Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (21 page)

31

The great black horse reared in reaction to the threat and Isobel grabbed his mane and held on. Behind her, Leith slid off into the soft snow. She screamed as she saw his blood marking the snow beneath him, as her mind registered the arrow sticking in his arm near his shoulder.

She was off the horse in a flash. “Leith! Leith!” she cried, but he was unconscious. She knelt beside him, taking the dirk from the sheath at his side and cutting off part of her tunic. She attempted to staunch the flow of blood while she uttered his name.

She glanced once in the direction in which the arrows had come, where she had seen something blinking in the sun right before Leith was hit, but she could see nothing. The horse had obviously seen it too, for it had turned right before the arrows flew into the air.

She could not lose him now. Leith could not die the same way Logan had! With an arrow fired by a coward’s hand!

The horse had good blood and it waited patiently by its master’s side.

Isobel prayed, tears running down her cheeks, and was answered by a thundering sound. She thought at first it was the wind in the trees. But then she heard shouts and saw a party of Macleans, Errol at the helm, galloping from behind the thicket.

Errol was soon off his horse, bending down beside Leith.

“I ne’er thought I would be so happy to see ye,” Isobel said. “I tried to stop the blood…we must get him back to the keep.”

Errol nodded and Leith was carefully lifted onto his horse.

They started for the keep posthaste and when they rounded the bend, they passed three men in the snow, three dead men, their bodies riddled with arrows, their eyes wide and unmoving.

Isobel gasped.

“Ye recognize any of those men?” Errol said.

“Aye. The fat one in the middle is the brother of the MacKinnon that tried to kill me with fire.”

“They are
MacKinnons
?” Errol said.

“Yea.”

Errol’s face was a mask of fury. He said nothing else as they concentrated on the task at hand, getting Leith back to the keep.

When they were nearly to the keep, a white hind was startled from the brush and crossed their path, disappearing into the snow. Isobel felt a faint glimmer of hope, for a white hind had magic in its heart, and more than most. She believed it was a good sign.

The animal had held its antlers high and its thick white coat glistened in the winter light.

The horses were quickly stabled and Leith settled on the bed in his room.

Errol barked orders and linens and instruments were brought. Isobel tried to go to Leith, but Errol blocked her way. “I think, MacKinnon witch, ye ha’e done enough damage for one day.”

Isobel squared her shoulders. “Errol, ‘twas yer beloved Lady Katherine and her lover Rolph who tried to kill Leith. They killed Logan. They tried to kill me. They thought they would rule the Maclean clan.”

“I ken. I ne’er liked Lady Katherine. I had my suspicions about her from the beginning. I tried to get her to trust me. I followed her. I watched her. I didna like her or trust her. But Leith suffers now because of a
MacKinnon.
”

“Ye were vera good at disguising yer true feelings,” Isobel said. “For e’eryone thought ye loved her.”

“She was a vile, vain woman. I despised her. I had to earn her trust so I could discover what happened in the glen the day Logan died. I thought she was somehow involved. I had my laird’s best interests in mind. I always do.”

“Then
let me tend to him
. He saved my life. Twice. Now move aside, Errol, and let me save his.”

Dugald poked his big, orange head from the door of Leith’s room. “Errol, ye know auld Eanruig was filled with arrows on our last campaign and his son is no’ yet experienced enough to treat this wound. We waste time.”

Errol looked at Isobel’s wet clothing, her near frozen hair, her shivering form. “Ye need treatment yerself.”

“Then bring me some warm clothes. Dugald, I will need a smooth tong, sticks of elder pith from the herb storage room, dowels, some linens, barley, honey, and turpentine, and hot irons. And dunna forget to bring whisky. A lot of whisky.”

Dugald nodded and set the servants in motion. Errol’s silver-blue eyes were furious, his jaw tense.

“I love him, Errol,” she said softly. Something in Errol’s eyes shifted and he stepped aside. “Yer a healer, so heal him.”

Isobel flew to Leith’s side. He was pale, and still unconscious. His forehead was feverish.

Maida and other servants soon appeared with all the things Isobel had asked for. Isobel busied herself preparing the things as Errol, Ranulph, and Dugald stood around the bed, frowning. Someone brought whisky and Isobel took a long draught of it. Errol arched a red brow.

Leith had begun to move and moan in pain. “Errol,” Isobel said, “ye and Ranulph and Dugald need to hold him down while I try to get the arrow out.”

Isobel took a breath to steady her nerves. She soaked a piece of cloth in water and tied it to the elder pith. “Hold him now. I need to try to push it through and out the other side. It will be extremely painful for him.”

Isobel worked at the arrow and Leith writhed in pain as they held him down. “It is as I feared,” Isobel said. “The bone is preventing the arrow from being pushed through.” Leith slipped in and out of consciousness. “For God’s sake give me some whisky,” he growled.             

Isobel complied. “Leith, this is going to hurt. I have to use the tongs to make the hole made by the arrow shaft wider so I can pull it out. Do ye understand?”

“Oh aye, I understand. It will hurt like hell.” He grunted. “Get it over with. And give me more whisky.”

She gave him the whisky and he drank it. “Bite down on this,” she said, giving him a stick of elder pith. She took a deep breath as she worked at the wound. Leith bit down hard on the stick and then passed out from the pain. She took the tongs and inserted them into the socket of the arrowhead, screwing the tongs apart until they gripped its walls. Carefully, she pulled the arrowhead from the wound and breathed a small sigh of relief.

The heads of arrows were attached with warm beeswax and once they were shot into something, and the shaft was pulled, the head could come off inside the body.

“Quickly now, a red hot iron,” she said. Someone handed her the iron and she inserted it into the wound, cauterizing it. She dressed the wound with a poultice of barley and honey mixed in turpentine. Lastly, she prayed a prayer of healing.

She refused to leave his side, watching his deep and even breathing, until Maida bustled her away for a hot bath. Maida fussed over her, making sure she had dry clothing and extra blankets. Maida stayed in the room the night through, keeping the fire roaring, and dozing in the chair by the hearth. She even climbed into bed to use her body heat to keep Isobel warm when she shivered violently. Maida told her stories about Leith as a boy. When Isobel closed her eyes in deep slumber, she whispered, “Ye’ve done all ye can for him. He is strong. Yer strong, too.”

32

Several weeks had passed since Lady Katherine had led her to the caves and Leith had been wounded.

At first, Leith could not use his arm at all. He was surly and frustrated but Isobel managed to make him laugh on occasion. Gradually, as spring approached, and Isobel achieved a tenuous peace with the Maclean clan members, he could use his arm for light tasks. His arm would probably not reach complete healing for another month.

Isobel rejoiced in the fact that the harsh winter was fading from the land. She took long walks on the moor, knowing that Ranulph and Dugald were never far. Rolph and Lady Katherine were still unaccounted for, and though Leith doubted they’d ever show their faces here again, Leith still insisted upon providing protection for her.

Rory had returned to his own clan, and perhaps with his leadership, the MacKinnons would begin to heal and rebuild. Tomas’ mum was brought to the Maclean keep, a shy, plump woman who was overwhelmed with gratitude that Leith had saved her son’s life and offered them a home. She wept tears of joy daily and was grateful for every meal and every kindness.

She was fiercely proud of her small son for saving Isobel’s life.

Isobel was not sure what her future held, but for the first time in her life, she was not afraid of it. She knew she would be here, in the Maclean keep, with Leith. She would pull flowers and herbs from the damp, green earth; she would walk in the heather; she would swim in silver-blue lochs; she would greet the last of the light as it spread across the summer sky. There is nothing like a Scottish sky. All these things were gifts.

Most of all, Isobel was happy not to be leaving this place, for in the past few weeks, she had come to think of it has her home. Isobel was kind, and good, and people no longer called her witch. She was a healer, and Leith had made it known to all how he felt about her.

Her dreams were sometimes heavy, dark heartbeats, but she no longer feared them.

She still feared fire, and probably always would. But the horrible echoes of the night she was tied to the stake began to fade.

The press of the March winds were upon the moors when Leith returned fully to his role as chieftain. The rivers near the sea, which had been quiet with ice, gurgled again. Buds appeared on the trees. Isobel cleansed the air in Leith’s room and her own with lavender and rosemary.

Leith still did not have complete mobility in his right arm but was much healed. As March turned into April, he took to walking with Isobel on the moors and she taught him about various herbs and flowers. They fell into an easy companionship. She had not been with him physically since the night they’d made love, as he needed the time to heal, and she yearned for his touch.

It was after one such walk on the moors, when she had changed for bed and stood before the hearth in Logan’s room that he came to her. He carried a small book with him. He latched the door shut and poured them both whisky and they drank it before the fire. It was sharp and delicious.

He read her Gaelic poetry from the book while they sat by the fire. Isobel watched the flames in the hearth dance and took his rich-timbered voice into her soul. “’Tis beautiful, Leith.”

She stood and stoked the fire. Wordlessly, he put the book down and joined her. He turned to her and removed her tunic slowly, something different flashing in his topaz eyes now.

Her heart thudded at the warm touch of his fingers. “Yer shoulder….”

“I need to be inside ye, Isobel. It’s all I ha’e been thinking about.” His voice was a low growl as she stood before him naked and he removed his boots and then his saffron shirt and his trews.

She moved toward the wide bed with its silken covers.

“Nay,” he said. “I canna wait.”

He pushed her against the far wall and kissed her. The shadow of beard on his square jaw slanted across her skin as he thoroughly possessed her mouth. He nudged her legs apart with his muscled thigh and his fingers delved into her warmth. He stroked her and plunged them in and out until she was writhing, her breathing ragged.

He withdrew his hand and she felt barren.

“Taste yerself, yer desire.” She sucked his finger and her hand found his cock, stroking it, feeling it grow and pulse.

He groaned and swiftly repositioned her, holding her buttocks with his good arm and spreading her legs wide with his other. She gripped his shoulders. “Watch as we join together.” She stared down at their bodies as he drove into her hard and cried out in pleasure.

Her hands fisted in his dark hair as he held nothing back, sating the pent up passion of the past weeks. She could not hold back her cries. “Deeper,” she breathed. He complied, driving into her, his mouth capturing her breast.

Swells of pleasure washed over Isobel and she began to tighten on his cock.

He whimpered with hunger, and the hard, slow, pounding rhythm seemed not enough. He was less patient, less gentle this time, and the pleasure was more intense.

He pressed her thigh outward, imprisoning it with his knee, so she was open even wider to him. He pulled out, fingering her quickly with quick thrusts, followed by a deep thrust with his cock. Isobel felt the hot pulse beating between her legs, felt herself stretched to the limit by his size, felt him hitting the far wall of her womb with his cock, so deep inside her, her silken wetness taking him all. She clutched at his hair and felt the sweat on his neck.

“Leith,” she breathed, quivering deep inside.

“Deeper,” he said, and thrust even harder. She thrust back at him with pleasure until the heat uncurled from her center and spread in waves over her entire body.

The sounds and movements she made as she met his passion caused his face to crease with ecstasy. His throat was bared, his veins pulsing, as pleasure shot up his spine and he spilled his hot seed within her, bucking hard two more times.

As their breathing and heart beats began to slow, he withdrew, kissing her neck and leading her to the bed.

He wrapped her in his arms, his face close to hers. “Do ye need any more proof that my shoulder is mended?”

“Oh aye, Highlander. I need more proof. A lot more proof. I am no’ convinced.”