Highlander Claimed. Juliette Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ would request to speak with Laird Mackenzie,” I said. “I have news of Wilkie Mackenzie’s whereabouts.”

      The two guards looked at each other, skeptical, but they took my words seriously, and they didn’t waste time. “Follow me,” one of them instructed, and began walking toward the stone castle. Several young boys were playing in the gardens, and the guard called to them. They scampered over, eyeing me, my clothing.

      “Run to the yards to see if the laird can be found there. He is needed in the hall urgently. Hurry to it!” he commanded them. The boys ran off, gleeful with their assignment.

      I was led at a brisk pace along a wide path to the looming stone castle. I was struck again by the beauty and orderliness of the landscape. Workers paused in their tasks and stared at me as I walked alongside the guard. I envied these workers their teamwork and camaraderie, their clan and sense of belonging. I wished I, too, had a clan I could feel a part of and that I could be allowed to contribute to in a meaningful way. I had felt as if I’d belonged to the Ogilvie clan for a time, until the death of my father and my mother’s quickly following decline. Since then, I’d felt less like kin and more like a servant and outsider who didn’t quite fit either my role or my surroundings. My spirit had been well and truly stomped upon, my wings insistently clipped. In my heart, I felt my destiny lay elsewhere.

      The guard escorted me through the giant wooden doors of the castle, into a grand entrance hall. Tapestries adorned the stone walls, and fine, wooden furniture decorated the room’s interior. The details and upkeep of the castle were clearly more refined and prosperous than those found in the Ogilvie keep.

      I wondered, as I sat in a chair and waited for the guard to return, whether Wilkie had woken. I knew he would call out to me if he found me gone. I felt an undeniable longing to go back to him, to heal him with my own hands. But it was best this way. The fever was upon him, and his chances of survival were far greater under the care of his clan. And I badly wanted him to live.

      Commotion and loud footsteps approached from the interior of the castle. And into the room strode a small crowd of people, led by an enormous man who could only have been Wilkie’s brother, Laird Mackenzie. His resemblance to Wilkie was striking, his hair equally as black, but he was even larger, his look more imposing. Rather than a vivid blue, his eyes were a distinct shade of light gray. To his right stood another brother. Kade, if I remembered correctly. This brother was similar in size but slighter, almost lanky, his hair a dark shade of brown, his eyes blue, like Wilkie’s, but lighter in hue. The look in his eyes suggested less restraint than his brothers, an innate recklessness that was, at a first impression, somewhat unsettling. This effect was further emphasized by the veritable arsenal he wore: several belts strung with a number of knives and swords, as well as a leather strap across his chest fitted with pouches and pockets where more small knives and other sharp objects were cached.

      I stood.

      They stared at me as though I had two heads, and I realized I must have looked strange to them. I’d been so distracted with Wilkie’s care, and the emotions inspired by his kisses, that I’d forgotten to braid my hair, which hung long and loose down my back. Still dressed in now-ragged men’s clothing, which I’d taken care to rid of bloodstains, but hadn’t been entirely successful with the task, and with a sword strung in my belt, I must have looked a right savage.

      But there was little I could do about it now.

      Before my study could wander further, the laird spoke.

      “I am Laird Knox Mackenzie and this is my brother Kade Mackenzie. To whom do I speak?”

      “My name is Roses.”

      I was glad he didn’t ask me about my clan. There were more pressing questions on his mind. “You have news of Wilkie,” he said, with brusque impatience.

      “Aye,” I said. “He is injured. I know where he lies, up the mountain to the west. I have stitched his wound, but I fear the fever is ailing him.”

      The laird reacted instantly, barking orders at the assembly. “Fergus, prepare the horses and—”

      “He’ll need a litter,” I said. “He can’t walk, and carrying him would injure him further.”

      The laird’s head snapped in my direction, his face registering mild outrage. Kade looked almost amused.

      All was briefly silent in the wake of my interruption.

      “You and I will have a long talk upon our return,” the laird said to me, his glare blazingly direct. “First we find Wilkie.” He turned to his brother. “The lass can ride with you.”

      “I can ride,” I offered, but my request was ignored. It seemed I was not to be trusted. Gratitude was not their foremost reaction to my sudden appearance, I reflected with some annoyance.

      The group was quick to assemble, and I was led outside and hoisted upon a colossal horse, in front of Kade. “You’ll show me the path to Wilkie,” he said.

      He wrapped massive arms around me and spurred his horse into a full gallop, followed closely by the others. I feared getting poked or speared with one of his many weapons, but I had no choice but to cling to him.

      We made quick time of the flatlands and soon were traversing the steep slope of the hillside. It was so steeply inclined in places I feared our horses would flip from the weight of us, but the men were undeterred. I pointed out the path, and we reached the entrance of the cave just as dusk had given way to darkness.

      “Here,” I said. Kade leaped from his horse, making no move to assist me, and he walked toward the cave with ground-eating strides, followed closely by the laird and several others. Kade’s horse was so large I had difficulty jumping down from the great height I found myself at. I swung my leg over and tried to lower myself to the ground but ended up falling into a painful heap. Brushing myself off, I walked over to the entrance of the cave, and crouched just inside, near where the men were circled, kneeling around Wilkie. The dying light cast a subtle glow into the small space.

      “Brother,” said the laird, touching his hand to Wilkie’s forehead. “We’re taking you home.” Rigid concern lent a stern severity to the laird’s bold features as he exchanged looks with Kade. “He’s burning.”

      Kade lifted the blanket I’d placed over Wilkie’s chest, pulling it down to reveal the lightly bandaged wound. He peeled this back, and each of them drew a quick intake of breath.

      “You sewed this, lass?” the laird asked me.

      “Aye.”

      “Not a bad job of it,” Kade commented.

      Wilkie stirred, his head rolling from side to side. “Roses,” he said, quite clearly, though his eyes were still closed.

      “He’s delirious,” said the laird. “Let’s move him to the litter.”

      “Roses,” Wilkie called out, louder this time.

      Kade watched his brother, then his gaze slid to me. “What did you say your name was?”

      “Roses,” I said quietly.

      Kade nodded his head toward Wilkie in a curt, commanding gesture: I was being granted permission—or being ordered, perhaps—to go to him. I crawled over to Wilkie. I whispered in his ear, not caring if I was overheard, “I’m here, warrior.”

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