Page 78 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Chapter 2
Roderick swepthis gaze over the hills again. Watching for signs of an ambush was an ingrained habit that had saved his life more than once. He had delivered the message entrusted to him with no mishap. And now, praise God and all the angels in heaven, he was headed home to the Highlands.
Unfortunately, he was not traveling alone.
The Douglas chieftain, the 3rdEarl of Angus, must consider his reply to the Lord of the Isles dangerous, indeed, for he had insisted that half a dozen of his warriors accompany Roderick across the breadth of Scotland from his fortress, Tantallon Castle, to the western coast. If the secret missives between these two powerful men threatened the Crown, the Douglas chieftain had far more to fear if his fell into the wrong hands. The Lord of the Isles had the protection of mountains, sea, and thousands of warriors who felt no allegiance to the Scottish Crown.
Roderick spared a glance at the Douglas warriors. They may be allies for the time being, but that did not mean he had to like them. And he certainly knew better than to trust them.
These Lowlanders were too much like the English for Roderick’s taste, and he detested the English. Their weapons shone bright, but these warriors were careless, talking and joking amongst themselves though they were no longer on Douglas lands. He reminded himself that he’d be rid of them in a couple of days—if he lived that long.
Roderick pulled his horse up and raised his hand to signal the Douglas men. He scanned the hills to the south, looking for what had pricked his attention.
“What is it?” Harold, the bulky leader of the Douglas men, asked and eyed him with suspicion.
“Someone is hiding in the tall grass over there,” Roderick said, nodding toward a dark patch amidst the green.
“’Tis nothing but a rock.”
Harold apparently suffered from poor eyesight.
“I’ll have a look all the same,” Roderick said. “You lads can ride ahead.”
Roderick cantered across the hillside without waiting for a response. As he rode closer, the figure in the grass remained unnaturally still. This was someone in trouble, not a lookout for bandits or other troublemakers.
He dropped off the side of his horse beside the prone body.Damn, ’twas just a lad, and he looked dead.
Roderick knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. Relief swept through him when he felt the faint beat. The lad’s skin was cold to the touch, but he was still alive. Moving quickly, he began rubbing the lad’s back and legs to get his blood moving.
Whisky, the best cure for most ailments, would warm the lad from the inside. Roderick flipped him over and pulled out his flask. Beneath the dirt and scratches, the lad’s face was young and beardless.
“Don’t die on me,” Roderick ordered as he slid his arm beneath the lad’s narrow shoulders and raised him up to drink.
The frail body shivered in his arms. The poor lad was near frozen to death.
“Come, laddie, take a sip,” Roderick said as he tipped the flask.
The boy coughed as the whisky slid down his throat, but he swallowed a healthy gulp. A good sign. Roderick drew in a deep breath and relaxed a wee bit. But then the lad’s cap fell off.
Piles of flaming red curls spilled over Roderick’s arm and onto the ground like a tumultuous river of fire. Roderick blinked, unable to take in this revelation all at once.
Good God, the lad is a lass.
Beneath the dirt, he could make out a sprinkling of freckles across her pale cheeks and an upturned nose. Her features were delicate, save for her full-lipped mouth, which, like her wild locks, bespoke of a wanton sensuality—or at least would make a man hope for it.Ach, how could he have mistaken this bonny lass for a lad?
She opened her eyes, and his world tilted again.
The lass lay utterly still in his arms, staring up at him with eyes as green as the glen after the spring rains and fringed by red-gold lashes that reminded him of sun streaks across a shimmering dawn sky.
He ought to comfort her, to tell her not to be frightened, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. When he tore his gaze away from her eyes to try to regain his bearings, it dropped unerringly to her red, parted lips, which did not help at all.
“You’ll be all right now,” he said, once he finally found his voice.
She nodded, showing no sign she feared him. If she trusted that easily, no wonder the lass had gotten herself into such trouble.
“Your people must live nearby,” he said. “I’ll take ye to them.”
“I have no people here,” she whispered.
