Highlander's Touch (16 page)

Ewan had come to Gealach as a lad. Just when Logan had lost his parents and learned his deepest, darkest secret—that he was, in fact, the fraternal twin brother to the late King James. That the throne was his as he was born first. A secret and a burden that Logan didn’t want any part of. Arriving half-starved and beaten, Ewan had needed a familiar face and a friend. Logan had needed a trustworthy confidant. Each was able to provide the other with what they needed. They’d been close ever since.

That made Ewan’s decision to return to Gealach all the more clear. He owed Logan at least the knowledge that he was alive and well. Once he talked with his laird, he’d return to the woods—to Shona. He’d beg her forgiveness. Maybe even beg her to leave the husband she so obviously didn’t love. Would ask her to take a chance on him…

Once more, Ewan turned his horse in the direction of the castle and took off at high speed. After several days cooped up in a barn, his mount was more than happy to keep the active pace. The road was clear of MacDonalds, and Ewan didn’t know whether to be pleased or wary of that fact.

When he at last broke through the trees and rode out onto the moors, Castle Gealach loomed in the distance. From where he sat, all appeared well. The summer storms had ceased and all the grass and flowers upon the rolling landscape bloomed. A sheen of sweat covered his skin and Bhaltair was also slick from the exertion of their ride.

If he’d not been battling the MacDonalds and the Butcher the last several weeks, he might have thought he’d landed in paradise. That all was well with the world.

Lord, he prayed it would be soon. All he had to do was tell Logan about Shona. Confess that he may have found the one person who could complete him. Then defeat the MacDonalds and the Butcher. Feats that seemed a lot easier thought up than accomplished.

An image of Shona’s sparkling eyes and sweet smile flashed in his mind. He missed her already. The thought struck him somewhere deep in his chest, bringing back that dull ache he’d felt upon leaving. He very nearly turned around again, but this close to the castle, one of the lookouts was bound to have seen him.

As Ewan got closer to the gate, arrows began to fly from the battlements landing around the ground where he rode.

“
Sguir
!” he ordered Bhaltair, who immediately ceased running and stood rigidly still.

Ewan held up his hand and waved to the men atop the ramparts.

“Cease your fire! ’Tis Ewan Fraser!” he called, not sure if at this distance they would even hear him.

With the hack job and mud that Shona had used to hide Bhaltair’s identity, the men on the wall wouldn’t recognize his horse. Bandaged up and missing a shirt, he didn’t look exactly look himself, either.

An unintelligible shout sounded on the wind. Ewan could not tell if it was friendly or not and judging from the arrows piercing the ground at his horse’s feet, he wasn’t going to risk moving forward. Instead, he waved the strip of fabric he’d tossed over his shoulder in the air, hoping they’d take note it was Grant colors.

There was another shout he couldn’t decipher and then the portcullis was drawn up and the gates opened. Four warriors rode out toward him at breakneck speed. Ewan kept his hands in the air. As the men closed in on him, they seemed to recognize him—in fact, Master of the Gate, Taig shouted out.

“Ewan! Ye bastard, we thought ye were dead.”

Ewan grinned and flung his plaid back over his shoulder. “Alive and well, man.”

The four stopped just in front of him. “Ye look like shite. Took a beating, did ye?” Taig’s eyes roved over Ewan’s injuries, a frown marring his features.

“Better than the bastards who inflicted the wounds,” Ewan boasted.

“Where have ye been?” Taig asked.

“Saved by an angel.” Ewan couldn’t help but smile. “Well, not exactly. A fiery-haired lass who nursed me back to health.”

The men raised their brows, but Taig nodded grimly. “Ye met
her
.”

“Who?” Ewan’s brow drew together and a vicious pang of jealousy stabbed him in the gut. If Taig had lain one finger on her, he would crush him right then and there.

“The Witch of the Wood.”

Ewan narrowed his eyes, he somewhat remembered her saying that people thought her a witch. “She’s no witch.”

The men’s eyes drew together, and they stared at him like he might have turned into a toad, or something worse.

“Best get ye inside, then,” Taig said. “The laird will want to speak with ye.”

“Aye, let us go.” Ewan urged his horse forward and the men fell in beside him.

“Damned glad ye’re back and that ye’re not dead,” Taig said. “We found Flynn, the poor lad nearly bled to death, but he’s fine now.”

“And the others?” Ewan asked.

“We lost one—Donald—but the others only took a few wounds.”

“Were the MacDonalds captured?”

“Four of them. We took care of at least a dozen. The rest escaped, and we’ve not seen them about, yet.”

“The Butcher?”

“Escaped.”

Ewan nodded. Logan had probably already questioned the captives, but Ewan wanted to speak with them, too. They had to find The Butcher before he attacked again, else another innocent life be taken.

Bloody hell, the bastard better not go near Shona before Ewan had a chance to return to her. He’d rip the man limb from rotten limb. And he’d forever regret not turning around when he should have.

They passed through the gates of Gealach and excited shouts surrounded Ewan as people ran forward to welcome him home.

He smiled and dismounted, waving aside their excitement. There was no time for idle chatter. Making his way through the throng of people he headed for the castle, but before he could reach it, Logan and his wife Emma burst through the doors.

Tears brimmed in Emma’s eyes and she smiled brightly up at him. “You’re back,” she said in her Sassenach accent.

“Aye.” Ewan and Emma had formed a bond of friendship over the past year, and he cared for her as much as he would his own sister—if he had one.

“Where the bloody hell have ye been?” Logan growled, though a smile etched the sides of his lips.

“Saved by an angel,” Ewan said, ignoring the grunts from the men beside him who believed Shona to be a witch. “And I want to return to the woods for her, but first, we have a lot to discuss.”

A scowl covered Logan’s face. “Aye. Best we get to my library.”

“Do you want me to have a bath sent to your chamber?” Emma asked.

“My thanks, my lady, for thinking of me, but there’s no time,” Ewan said.

Emma frowned, her eyes roving over his form. “Food then? And the healer?”

Logan answered before Ewan had a chance. “Aye. Send the food to my library and the healer can check his wounds when we’re done.”

“Again my gratitude, my lady,” Ewan said with a slight bow of his head.

Emma grinned and then sailed away, all elegance and beautiful perfection. The lass had arrived at Gealach timid and unsure of herself, but she’d blossomed under Logan’s care. Furthermore, she’d lessened the brooding warrior within Logan and helped him to become an even greater man.

“How bad are your wounds?” Logan asked as they ascended the circular stair toward the laird’s library.

“Not so bad. They weren’t that deep. Got a massive knot on my head from a horse, but other than that, I’ll live.”

“Have a care the stitches do not reopen.”

Ewan nodded, knowing Logan spoke directly about the last time he’d been stitched up and insisted he was well enough to walk about only to end up with a needle sewing him up again.

When they entered the library, Logan marched toward a chest, wrenched it open and threw a shirt at Ewan. “I love ye like a brother, man, but I dinna want to see ye half-naked while we discuss what happened.”

Ewan chuckled. “And here I thought to entice ye.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “A dram?”

“Och, aye. How about two?”

His laird poured two drams of whisky and handed him one. “Damned glad ye’re back.”

“Aye… Me, too.” Ewan knocked back the burning liquid and passed his cup back for more.

Logan raised a skeptical brow as he poured him a second. “Why do ye not sound convinced?”

Ewan gripped the cup tight in his fist and frowned. “I shouldn’t have left her.”

“Who?”

“Shona.”

Logan poured another dram and offered some to Ewan. They both drank, then sat down at the large map table.

“Who is Shona?”

Ewan tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. How to answer this question? “She is the one who saved me.”

Logan grinned. “Didna know that the mighty Ewan would need saving by a lass.”

“Och, but I did.” In more ways than he was willing to admit. Guilt riddled his gut. How could he have been so blind? So stupid?

“Tell me what happened,” Logan said.

Ewan relayed the events in the woods, and how Shona had brought him back to her cottage and treated his wounds. He told how he’d connected with her—leaving out that they’d made love. Instead, he played up the fact that she’d saved his life and now he owed her a favor in return.

“I have to go back for her,” Ewan said. “I shouldn’t have left her there. Not with the Butcher still running loose. And though there was evidence of a husband, he was not there the three days I was. She’s alone out there, unprotected.”

Logan shook his head. “If she has a husband, he’ll not be pleased with your interference.”

“Even if it’s because an outlaw is ravaging the land? We could claim she sought refuge at the castle.”

Logan drummed his fingers on the table. “That could work, but I fear she’ll not be welcomed here by the people.”

“Why not?”

“They think her a witch. The Witch of the Wood, they call her.”

Ewan sat forward, slamming his fist on the table. “She’s no witch!”

Logan grinned. “But she seems to have cast a mighty spell on ye.”

“’Tis not like that. I… care for her wellbeing. I owe her that much.”

“There is more. From what I’ve heard, she resides with a known outlaw—mayhap this is her husband.”

As if the Butcher wasn’t bad enough, now Ewan had to worry over a man she’d given herself to in holy matrimony? Though she did not appear abused by her husband, every day beyond she was connected to him put her life in danger. “She’s wedded to an outlaw?”

Logan nodded. “Our own healers go to her for herbal remedies and knowledge. Man’s name is Rory MacLeod. Cast out by his chief, but I dinna know why. Only got a warning from the MacLeod to look out for him. There’s a price on his head. Might even have been the lass our village healer sent for when ye were attacked by Isabella MacDonald. She’s well-respected among that group, but I fear what bringing her here will do.”

Ewan still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Shona was in imminent danger and he wasn’t there to protect her.

“I have to go back. Now.”

Logan stood, bracing his arms on the table as he stared at him. “Nay, Ewan. Ye canna. We need ye here. What has gotten into ye? The lass is not your concern.”

Ewan gritted his teeth. The hell she wasn’t! But what could he say to his laird? Whatever his answer was would merely sound crazy. He’d known the lass only a few days, but in that time he’d fallen hard. And that was as much as he was willing to admit.

“I’ll not forsake the woman who saved my life. She shot a MacDonald, dragged my bleeding arse onto a horse and sewed me up. Without her, I’d be dead. To leave her unprotected goes against everything I believe in.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair and then poured himself another generous portion of whisky. He didn’t speak until he’d had two more drams, and then he said, “All right. Ye can go and get her. I’ll speak with the clan. They will welcome her as an additional healer, or they will keep their opinions to themselves.”

Relief flooded Ewan. “Much gratitude, my laird.”

Logan nodded. “’Tis the least I can do after how many times ye’ve saved my arse. Now, shall we discuss the MacDonalds currently residing in the dungeon?”

“Aye. What have they to say?”

“The Butcher has orders from Chief MacDonald, we know that much. But we know not what the orders are, beyond plundering, pillaging and raping. Also from what the MacDonald lads have let slip, there are more coming. Another war is imminent.”

Ewan shook his head. “When will the bastard learn his lesson?”

“Apparently not until he’s met the end of my sword.”

“So it has come to that?” The clan had been ravaged by war for years now. The last several months they’d seen peace, had been able to heal and grow, but now they’d be forced to face the danger of battle again. They were a strong clan though, and strong clans survived.

“Aye. The Earl of Arran will be displeased that the clans are fighting once more. He’s become increasingly sensitive to warring clans with his regency constantly being challenged by the bairn Queen Mary’s mother. Marie de Guise is threatening to bring all of France down on Arran’s head.”