Highland Fire, Page 3

  The sun was setting as they approached the River Tweed. Kieran urged the mount carefully among the trees that grew close to the water’s edge. Without warning he brought the steed to a halt and slid from the saddle. The movement jarred Megan awake. Her mind was befuddled. She could not seem to distinguish between the hot, searing pain in her body and the one in her mind.

  This could not be heaven. She felt a moment of terror. Had she lived such an evil life that she was being condemned for all time to the fires of hell? Nay, there was someone, someone important to her, who was taking her to a safe haven. But who?

  Though she struggled, she could not see the image of that important person in her mind’s eye. She saw only a terrible blackness that threatened to envelope her in its web.

  With a tremendous effort she forced her eyes open.

  The glint of the setting sun reflecting off the water sent pain stabbing through her. She quickly closed her eyes, then set her teeth against the pain and forced them open again.

  She was being carried in a stranger’s arms. As he bent and deposited her in the grass, she caught a glimpse of dark hair and a face covered with a growth of dark beard. The eyes, too, were dark, piercing, as they glanced at her a moment before dismissing her. She had a sudden flash of memory, of seeing the man holding a sword and fighting beside her. As the stranger walked away, the image was erased.

  Megan’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the forest. She saw what appeared to be a bundle of rags lying beneath a tree nearby. She watched as the stranger knelt beside the rags.

  “Colin.” Kieran touched a hand to the still form and felt a wave of relief when his brother moaned softly. “I’ve brought food. And horses and weapons,” he added softly. “I’ll build a fire now, and we will eat. ’Tis what we need to regain our strength.”

  Gathering twigs and dried grass, Kieran soon had a fire burning. From the bags slung across the saddles he removed several plump doves and placed them over a spit. While they cooked, he fetched water from the river and knelt beside his brother, bathing his fevered body.

  From her position nearby Megan watched and listened. She had no idea who these men were. From his condition it was plain to see that the one called Colin had been badly beaten.

  Was that why she ached so? Had she been beaten, as well?

  She thought about crawling to the safety of the underbrush, but found that her body would not respond to the simplest commands. When she attempted to sit up, a moan escaped her lips. Instantly Kieran hurried to her side.

  “Are you in pain, lass?”

  She tried to focus on the man who towered over her, but it was too much effort. Though her gaze met his, he could see the vacant look in her eyes.

  “You’ll be fine. You’ve taken a blow to your head. You need rest.”

  She nodded, too weary to speak. But the questions that plagued her would not permit her to sleep. Instead she lay, wide-eyed, watching as the stranger moved around, preparing food.

  When the fowl was roasted, Kieran cradled Colin’s head in his lap.

  “I cannot eat,” the man protested.

  “You must.”

  “Who is the lass?”

  While Kieran broke off pieces of fowl and fed his brother, he explained, “She and her companion wanted the same deer that I had spotted. Unfortunately, we were denied the pleasure by a band of English soldiers.”

  “English.” Colin pushed his brother’s hand away and shot him a questioning glance.

  “Aye. Lucky for me, the lass and her friend were no strangers to sword and knife.”

  At Colin’s look of surprise, Kieran gave a low chuckle. “I do not jest. The lass handled herself like one raised on the battlefield.”

  Megan’s hand clenched, and she tried to imagine herself holding a sword. Could the man be speaking the truth? She could not seem to remember.

  “What of the English?”

  “We bested some. Those fortunate enough to evade the lass’s sword sought refuge in the forest. But we are not rid of them yet. They are like dogs with a bone. They will continue to search until they find us.”

  “Sweet Mary. We must leave this place.” As Colin made a move to stand, his brother restrained him.

  “Nay. We have eluded them for the moment. You must regain your strength before we begin the journey home.”

  “And the girl’s companion?” Colin caught his brother’s hand in a surprisingly strong grip. “You did not—kill him?”

  Megan went very still, dreading the stranger’s reply.

  “Her companion was only slightly wounded. I dressed his wounds and covered him with a warm cloak. By now he is able to sit a horse and return to his home. But he feared for the lass’s safety. Her wounds are much more severe. Since she is of noble birth, I consented to return her to her people before we begin our journey home.”

  Colin gave a sigh, unaware that the object of their discussion was breathing a sigh of her own. “Praise God,” Colin whispered. “Ours is a dangerous journey, Kieran. ’Twould not be fair to involve this innocent lass.”

  “Aye. I’ll keep my promise to the lad.”

  Kieran. Megan turned her head, trying to focus on the stranger. At least now he had a name.

  Kieran tore off another piece of fowl and watched in satisfaction as his brother continued to eat. His appetite was a clear sign that his wounds were healing and his strength was returning.

  “No more, Kieran.” Colin pushed his hand away when he attempted to give him more food.

  “You must eat, Colin. We have miles to go.”

  “Aye. Tomorrow. But now I must sleep.”

  Kieran held the dipper to his brother’s lips and watched as he drank deeply. Wearily Colin lowered himself in the rags that served as his covering. Within minutes his breathing was shallow.

  From the saddle Kieran removed the cloaks he had taken from the dead in the meadow. He spread one over his brother, then wrapped another around the girl.

  Megan shivered inside the warm cloak and tried to concentrate on the things she had heard, but the effort was too great. She seemed unable to hold a single thought. With a sigh, her eyes closed and she fell into a troubled sleep.

  Satisfied that he had done all he could to make both of the wounded comfortable, Kieran sat down, resting his back against a fallen log. He ate quickly until his hunger abated.

  In her dreamlike state, Megan struggled along a dark, narrow tunnel. The heat inside the tunnel was stifling. Each movement forward was slow and painful. But she could not go back. Up ahead there was a pale, flickering light. She had to reach the light. There she would find relief from the heat and darkness.

  Her hands tore at the cloak that threatened to suffocate her. She felt the night cool her heated flesh. Her lids fluttered, then opened. A small flame danced in a bed of glowing coals. Overhead a million stars shone in a black velvet sky. The moon’s glow trailed a patch of gold across the dark waters of the river. She drew in several long, shuddering breaths, relieved that her nightmare had ended. Or had it? A snap of a twig had her stiffening as she peered through the darkness. Though she did not recognize her surroundings, it was neither the darkened outlines of trees nor the creatures that prowled at night that caused her uneasiness. It was the presence of the stranger.

  Megan watched as a tall, broad-shouldered man walked to the river’s edge and removed his ragged shirt. A gasp escaped her lips. Even from this distance the moonlight clearly illuminated a patchwork of scars that crisscrossed his back.

  When all his garments were removed Kieran dove into the river and disappeared beneath the waves, surfacing some distance away. The cool water was like a soothing balm to his wounds. As he swam effortlessly he felt the tension of the day slowly dissolve. With powerful strokes he swam across the river and back. When he reached the shallows he rose up from the water and shook his head, then waded the short distance to shore.

  Megan could not tear her gaze from him. His body was splendid, with massive shoulders and a hair-rou
ghened chest that tapered to a narrow waist and trim, flat stomach. He dressed quickly, tucking a dirk into his waistband, then bent to retrieve a sword that lay in the grass.

  When he reached Megan’s side he surprised her by bending close. Moonlight glinted on the drops of water that clung to his dark hair. His eyes were narrowed, questioning, as he studied her.

  “So. You are awake. Is the pain tolerable?”

  “Aye. Barely.”

  His eyes softened with a hint of a smile as he touched a finger to the swollen mass at the base of her skull. “You sustained quite a blow.”

  She pulled away from him, attempting to evade his touch. “From you?”

  Her question startled him. “You do not remember?”

  “Nay.” She found his touch to be gentler than she had expected. “Why have you brought me here?”

  “I could not leave you on the bloody battlefield. You were too badly wounded. And I could not stay to tend you. My brother needed me. I could not tarry.”

  She glanced at the young man asleep beneath the tree. “Your brother?”

  “Aye. He has been badly wounded. I left him to search for food. That was how I encountered you and your companion in the forest.”

  “My companion.” The pain in her head was beginning to throb. She smelled the fowl still roasting on the fire and felt her stomach lurch. She was going to be sick, and she was too weak to turn away.

  Kieran saw her discomfort and realized what was happening. Pouring water onto a rag, he pressed it to her fevered brow. When the sickness had passed, he cradled her head in his arms and held a cup of water to her lips.

  “You need to eat. Else you will become so weakened, you will not have the strength to recover from your wounds.”

  She knew the wisdom of his words, but the thought of food sickened her. “Please. No food. Not yet.”

  “Water then.”

  She nodded and drank, then slumped weakly against him. The warmth of him gave her comfort. Though she did not know this man, she instinctively trusted him. The fragrance of the forest surrounded him. He smelled of cool green grass and river water. Soothing perfumes that reminded her of something…something forgotten. With her eyes closed she touched a hand to his beard and gave a soft sigh of contentment.

  Kieran was startled by the feelings her touch aroused. Throughout the long nights in prison he had dreamed of a tender woman. Even now, holding her, he was afraid he only imagined the soft sigh, the gentleness of her touch.

  “Rest now, my lady. I will keep watch and see you safely through the night.”

  A smile touched her lips. She sighed and brought his hand to her lips.

  He experienced a rush of heat that left him shaken. The simple brush of her lips on his flesh had him trembling with need. He glanced at the woman. Her eyes were closed. By the time he had her wrapped in the cloak, she had once more slipped into unconsciousness. She had no idea that her simple touch had unlocked a flood of feelings in the man who had saved her life.

  Thin sunlight filtered through the branches, warming the figures who lay beneath the trees.

  Kieran awoke instantly and lay very still, listening to the sounds of the forest. Birds chirped, insects hummed, water lapped rhythmically against the shore. The setting was so tranquil, he longed to stay here and put off what lay ahead. But he could not delude himself into thinking that there was safety in this peaceful setting.

  Those who had trailed him here would not give up their search so easily. As soon as Colin was strong enough to travel, they must begin the perilous journey home. And as for the lass, he thought, turning to where she slept, she must be returned to her people this day. She would recover more quickly among her own.

  Yesterday, in the confusion of battle and the rush to return to Colin’s side, there had been no time to appreciate her beauty. Now he allowed himself the luxury of studying her. Up close, her complexion was flawless. In the early morning sunlight her hair gleamed like fine ale. In her fevered state she had thrown off the cloak, and his gaze moved slowly over her slender body, noting the tiny waist, the flare of hips. Her shimmering gold gown was open at the throat, revealing the dark cleft between her breasts.

  In repose her relaxed features were perfectly etched. Her upturned nose and haughty chin gave her a regal appearance. But it was her lips that held his attention. Such inviting lips. They were full, pursed in a little pout and appeared to be as soft as the dew that beaded the heather.

  He watched as her lids fluttered, then slowly opened. The first glimpse of her amber eyes startled him. Yesterday they had appeared more emerald. This morning they gleamed like a cat’s eyes.

  Kieran could read her confusion as she struggled to recall where she was. “Are you in pain, my lady?”

  “Pain? Aye. Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name is Kieran O’Mara.”

  He spoke the name with a sense of pride that was not lost on her. Though his name meant nothing to Megan, he was obviously a man of some importance. “Why am I here?”

  Kieran thought they had settled all this last night. “You were wounded in a battle with some English soldiers, my lady. And your companion asked me to see to your safe return.”

  “My companion?”

  “Aye. The lad who fought by your side. He said he was your man-at-arms. He was wounded but not seriously. He insisted that I take you with me and deliver you to your people.” He read the bewilderment in her eyes and forced his tone to remain gentle. “If you will tell me who you are, my lady, and where you come from, I will see that you are returned to your home. Your companion told me only that your name was Megan.”

  “Megan. That is my name?”

  What game was the lady playing? he wondered as he watched a range of emotions contort her features. Mystification, anger, then sudden, wrenching fear.

  This was not a game, he realized with a sudden clenching of his jaw. Something was wrong. Very wrong. “What are you saying, my lady?”

  “God in heaven.” He saw the flash of fire in her eyes before the realization sank in and they clouded with tears. “I do not know my name. Nor where my home lies.” She buried her face in her hands. Her words were muffled as she began to weep. “Sweet Mother of God. I can remember nothing.” She fought back a sob. “Nothing.”

  Chapter Three

  K ieran was rocked back on his heels by her words. For long moments, while the lass wept, he studied her in silence. He had heard of warriors who sustained blows in battle that left them momentarily confused. He had even heard horror stories about some who never seemed to recover.

  Her tears left him feeling helpless. Could this be the same girl who had fearlessly faced her attackers with a laugh of disdain? If he had been surprised by her skill with a weapon, he was equally surprised that she could dissolve into tears at this unexpected upheaval in her life.

  When her tears were stilled, he touched a hand to her shoulder. “It will come back to you, my lady.”

  “But I cannot remember even the simplest facts. My name. My family. This companion you speak of. Even my home.”

  “It will return in time.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” She looked at him, the tears still damp upon her lashes.

  “Aye. I do. For now, you must rest and regain your strength. And as your body heals, so shall your mind.”

  Megan swallowed the fear that tugged at her heart. It would do no good to give in to the weakness. But this was the worst terror she had ever encountered. Did she have family, friends? How had she spent her days? Was anyone mourning her disappearance? Would she ever discover her past? Or was it forever erased from her memory?

  “My name is Megan,” she told herself firmly. This was what she would cling to. She had a name, even if she did not know anything about herself.

  “There is cold meat and little else, my lady. But you must eat something.”

  “Aye. Thank you.” Megan accepted a joint of fowl from him and forced herself to chew. But the fear that clawed at her
insides left the food tasting like ashes.

  Kieran handed her a dipper of water and watched as she emptied it. His mind was working feverishly. He and Colin were not safe here. They must leave soon, else they would be found and returned to the hell of Fleet Prison. It would not be fair to involve this innocent lass in their troubles. The journey they were about to undertake was a long and perilous one. And yet how could he leave her here, alone and defenseless, not knowing who she was or where her home lay? She might wander these forests, close to her people, and never find her way back.

  Megan saw the hard set of his jaw and knew that he was troubled. But her fears were too great to let her care about this stranger’s problems. She glanced at the turrets of a castle that rose out of the mists across the river. If only she could see something familiar. Something that would trigger her memory.

  It would have broken her heart to know that she was staring at the turrets of MacAlpin Castle, the home of her ancestors for over a hundred years. Within its walls Jamie MacDonald was even now preparing an army of men who would sweep from the borders of England to the forests of the Scottish Highlands. He would not rest until Megan MacAlpin was returned to the safety of her home.

  “We can tarry no longer.” Kieran’s voice was muted, to avoid waking the sleeping woman.

  “One more night will make little difference to our journey, Kieran. But it may be what the lass needs to regain her memory of herself.”

  “And if she still remembers nothing?”

  Colin rejected the unpleasant thought. “You said yourself she was badly wounded. Give her time.”

  Kieran’s voice grew rough. “It would be lovely to give her time. But we have none to give. Unless we leave here soon, we will be facing something far worse than the company of a lass with no memory.”

  Colin shivered and turned away. With his back to his brother he whispered, “You are correct, as always. We leave on the morrow. But I do not think the lass should accompany us.”