extended his arm into the cage, muzzle first.

“Feisty little female,” the one holding the pole said. “She’ll do. She’ll do just fine.”

“The fuck she will,” Riggs said, stepping around the pine.

The men jumped to their feet. Snarling, they turned to face him. They had to look up—way up—to meet his eyes. They were well muscled and had to be tough since they’d survived the war, but like most everyone, they were smaller than him.

He showed his teeth in challenge.

Their snarls died on their faces. He never got tired of seeing the fight go out of men when they realized they were outmatched.

The she-wolf tore into the forest with the pole around her neck. Riggs noted which way she went.

Unsurprisingly, the men turned tail and ran too. Cowards.

He wanted to give chase. It had been a long time since he’d had just cause to kill Larnians. But if the she-wolf couldn’t free herself from the pole collar, it would hinder her ability to hunt. Probably wouldn’t be fatal, but he sure wouldn’t want to go through life with a pole collar stuck around his neck.

He took off into the forest after the she-wolf.

When he’d scented marbled boar yesterday, he’d anticipated a fine meal and week of tanning a beautiful hide. Guess he’d be limping around Larna after a pissed off she-wolf instead. So much for feeling lucky.

“What are you doing here?” Anya blurted.

Aodhan’s ice-blue eyes widened. “Me? What are
you
doing here? You’re dead.” His face paled as he looked her up and down.

She snorted. “I’m no ghost, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m alive as you are, though no’ for long I suspect since I recall your warning last time we
met in this cottage.” He had just returned from Dornoch, where Darcy and his wife had revealed Anya’s plot to keep Ginneleah from catching a bairn. Ever true to his laird, Aodhan had told her to leave Ackergill and never return. If she did, he’d hand her over to Steafan along with a list of her sins. Steafan was not known for his mercy. Looked like she was going to meet her justice tonight after all.

Aodhan’s color returned.
Och,
nothing rattled the war chieftain for long. He’d probably have recovered just as quickly if she really had been a ghost.

“Before ye bring me to Steafan, I have somat to say.” She stepped closer to him, letting him see her jarring gait. “Tell Darcy I am sorry for what I did. And tell Ginneleah I deeply regret the pain I’ve caused her.” Her throat felt tight. She cleared it.
Courage, Anya. Make your da proud.
“And I’m sorry, Aodhan. I’m sorry for betraying you by plotting against your daughter and your laird. Our laird. I’m ready to face him now. Go on. Take me to Steafan.”

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.
She’d learned not to expect Mercy from Aodhan merely because they’d been lovers. He’d cured her of that misconception when he’d exiled her and then left her for dead when he’d found her in that cleft.

His
brow creased. “Christ, lass. What happened to you?”

Did he mean her limp? Her scars? “Ye ken what happened. I fell.”

“I recall,” he said gravely.

He was likely also recalling how she’d pleaded with him to rescue her, and how he’d refused because she’d failed to show concern for those she’d harmed with her plotting. What would he think if he kent how she’d changed these last months?
Och,
it didn’t matter. Feeling sorry didn’t change the wickedness she’d committed, especially when it had taken her near death to make her realize the depth of her own depravity.

“How did
you get out?” he asked.

“A Rom rescued me.”

He shifted on his feet, and the light of his lantern reflected off the box he held. It looked about the size of a shaving kit. Rich rosewood inlaid with white metal peeked out from between his fingers. The box looked familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen it before.

“Is that my da’s? What are
you doing with it?” Anger lit a fire in her breast. “Are you thieving from him now that he’s gone? Why, ye bloody—”

“It’s the box Steafan tried to destroy. The one Darcy’s wife said brought her from a future time.”

The breath froze in her lungs. No wonder it looked familiar. She’d handled the bloody thing once, even read for herself the impossible date beside the maker’s mark. It had been springtime in the year 1517 when she’d last seen that box, yet it claimed to have been made in 1542.

Her encounter with that box had
been the start of her troubles. If she’d never laid eyes on it, would she be hale today? Would she be up at the keep, celebrating her da’s life with her clan?

She took a step back. “Keep it away from me. It’s evil.”

“Mayhap,” Aodhan agreed. “I watched Steafan take every weapon in the keep’s armory to it trying to destroy it. Even put it under the grinding stone in Darcy’s mill. Not even that did the trick. Last time I saw this, ’twas flying over the cliffs. Steafan shrieked like a banshee when he threw it. Look.” He rotated the box. “Not even a scratch.”

Anya refused to get close enough to confirm it.

“Your da must have found it while culling seaweed for market. Must be why he kept it with this rubbish.” He motioned toward the shelves.

“’Tis no’ rubbish. Those trinkets made him happy.”

“Whiskey made your da happy. These things kept him busy until the pub opened each night.”

He was right, curse him. “Ye shouldna speak ill of the dead. How did he go? Do
you ken?” Pain swelled in her chest and brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t let them fall. She wouldn’t let Aodhan see her cry. Her da
had
been a drunk, and a mean one more often than not, but he’d been her drunk to care for. Because of Aodhan, she hadn’t been able to comfort him at his death.
Och,
no. Because of her.
Her.
She was the wicked one.

“Auld age, An. I suppose.
” His eyes went soft on her when he used the shortened version of her name. “Or too much drink. Took about a week. He suffered some, but went bravely, like a Keith. I came to inventory his possessions,” he went on, the softness lifting. “Everything belongs to the laird now, since your da has no surviving near kin.”

He leve
led a look at her, letting the statement penetrate. Since he’d exiled her she was no longer considered clan. She didn’t count as her da’s heir. She hadn’t expected any different, but hearing it said aloud still stung.

“Well,” she snapped. “What are ye waiting for? Take me to Steafan.”

Aodhan shook his head. “Nay. I doona think I will. Nor will I pass along your apologies to Darcy and Ginnie. If you turn around and walk out that door, and I never see you again, I’ll tell myself the box made your spirit manifest to me tonight. By morning I may even believe it.”

She shook her head. “
I came here for a reason. You must see me punished. You must.” Her da had died bravely. So would she.

“
Seems to me you’ve suffered enough. Go on with you, lass.” He lifted his chin toward the door.

This couldn’t be happening. Once again a man was telling her to leave when she had nowhere to go. She’d made peace with coming back to Ackergill. Her conscience felt light for the first time in ages.

“Go on,” Aodhan said again, and he turned his back to her, pretending interest in her da’s knickknacks.

He was showing her mercy, but it was the last thing she wanted. She’d felt so strongly she was meant to come here. She’d hoped to belong somewhere again, even if only for a few precious moments.

A song one of Gravois’ travelers used to sing filled her mind like a prayer:

When I had a home, I could not wait to leave it.

When I had none, I longed for a hearth of my own.

Lord, if you have not found me lacking,

Open up your gates; I’m coming home.

She was home. Or nearly so. She wouldn’t limp away like a coward. “Take me to Steafan,” she said, but a faint clinking sound coming from Aodhan’s direction interrupted her. The cottage began spinning around her, quicker and quicker, as if she’d been caught up in a waterspout. Dizziness dragged her to her hands and knees.