Page 9 of Desire of a Highlander

“Lass?” he said. “Are ye all right?”

There was no response. Ronan pressed his fingers to her neck to feel her pulse as Faye had taught him. It was strong and steady and her chest rose and fell with her breathing. He put a hand to her shoulder and shook her gently.

“Lass?”

She moaned a little and her eyelids flickered but she didn’t wake. He scanned her for injuries. There was nothing obvious but he noticed a slight discoloration on her temple, darkening to a bruise. She’d hit her head then.

He looked around, wondering if she might have companions nearby who would be looking for her. He saw nobody. A single trail of footprints led from the top of the hill, showing that this was the direction from which she’d come. He hesitated. Who was she? A refugee who’d been on her way to the waymeet and had fallen and hit her head? But if so, why was she coming from this direction?

It didn’t matter. Whether she had been looking for him or not, she would die if he left her out here in the storm. Kneeling in the mud, Ronan got one arm under her back and the other under her knees, and lifted her easily into his arms. Climbing to his feet, he adjusted his grip on her, then turned to face north, into the bite of the wind and rain.

She stirred as he lifted her, her eyes flickering briefly open. “Got to...” she mumbled. “Get back...where...”

“Easy lass,” he rumbled. “I’ve got ye. Ye are safe now.”

“Safe,” she muttered, her words slurring. “That’s nice.”

Her eyes fluttered closed and her head flopped against his shoulder.

He took the quickest way home. Normally, he would have chosen a roundabout route, doubling back and cutting through streams, erasing his footprints as he went. It made things trickier but he’d learned from bitter experience that it was a necessary precaution if he wanted to keep his people safe. But today he threw such caution to the wind. The lass needed warmth and help as quickly as he could provide it, and besides, he was all but invisible in this storm anyway.

He was descending a muddy, slippery bank through a tree-covered dell when a voice ahead suddenly cried.

“Who goes there?”

The voice came disembodied from the woods but Ronan saw not a soul. Good. The guards were using the training he’d given them.

“It’s me, Eamon,” he called.

A gangly youth emerged from the trees, soaked through to the skin but grinning all the same. “Chief!” he cried. “We were getting worried. When this storm broke—” He trailed off as he spotted the lass in Ronan’s arms. “Ah! Ye found one then?”

“Aye, and she’s in sore need of help. Run ahead and warn Faye to be ready will ye?”

Eamon nodded and dashed off down the slope towards the wooded dale that opened up ahead. Ronan followed more slowly, careful of the burden he was carrying. Skye and Bran padded to either side, quiet and watchful. It was difficult going but finally he reached the bottom of the slope and level ground. The stream that wound through the dale and provided the settlement with its water was rushing fast from the run-off above and the trees were soggy and dripping, tipping droplets down the back of his neck as he hurried along beneath their canopy.

He turned a bend and the settlement suddenly appeared ahead of him. Here the trees had been cleared and the clearing was filled with stone-built houses covered in thatch. They were small and squat to help blend into their surroundings and each had a small kitchen garden out the back. In this weather, the geese and chickens that would normally be pecking in the dirt between the houses had wisely retreated to their enclosures, but some of the settlement’s children were out playing in the mud and rain—much to their parents’ annoyance, no doubt.

They clustered around him as he approached, staring wide-eyed at the woman he was carrying in his arms. He ignored the raft of questions they fired at him and hurried towards a larger building set back among the trees.

A woman was standing by the door, Eamon at her side, and she came hurrying forward as Ronan approached. “Bring her inside quickly,” Faye said in her brusque manner. “I’ve got herbs brewing and a bed pan warming.”

Ronan carried the lass into the healer’s house, closely followed by Faye and Eamon who shut the door firmly, much to the disappointment of the curious children outside. No matter how many people Ronan brought in, a new arrival still caused a stir.

“Here,” Faye instructed, throwing back a blanket on the narrow bed and gesturing for Ronan to lay her down.

Eamon helped him as he laid her as gently as he could on the bed. She didn’t wake and her limbs flopped bonelessly.

“Will she live?” Ronan asked.

Faye shot him an annoyed glance. “Let me have a look at her will ye before ye ask such questions.”

The healer settled herself onto a three-legged stool by the bed and began inspecting her patient. She pulled back the lass’s eyelids, felt her pulse, gently probed her skull and checked her body for wounds.

“I canna see any damage beyond the lump on her temple,” Faye pronounced. “What she needs is warmth and rest. I’m sure she’ll wake in her own time. Eamon, pour that kettle into a basin and pass me that cloth will ye? Then the two of ye get out. I need to get her out of these wet clothes and warmed up and I’m sure the lass wouldnae appreciate the two of ye staying to watch.”

Eamon gulped and did as Faye asked. She could be a little intimidating when she wanted to be. Ronan had felt the same the first time he’d encountered her. That had been long years ago now and they’d been through so much since then that he could read her as well as anyone. Right now he could tell she was worried.

“What is it?” he asked her softly.