Page 5 of Hunted By the Hard Highlander

Fragrant herbs blew in the breeze as Hendry stepped out into the area of the garden that he cultivated himself. He breathed it in, trying to steel himself for the inevitable.

None of the women were suitable for marriage, and he would let them all leave without making a proposal to any of them.

“And now I am goin’ to have to fight the Managers for me claim to me land,” Hendry muttered, reaching forward and rubbing a soft leaf between his calloused thumb and forefinger.

This was the only place he truly felt in control. While he was unsure of what the future may bring, he knew the cycles of the plants and what would grow where. He picked when these were harvested and when they were applied.

“I should collect more seeds for safekeepin’,” he muttered to himself, remembering just how terrible watching his people suffer from illness had been. “And perhaps order a partial harvest tomorrow mornin’.”

His eyes sweeping over the organized yet wild rows of plants, he spotted a dark figure moving through the herbs. It looked nothing like the animals that sometimes nibbled at the berries he kept along the edge of the perimeter to deter them from his most valuable crop.

What in God’s name is that… Someone in a hooded cloak?

The thought barely had time to crystallize in Hendry’s mind before he was moving. Soundlessly and with a predator’s swiftness, he navigated through the fragrant plants. In the blink of an eye, he had his blade drawn, the sharp tip of it pressed against the back of the intruder’s neck.

“One wrong move,” he warned, his voice low and threatening as he grabbed hold of the trespasser’s forearm to turn them around, “and ye will regret steppin’ onto me land. Reveal yerself.”

The figure turned slowly, the hood sliding back slightly as they moved. With a singular free hand that shook almost violently, the fabric was pulled away. It was a woman. Fiery red curls spilled over delicate shoulders like a waterfall. Striking, eyes met his in an instant. Despite her fear, there was something stubborn about the way she held herself.

“Who in God’s name are ye?” he asked, stepping in closer as he tried to place her features.

Women did not simply climb his mountain without reason. It was a treacherous journey to brave for leisure. But she had not attended the ceilidh, and he did not recognize her from any gatherings he had been invited to.

When the girl did not answer, his voice dropped down to a dangerous growl as he demanded, “What business have ye on Anderson land?”

* * *

Nay, nay, nay. I have to get back to him.

Aurora kept her mouth shut, struggling against the man’s hold. He was terrifying, tall and broad, every single muscle looking ready to attack. The scars that weathered his skin told her that she would not be able to break away from his hold, no matter how hard she fought.

Pulling her closer, he fixed her with piercing gray eyes that were framed with a curtain of black hair. Then, pointedly, he let his gaze drop down to the ipecac clutched in her fingers. When their eyes met again, everything about him seemed to have hardened further.

“Tell me yer name,” he demanded, that deep voice breaking the silence once more. It was so loud that Aurora jumped, nearly dropping the satchel hanging off of her shoulder. His grip tightened, forcing her to stay upright, his strength so immense that she feared he would break her wrist. “Why have ye entered me land?”

Daenae tell him. He might be one of them.

“Me name doesnae matter,” she said finally, her hold on the plant tightening. “I am here because there is someone gravely ill who needs these herbs to save them.”

“What are the patient’s symptoms?” he asked, his fingers still tight around her wrist. The expression from earlier became clearer, his eyes sharpening with a healer’s attention.

Still, he did not let go of her. Her fingers twitched as she resisted the urge to fight her way out of his grasp.

“Stomach cramps and nausea,” she said, forcing herself to separate the emotions tied to her brother’s condition from the facts. “With a high fever that I cannae bring down. And dehydration because I cannae get him to keep anythin’ down.”

The man grunted, looking down at the herb in her hand. Finally, he released her, shifting his attention totally to the plant she was trying to pilfer. If she doubted that he knew medicine, he knew that she did now. The cure, if one truly existed, was already clutched in her hand.

“I heard rumors of a rare herb that cured the king of France.” She looked down at the thin leaves, the red berries on one sprig and the little white flowers on the other. “It would be me only chance of savin’... the patient. Nay one cultivates it but ye.”

“Ye are on yer way to yer cure,” he said after letting a long moment stretch between them. She suspected he did it simply to watch her squirm.

“On… me way?”

He said nothing as he turned, his gaze sweeping over the field as though he was expecting to see someone else moving through the rows. She swallowed around the terror in her throat.

I cannae predict what he will do…

“But I believe there is a second ingredient ye are missin’. And nae only are the measurements precise, ye must ken how to adjust the mixture if it isnae comin’ together correctly.” He was looking at her, his gaze impossibly intense, when she dared to look at his rugged face again. “Otherwise it will become useless.”