Page 9 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

Orrick looked about the sparsely furnished cave. She only had items she had created for herself from the surrounding area. Somehow she had managed to fashion a life for herself from nothing even though she resided upon MacLeod clan lands. “It was not my intent to upset you with such an invitation. Other things are far more important, such as letting me take a look at your wounds. I don’t sew as well as you, but I can seal your wounds with my dagger.”

She pulled her cloak more tightly around her. “There is no need. You should take the child back to her parents so they will worry no longer.”

Why was she so reluctant to let him see her wounds? “The child has no parents. Only a foster family who did not notice her absence until hours after the attack on their village.”

At talk of her family, or lack thereof, the girl started crying again. Her soft sobs echoed in the silence of the cavern.

The woman in pelts moved towards the bedside. “Poor lamb.”

“Her name is Emlyn.”

The woman sat at the bedside and gently brushed the matted strands of the child’s hair from her cheeks. “Your parents named you ‘brave, noble warrior.’ Perhaps they knew you would one day be called upon to rise up against all odds.”

The woman shifted her gaze back to Orrick. “You must take her back with you to Dunvegan immediately. See that she gets the care she needs in order to survive this ordeal and live up to her name.”

Orrick kept his gaze steady. “You are very good at ordering me around.”

She averted her gaze from his. “My apologies. I am simply trying to do what is best for Emlyn.”

“What about you? You are injured as well. I won’t take her back unless the both of you come with me. Emlyn will need someone to attend her.”

“I am sure there are many women at the castle who can care for her better than I ever could.”

He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest, holding his ground. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“Your horse will make better time if you ride instead of walk the many miles back to the castle.” The woman stood. “Take the girl and forget about me.”

Before Orrick knew what she would do, she came directly at him, and going low as she had with the badger, whacked him on the back of his knees, forcing him to topple forward. As he tried to maintain his balance, she slipped past him and out of the cave.

Orrick turned to follow, but by the time he reached the cave’s entrance, all signs of her had vanished. The world around him was as still and as quiet as the large flakes of snow now falling from the sky. He stepped outside the cave and searched the ground, looking for some trace of the woman’s direction. Other than a small drop of blood near the entrance of the cave, he found no other signs of her presence.

He frowned into the ever-increasing snowfall. She obviously did not want to come back to Dunvegan with him, but she was still injured whether she wanted to admit it or not. And he did feel partially responsible for her injuries. If he had killed the badger immediately upon seeing it mauling the child, her injuries could have been avoided.

“God’s blood!”

She had wanted him to forget her. That would be impossible. For she had made a rather memorable impression on him. Even now, the image of her delicate face framed in a halo of wild, blond hair, came to him. There was something intriguing about the woman who had stood before him with an arrow aimed at his chest as bravely and as steadfast as any male.

With a harsh sigh, Orrick turned around and headed into the depths of the cave once more. She’d given him no choice but to take Emlyn back to the castle before the weather worsened, and to call off the search party. But that did not mean he could not return.

He would come back for the mysterious woman and learn more about her. She seemed familiar to him, and yet he could not figure out where they might have met. Perhaps it would come to him on the journey back to Dunvegan.

He did not know her name, he knew next to nothing about her, but he was certain all his thoughts would be of her until he returned to this cave.

Chapter Four

Peeking out through the camouflaged hide she’d created near the entrance of her cave, Isolde watched as he rode into the distance. Though she hadn’t seen Orrick or his brothers since the Highland games six years ago, she’d always been able to tell which of the three had been Orrick. There was something different about the way he held himself that stood out from his brothers. When he looked at her, his smile had been a little brighter, his eyes gentler. At least they had until his friends had turned him against her.

With a frown, Isolde reined in her thoughts. Only when she was certain Orrick could not see her did she emerge and head back into the cave. She warmed herself by the fire he had left burning at the cave’s entrance as she tried to determine what to do next.

It would be wise for her to abandon the cave and move to a second location she had started to dig out of the hillside at the base of Healabhal Mór. But as she stared at the flames, they wavered before her eyes. Her injury was worse than she’d let on. Carefully she pushed her blood-soaked cloak back to reveal the damage to her left arm. The badger’s sharp teeth had shredded what remained of her sleeve and had dug into the flesh beneath. A V-shaped tear of skin and muscle hung loose from the upper part of her arm, and blood continued to seep from inside. The injury would make holding her bow far more difficult, but she would worry about that at another time. Right now, she had to stop the bleeding.

Isolde reached for the sgian-dubh tucked inside her handmade boots and held the blade in the centre of the bluish-red flames. The only way to stop the bleeding and hope for any kind of repair to her arm would be to seal the wound herself, then pray she didn’t pass out from the pain before she was through.

Once that task was complete, then she would leave her cave behind. She could not risk the MacLeod finding her again, for his sake and for her own. Associating with her in any way was simply too dangerous when the English returned. And they would come back to the Highlands, of that Isolde was certain. There were still too many clan chiefs who had not pledged their allegiance to the king, including the MacLeods.

As she waited for the blade to heat, she shivered, once again feeling as though someone watched her. She left the fire and moved to the entrance of the cave but could find nothing out of the ordinary. Attributing her unease to her condition, she returned to the fire. When the blade glowed red, Isolde wrapped the grip with leather, then inhaling deeply set the hot knife against her flesh, forcing the torn skin back into place as it seared under the metal. Isolde cried out, the sound echoing through the empty cave. She forced herself to continue to hold the blade against her skin as the flames danced on the cave walls, writhing and swirling until she realised it wasn’t the flames moving but herself. She drew another deep breath, her back stiffening as she returned the blade to the flames. The other side of the wound needed cauterising as well.

This time when the blade glowed hot, her hand shook as she brought the weapon up to her partially sealed wound. The scent of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils and turned her stomach as she laid the metal against her wound. Agonising pain seared through her. She bit the insides of her cheeks until she tasted blood in her mouth. Only a few moments more.