My Highland Bride (25 page)

“You promised we wouldn’t make camp for the night. You promised we’d travel straight through to the keep. Right?” Kenna pulled the plaid tighter about her shoulders, shivering against the cold dampness of the dreary day. What she wouldn’t give to turn back the clock to a warm sunny day in the garden. A delightful day where her only worry was teasing Colum with kisses. Kenna swallowed hard. What she wouldn’t give to change a lot of things.

Ronan frowned down at her like a weary parent displeased with an unruly child. “Ye’ll find I always keep m’word. We’re no’ making camp. But we canna risk the health of the horses or the men. If we push either of them too hard, we’ll ne’er make it back. All must have a bit of rest. Fresh water and feed must be tended to as well.” Ronan gently nudged her toward the softly bubbling sound of moving water as he again nodded toward the wood. “Fresh water and a bit of food would help ye as well. Go now. Tend to yer needs. A fine fire will be ready for ye when ye return.”

Kenna glanced back at Colum one last time, then finally nodded. Reluctantly, she admitted Ronan was right. If they all dropped from exhaustion, they’d never get Colum the help he needed.

Her muddy dress crackled and weighed down her steps as she plodded into the wood. With an irritated yank, Kenna snapped free a good-sized branch from a nearby sapling. Gritting her teeth and mentally counting off all her frustrations, Kenna whacked the stick against the mud-encrusted folds of what was once fine, costly material. She repeatedly beat against her skirts until most of the dried chunks of mud fell free.

Better.
Kenna lifted her skirts and shook them from side to side.
Much better.
She straightened and rubbed her lower back as she tossed the stick and dropped free the tattered layers of her cherished gown. What a ridiculous failure that plan had turned out to be. Kenna sighed as she shook again. The last of the dried mud and bits of debris pattered down into the leaves around her like steady drops of rain.

Kenna swiped a corner of Ronan’s borrowed plaid across her mud-streaked décolleté. No good. She’d have to wait until she reached the creek, because that layer of filth was going to take some water and scrubbing. She might’ve succeeded in knocking free ten pounds of caked mud from her clothes, but the stubborn Highland soil wasn’t giving any ground when it came to her skin.

She paused and cocked an ear back toward Ronan’s men as they milled about tending to the horses. The deep somber rumble of their conversations hummed around the wagon like thunder in low-hanging clouds. Kenna swallowed hard against the aching knot in her throat and blinked back the threat of tears. No. She had to be strong. For Colum. She had to be the one to get them both through this. Someday, he’d realize why she’d had to do this. Someday, he would understand.
Like hell
, her inner voice prodded. Kenna shook her head against the truth.

Kenna sniffed against the frosty cold, gathered up her skirts, and plodded on. She’d feel better once she washed up; icy water splashed against her face would clear her head. A dull ache deep in her right hip forced her to slow her pace. She must’ve pulled something during her wrestling match with the tree. Kenna paused, sucked in a deep breath, then winced and bent against a sharp stabbing burn in her ribs. She’d better find that stream soon. Apparently, the more she moved, the more aches and pains were going to make themselves known.

After shoving her way through tangled underbrush, Kenna lifted her head and listened. The water sounded a bit closer, but not as close as it should. Kenna turned, straining to see back up the hillside. She couldn’t see Ronan and his men anymore. She couldn’t even hear them. How could the stream have sounded so close and still be so far away? Kenna shivered deeper into the woolen cloth around her shoulders and pulled it closer about her face. An eerie sense of being watched tingled across her flesh.

Kenna squinted against the biting wind rattling through the wood and shook away the feeling. “Now is not the time to lose your last shred of sanity.” Her voice sounded lost and small beneath the stark canopy of silent trees. A rustling crunch sounded to her right. Kenna jerked toward the noise. Nothing was there but a scraggly bunch of gray-twigged saplings. “Get to the water, Kenna, before you completely lose your mind.” She huffed out an irritated breath and shrugged free the cloying feeling she wasn’t alone.

Kenna gathered her skirts in one hand and quickened her pace. She had to get to that stream. Fresh icy water would do the trick. Not only would it wash away the dirt, it would cleanse away this stupid paranoia.

Kenna finally reached the edge of the stream. Smooth black rocks, round and glistening, peeped up through a paper-thin layer of ice. They must be a great deal farther up the mountain than she had realized. That explained why it was still so cold.

Bubbling water, clearer than the finest crystal, danced and gurgled across a smooth bed of larger stones dotting the center of the creek. Kenna gingerly worked her way down the steep embankment until she reached an open bend that smoothed out into a wide shallow strand of gray-white pebbles. Perfect. She could break through the coating of ice and wash up without having to perch on the edge of the bank like a bird at a watering trough. The memory of the steep ravine she’d so recently survived sent a series of shivers through her. Kenna blinked hard and took a deep breath. She’d definitely had enough
perching
to last her a lifetime.

Squatting at the stream’s edge, Kenna knotted the tails of the plaid about her waist and plunged her hands in the icy water. Her fingers burned with the freezing cold as she splashed the water on her throat and scrubbed the mud from her décolleté.

A nagging sense of something not quite right plagued her worse than the sting of the biting wind. Kenna tried to shake the feeling as she closed her eyes and submerged her face in her water-filled hands. Blinking away the dripping water, Kenna opened her eyes to the iciest blue stare she had ever seen. Her heart rate ratcheted into high gear as the wolf in front of her lowered its shaggy gray head and growled.

Holy crap.
Kenna froze, her gaze locked with the wolf’s predatory stare. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Kenna swallowed hard. Didn’t wolves always hunt in packs? Without moving her head, she darted a quick glance along the embankment directly behind the animal. If this wolf had any friends, they must have decided to remain hidden. She’d decide later if that was good or bad.

How the devil was she going to get herself out of this one? Kenna chewed on her chapped lips as she eased back on her heels. If she could get to the dagger that Ronan had returned to her, she might not be able to fend this creature off for long, but she could at least slow it down.

Memories of nature documentaries streamed through her mind. Granny had always loved watching the shows, just to argue with their inaccuracies. There had been one about wolves. What had they said about them stalking their prey? Kenna chewed her lip until it bled while she inched her right hand down her leg and felt for the haft of her knife.

The animal’s gaze followed Kenna’s hand. Ears perked forward, the wolf rumbled a louder warning and slid another pace closer. The great animal’s shoulders bunched beneath its thick pelt. Its muscular hindquarters tensed to lunge.

Kenna held the predator’s stare with her own as she slid the dagger from its sheath. With movements so slow and painstaking it made her muscles ache, Kenna pulled the plaid wrapped about her waist loose and bunched it around her throat. She ducked her chin into the woolen folds and steadied her balanced crouch. She had to protect her throat and her belly when the wolf attacked and, hopefully, wound the beast with some well-placed slashes of her blade.

Ronan’s deep voice rang out from behind her and echoed through the trees. “Stay yer ground,
madadh allaidh.
This woman is under my protection.” His words were followed with a low, clicking growl—a growl that sounded exactly like that of another wolf.

Shit. Shit. Shit. There’s another wolf behind us, and it sounds like a big one.
Kenna stole a glance back at Ronan. He stood a bit higher up on the bank—alone. She rolled the knife in her hand. Where the hell was the other wolf? It had sounded so close. She and Ronan needed to get their backs snug against the protection of the embankment fast, before the animals attacked.

The great wild beast in front of her raised its head, bared its yellowed fangs, and snorted out a hissing response.

Kenna slowly rose from her crouched position, knife held aloft and ready in case the wolf decided to spring. She edged her way backward, all the while watching the wolf as it inched closer. “I heard another one behind you. Do you see it?” She stole another glance back. Ronan’s relaxed stance and sense of calm seemed completely out of place. Was the man crazy? They were about to be eaten by wolves. “And I don’t think this one cares if you know me. I think food is the main thing on its mind.”

Ronan stepped forward and pulled Kenna to stand behind him. “No. Ye happened too close to the pups she protects. She guards the orphaned young of others.”

Kenna eased around, searching the woods behind them. “What about the other one?”

“I am the only one here.”

I’m not losing my mind. I know I heard another wolf.
Kenna edged closer to Ronan as the wolf in front of them moved.

The wolf’s ears perked forward, and she shifted her stance as though standing at attention. A low grumble clicked deep in her throat as she jerked her pointed muzzle first at Kenna and then back toward Ronan.

“Aye.” Ronan nodded as he drew Kenna out from behind him and hugged her to his side. “She is my mate. She is not to be harmed.”

Kenna glanced at the wolf, then swung her gaze up at Ronan. Was he actually communicating with it…uh…her? “You two understand each other?” Kenna noted that the wolf flicked one ear as though answering.

A sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes pulled at the corners of Ronan’s mouth. He slowly lowered his chin in a single nod. “Aye. The great one and I know each other well. We share…” Ronan’s voice trailed off as though he’d lost his train of thought. He blinked hard and scrubbed the heel of one hand against his temple. “Ye might say we share a cursed history.”

“A cursed history?” Kenna returned her dagger to its sheath. Somehow, it seemed rude to keep brandishing the weapon when the wolf merely seemed to be amicably standing its ground. For the first time, Kenna noticed the gaunt leanness of the creature’s body and her very noticeable ribs. “She’s starving, and it’s not even summer yet. How can she possibly take care of pups as thin as she is?”

Ronan’s grasp tightened on Kenna’s elbow as he motioned with the other hand toward the hillside on the far side of the creek bed. His voice softened as he spoke to the wolf. “The lads have felled ye a fine stag,
Máthair.
The meat lies close to the place ye hide the wee ones. Go now. Sate yer hunger and the hunger of yer charges.”

“Máthair”
? Kenna knew that word. Gray used it whenever he handed Chloe to Trulie. Ronan had called the wolf “Mother”? The tingle of the unknown shivered across Kenna, pricking every hair on end. Was Ronan’s cursed history as odd and mystical as her own?

The great gray beast seemed frozen in time, her icy stare locked on Ronan. Kenna held her breath, waiting for the wolf to move. The regal beast finally blinked, twitched an ear, then leapt to the far embankment in one fluid motion. Standing on the ledge of the washed-out stream, the gray wolf turned, stared back at Ronan, then yipped out a single deep bark.

Ronan nodded. “Aye. Take them t’Draegonmare. The clan awaits yer return as eagerly as they wait for mine.”

The mother wolf pointed her nose toward the cloudy sky and released a chilling howl before melting into the landscape.

Kenna expelled the breath she’d unknowingly held as the wolf seemed to disappear like evaporating mist. “Who was that? What did you mean when you said you and that wolf share a cursed history?”

“ ’Tis no’ the time for those explanations.” Ronan shook his head and gently pulled Kenna forward. “Yer Colum has fought free of the drugged whisky. Make haste. Come speak wi’ the man whilst ye have the chance.”

While she had the chance? The unspoken meaning behind that ominous phrase shuddered through her. Kenna hitched up her damp skirts and churned through the slippery leaves to get back up the hill.
Damn the cold. Damn the mud. Double damn this stupid dress.
She could have run so much faster if she’d had on her favorite pair of jeans.

Kenna floundered in the tangle of skirts and stumbled forward. Ronan yanked her up from the cold wet ground and steadied her to her feet. “Take care now. If ye break yer wee neck, ye’ll do the man no good at all.”

Kenna fought against the urge to shout a rant of Granny’s favorite curse words and instead just hitched her skirts higher. The cold wind stung her thighs as she broke into a long-legged run. If she had to run bare-assed to get to Colum in time, she’d do it.

A roar of pain halted her just as she reached the back of the wagon. Colum’s fury seemed to shake the trees as he shouted, “What have ye done wi’ Kenna? I’ll kill every single one of ye bastards!” Four of Ronan’s men flanked Colum, trying to hold him down as he flailed between them.

“Colum! Stop!” Kenna clambered up the iron framework and pitched herself into the bed of the wagon. “I’m right here. Colum, you have to lie still. You’re going to hurt yourself even more.”

Colum’s head thrashed wildly from side to side, straining against those attempting to hold him still. His red-rimmed eyes bulged wide open and unblinking. “Free me!” he roared as he bucked against Ronan’s men.

Kenna scrambled up to Colum, worming her way between the men as she planted her hands atop Colum’s chest. She nearly sobbed aloud at his fiery, mottled coloring. How had he gotten this way so fast? His hot, dry skin nearly seared her palms as she pushed him back down into the pillows. Fever. A terrifying, unholy fever had taken hold of his body.