Page 11 of Transporting a Ruthless Highlander
Struan was returning to consciousness gradually as if he was swimming up the staircase as he had done when he was escaping the ship. The vision in front of him was blurred and out of focus, but after a moment he blinked and shook himself back to consciousness, and it resolved itself into a woman’s face. And what a beautiful face it was!
The eyes that were looking down at him were a bright apple-green, and the firelight lit up hair that was as red as its flame. Her lips parted as she looked at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to kiss him. That was wishful thinking, of course, although he would have been happy to receive a kiss from her full, soft lips. She was quite the loveliest woman he had ever seen.
“Struan,” she murmured, as she took hold of his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Are ye all right?” She looked anxious.
Suddenly his memory of her came rushing back, but he was confused. There was a ship, people yelling, water closing over his head. “Gavina… Your name is Gavina?”
“Yes, Gavina McCartney,” she answered. Then, just to test him, she said, “And yers? I remember something about Gil…”
“Struan Gilchrist.” He sat up, then looked at the beach in front of them and saw the devastation and the corpses, and his memories began to fit together. He had survived a shipwreck, and Gavina had saved him from certain death by freezing or drowning. “I remember,” he said quietly. “But I wish I could not. All those people…” He shook his head and screwed up his eyes as the memories of their desperate faces came back to him.
“Sit up,” Gavina ordered, pulling him upright to sit him against the tree again. “We must tend tae yer bumps an’ bruises, but first we must eat.”
At any other time, Struan would have objected to being manhandled, or in this case womanhandled, but somehow it was impossible to be angry with this remarkable woman. She seemed to be able to do anything! He watched her as she shelled the limpets and mussels and pulled apart the long strands of seaweed that she had collected from the beach.
“Can I help you?” he asked guiltily. “I feel as though I should be doing something.”
She shook her head. “I am fine, thank ye,” she replied. “Anyway, I doubt ye have ever done this before, have ye?” She held out a whelk, still in its shell.
He shook his head, having no idea how to get it out.
“No,” he admitted ruefully. He watched Gavina twist the seaweed around some twigs and spear the shellfish on the ends of them, and something occurred to him. “We have no plates,” he pointed out, and stood up. He wobbled a little, and for a moment, Gavina thought he was going to topple over, then he righted himself and walked slowly into the woods. He was away for only a few moments, and when he came back, he was holding a large piece of gray tree bark about a foot long and half a foot wide.
“I found a birch tree,” he said triumphantly. “They shed their bark, but we will have to share the plate, I’m afraid.”
“Well done.” Gavina smiled at him. “I am no’ too worried about sharin’ a plate wi’ ye. We will need tae try an’ find some fresh water, though. There must be a burn around here somewhere. But eat first.” She piled the food onto the plate, and they ate it with their fingers.
Struan, never having eaten kelp before, was surprised at its salty taste and meaty texture and the mild flavor and chewiness of the limpets and mussels. “These are delicious,” he observed, licking the juices from his fingers.
“Ye sound surprised.” Her tone was one of amusement. “The sea is a good place tae find food. I had no fishin’ rod wi’ me today or we could have caught a nice big herrin’ or somethin’.”
Struan felt his eyes closing, even though he tried valiantly to keep them open. Drowsiness was beginning to overtake him, and he felt himself beginning to slip sideways. In another moment, blackness had overwhelmed him again.
7
“Struan?” Gavina went over to him again, seriously worried now. She felt his forehead to see if there was any sign of a fever, but there was none, and she breathed a sigh of relief. When she felt his hands, they were still ice cold, and the night was approaching. She had to find some way of sheltering them. Suddenly she saw the sails on the sand and realized that perhaps there was hope after all. She had never given up in her life, and she was not going to start now.
“Wait there, Struan,” she said aloud. “And please do not die.”
Gavina searched until she found the smallest sail, which was still a huge piece of fabric, then dragged it up the beach until she reached an area close to the fire. Fortunately, there were two thick tree branches above them, and after several attempts, she managed to throw the wet sail over one of them, then the other. It was so big that it reached the ground on each side and dropped down at the pointed ends of the branches, making a three-sided shelter. She then weighted the sides down with the biggest stones she could find so that the structure was as secure as she could make it. They would be safe from being soaked again as long as they did not touch the wet canvas. Gavina hoped that another storm was not on the horizon; she doubted if the shelter was strong enough to withstand it.
The fire was not directly under the makeshift tent, but she had made sure that the open side of the shelter faced the forest and away from the sea, thereby shielding them from the wind.
For the moment, Struan was out of the worst of the cold, and there was nothing else she could do. She sat as close to the fire as she could and watched him.
What a beautiful man he was! She wanted desperately to run her hands down his cheeks, but days, and now weeks, of captivity had given him a beard that was slightly darker than his hair, akin to her own fiery shade of red. Could they have been brother and sister? The thought made her shudder. He was the last man on Earth she would want as a brother. A lover, perhaps, even a wife. No!
“Where on earth did ye get that idea, Gavina?” she asked herself, and yet, as she looked more closely at him, she could see why. Now, when he was in repose, she had the chance to study him properly, and she liked what she saw.
He was masculine in every sense of the word; he was the tallest man she had ever seen, with the broadest shoulders, covered with a layer of what she could see were perfectly sculpted muscles. If he had been able to help her with the sails and the stones, she fancied that he would have made short work of them.
Greatly daring, Gavina reached out and touched his face. His skin was surprisingly soft, although when she moved her hands up to his hair, she found that it was tough and wiry, as was his beard. She ran her thumb over his full lower lip, again surprised at how soft it was. His shirt had dried a little from the warmth of the fire, and she ran her hands over his chest, feeling the hardness and shape of his muscles underneath his clothes. She moved her palm over his rippling stomach and long, muscular thighs, then stopped. There was a part of him—the very source of his manhood—that she wanted to touch, but her fear overcame her curiosity. What if he woke up?
She realized that her body was reacting in the strangest way, with a pleasant flutter and a strange moisture between her legs. It felt good but uncomfortable, as if it were illicit and forbidden. She shook her head free of the thought but wished that she was brave enough to lay her head on his chest and go to sleep.
She thought of the first time she had seen him, the day that he had been dragged kicking and screaming to the bottom of the gangplank, and one of the sailors had subdued him by punching him so hard that he had been knocked unconscious. They had tied his hands and carried him on board then, and she had followed him as they carried him, moaning, to his cell. He had been protesting his innocence, but that was a tale she had heard countless times before.
Callum had stood beside her as she watched them lock the cell door.
