Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4)
Page 12Her horse shied from Rollo’s approach. Though the man’s hand slid down the leather straps, he continued to hold them tight.
It happened in an instant, in a patchwork of impressions. Her horse dancing nervously beneath her. The dramatic whoosh of Rollo’s advance.
His horse stopped short and sure, rearing up and landing with a hideous crash onto the man’s head and body. His fall was hard and complete, his tenacious grip tugging Felicity’s reins down with him, giving a sharp yank to her horse’s head before his fingers finally slipped from the leather.
She trembled in shock, staring at the man lying still at her feet. Blood soaked his brow and one arm canted at an unnatural angle from his shoulder.
He flinched to life and Felicity screamed.
She sensed Rollo’s movement at the corner of her eye. His horse hovered close to hers now, as if he could shield her from danger by his proximity alone. She felt rather than saw the sweep of his arm, and shuddered a sob to see the small dagger from Will’s sock now quivering in the man’s throat.
Fighting hysteria, she made a shrill giggling sound, half sob, half laugh. “Talk about going for the throat.”
“Aye,” he said simply.
“That’s all? Aye?” Do the yoga breathing. “Good Lord, but I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
She stared at him, sitting composed and grimly handsome on his horse. He wore the edge of his plaid swept up and over his shoulder—the wool was green and yellow, blue and black, and it flapped dully in the breeze.
“He just kills four men, neat as you please, and all I get’s an aye,” she muttered, feeling herself calming.
Her eyes roved his face unabashedly. He’d gotten a shave in Stirling, and stubble had already reappeared, a brown shadow along his strong jaw. His wavy hair had been tousled from his efforts, but he’d already raked it impatiently back in place.
“I mean, come on. No jaunty comebacks, like, ‘I’ll bet he found that one hard to swallow?’ Or, maybe something about him clearing that from his throat.” She shuddered a sigh, her breathing finally even. “Who were those guys anyway?”
“I know not. Nor will we wait to find out.” His eyes scanned her, making certain she was settled.
Just that flicker of contact had her body crackling, and her mind agitated at such a silly response. She thumped her heels on her horse’s belly, nudging the beast into a walk.
“You’ll want to turn your horse about.” She felt herself flush a hot shade of red. She and dignity didn’t seem to be fast friends these days.
“Aye,” he replied, his horse already ahead of hers. “But you’ll find the proof of the pudding is in the eating.”
And this time she could’ve sworn she heard a smile in his voice.
Will flinched and tossed on the bed of heather. It molded to him, easing his body, yet his eyelids still fluttered with renegade dreams.
Running. The sand was packed hard and cool at his feet and it kicked up, sounding a raspy chuff with each step.
His arms pumped, his legs stretched and flexed, pounding out a powerful gait along the sand. The wind tasted chilled and briny in his mouth. He smiled with the joy of it.
And then she was there, standing on the horizon.
She wore a dress of gauzy white, and it fluttered around her legs and clung tight at her breasts. If only he could get a little closer, he’d be able to see her body through the gossamer fabric. See the rise of her breasts, the slope of her thigh.
He ran to her, calling her name. Felicity.
Her yellow hair whipped behind her in the breeze, and he wondered why she didn’t turn to him. The water was at her knees now, yet still she stood, unmoving, waiting and watching for something on the horizon.
The joy in his heart flicked into panic. She needed to step back, step away from the water’s edge. Why would she not turn to him?
He ran harder, and yet he couldn’t close the gap between them. The water rose higher, to her waist now, and he saw her stumble in its pull.
His arms pumped harder. Legs that never failed him in his dreams felt stiff, his joints popping and tendons cracking. He couldn’t reach her. He tried to call to her, but could make no sound.
Felicity turned, finally. Finally, she caught and held his gaze. Ever so slowly and without a splash, she disappeared beneath the surface of the waves.
Chapter 7
He’d been sensing trouble for days, and by the time the sun crested the sky, Will knew they had a problem.
“There’s nothing for it,” he grumbled, pulling to a halt.
“What’s going on?” Felicity looked at him, perplexed. “Why are you stopping?”
“We’ve a problem with the horse.” He scanned the horizon and pointed to a stand of trees in the distance. “We’ll rest there.”
“But we just ate lunch.” The air was brisk, but the noon-day sun glared hazy and bright, and she shaded her eyes to look at him. “What’s wrong with the horse?”
Will tried to ignore the way the light picked white and golden highlights in her long, blonde hair. Pulling his eyes from her, he swung his leg over to dismount. “Colic, lass. The horse has colic, and he’ll be horsemeat if I don’t tend to him.”
“I just thought he was a cranky old guy.” She got down, and keeping hold of her reins, reached over to pat at Will’s horse. The animal swung his head to bite at her, and Felicity squealed.
“Easy,” he said quickly. He pulled Felicity close, putting himself between her and the animal. “You’ll do no good for the horse. Or for yourself. A horse in pain can be a dangerous thing.”
She edged further from Will’s horse as they walked, and he watched as she cut nervous sidelong glances their way. He hoped she’d be all right. There was no choice, though. It was imperative Will find healing herbs, and he’d need to leave Felicity behind to mind the animal.
Despite the saddle on its back, the horse dropped to a roll the moment they stopped to rest by the trees. “Och, lad,” Will snapped. “Up. Up, up.” With a quick swat to its rump, he urged the animal back to standing and handed the reins to Felicity. “You’ll need to keep him walking. Don’t let him roll.”
Her brow furrowed in concern. “But rolling looks like it feels so good.”
She was so guileless and sweet, and Will quickly shoved such thoughts from his mind. “He’ll twist his gut,” he said flatly. “It could kill him.”
“Oh. Jeez. That’s horrible. Wait,” she said suddenly, trying to hand the reins back. “I can’t hold him. What if he bites me? You said he could be dangerous.”
“Just keep him moving,” he said, taking the healthier of the two horses from her. “Walk him a quarter hour every hour. I’ll take off the saddle, and you can lead the poor lad by the reins.”
“What do you mean walk him?” She looked at the animal as if he were infected with cholera, not colic. “Where will you be?”
“Easy, woman.” He chuckled.
“He won’t if I leave now.” Will gave her what he hoped was an encouraging nod. He knew Felicity was nervous. And well she should be. But they needed their mounts, and the animal would die without immediate care. “He won’t get well on his own. I promise to return soon. I’ll need to gather mint,” he thought aloud, “valerian if I can find it. We passed a wee marsh late yesterday. I’m going to double back. See what I can find.”
She held the reins away from her body, arm outstretched rigidly. “But . . . You . . . What if . . .”
“Och, calm yourself, and the beast will calm too.” He smiled. “Relax, and he’ll not hurt you. It’s men I fear more than any animal.”
“Oh great.” The horse looked as if he might roll again, and she hopped into a hasty walk. “That makes me feel so much better,” she said over her shoulder.
“I’ll return as soon as I can.”
As soon as he could was well after dark. She’d spent the first hour terrified that the animal would rear up and trample her like she’d seen him do when Will was in the saddle. The rest of the time she’d worried that snaggle- toothed, sword-wielding men might pop out of the woods at any moment.
The nighttime sky was overcast, and had darkened into a uniform gray-black overhead. Being alone, in the eerily quiet night, with an enormous, sick horse had her filling the silence with an anxious monologue. About the horse, about his belly, about how Will would be back at any moment. But as she walked, her nervous chatter became low coos, and quick pats slowed into lingering strokes, until she was at ease, and the horse seemed so too.
She walked the animal in a close circle along the fringe of trees, worried that they’d trip in the shadows. The night was bitter cold, and though the walking kept the chill from her bones, it did nothing to alleviate the very urgent needs of her body.
“Felicity?”
“Thank God,” she said, hearing Will’s voice calling low. “We’re still here. Please hurry, I really need to . . . you know . . . go.”
He laughed quietly. “I’ll be but a moment.”
Will rustled in the dark, a tapestry of sounds floating to her on the crisp air. His low murmurs to her mare, the dull smack of a hand patting solid horseflesh. Stillness, and then the nascent crackle and pop of a fire.
He materialized from the shadows, tall and silent, and she gave a start.
“Here, lass,” he said, tucking something in her hair.