Page 10 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

This time when the walls before her swayed, she allowed herself to topple to the ground and let the darkness that threatened engulf her.

*

When Orrick reached Dunvegan Castle, he left the care of the little girl to Gwendolyn, Alastair’s wife; Fiona, Tormod’s wife; and his sister Rowena before riding to the west, finding his brother and calling off the search. This day would have a happy end because they’d found the missing child. It would have a happier end if he could convince the woman in the cave to come back home with him.

As he rode back towards where he’d left the woman, he wondered who she was. She’d said she’d been in the wilderness for over a year. If there were any stories about women gone missing from their clans, he and his brothers would not have heard them because they’d returned to the Isle of Skye only three months prior. So much had happened to them since then that they’d barely had time to settle into what some might call a routine. The chaos seemed to continue with events like yesterday’s attack on Orbost, their issues with the MacDonalds, and the threat of English invasion. He doubted the MacLeods would settle into domestic bliss anytime soon.

The English patrols had ended for the season, but they would return, and when they did, who knew what the enemy would do to an unprotected woman. Orrick’s lips quirked at the memory of the woman who had challenged him with her arrow. She was far from helpless, but she would be better protected amongst others. Perhaps then he could determine who she was and return her to her clan.

His brothers would once again chastise him for taking responsibility for the entire world, but it was who he was. He cared about the people who were caught up in the acts of war more than the war itself. His time in the West Indies had devolved into that very thing when Orrick realised he could no longer take lives, even those of the enemy.

He wanted to help others not destroy them. And so he had. He’d spent all his time and his ill-gained profits to usher families in the villages where they fought to safety. He rescued captured natives who would be sold as slaves from the ships that would take them to unfamiliar parts of the world. And he provided the funds they needed to start their new lives. He’d come back to Dunvegan no richer than when he’d left.

Now that he was home, it was time to focus on what came next. Third sons could choose between the law, the cloth, or the sword. The sword wasn’t an option for him, and the other two held no appeal. Even if they did, the English restricted who passed the bar or was ordained to those whose clan leaders pledged their allegiance to the king. Something Alastair refused to do. His brothers supported that decision even if it made life more complicated for Tormod, Orrick, and Callum.

Despite the challenges, Orrick was lucky. He had a place to live, surrounded by others who loved and supported him, whether he could join in their battles or not. The woman in the cave had no one. Or so it appeared. He intended to change that.

When he approached the well-hidden cave once more, he slid from Phoenix’s back and allowed the horse to graze on the blades of grass that peeked out from the fresh snowfall. Orrick studied the area. There were no footsteps in the snow to suggest the woman had left the cave—or any indication that she had returned from wherever she’d been hiding. Uncertain what he would find within the cave, Orrick stepped under the overhang and peered inside. The fire he’d started had died down, leaving the opening of the cave in darkness. When his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, it was then that he saw her lying on the ground. Was she dead? Had she bled out while he’d been gone because she’d refused to let him look at her wounds?

He rushed to her side and rolled her onto her back. “Please don’t be dead,” he said softly while searching her neck with his fingers for some sign that her life force still pulsed inside her.

She bolted upright at his touch as if she’d been sleeping and he’d thrown a bucket of cold water on her. She raised a fist that bore a sgian-dubh and aimed it at his heart.

He gripped her hand to stop the thrust and twisted until the blade fell from her fingers. Instead of settling down, she slugged him in the cheek with her other hand. “Unhand me, you churlish rogue.”

She pulled back to hit him again, but Orrick gripped her wrist. “You’re safe. I am not here to harm you.”

Her gaze focused and a look of surprise widened her eyes. Surprise and a terrible sadness. “You came back.”

“I said I would.” The tension in her body relaxed and Orrick released her wrist. The scent of burning flesh hit him just then and he shifted his gaze from her face to her exposed upper arm where black charred flesh had replaced what was once a gaping wound. “That badger really lashed into your arm.” A surge of guilt coiled in his chest. He should have killed the animal before it had attacked her.

She reached for her pelted cloak and pulled it across her arm, hiding the damage from his view. “Is Emlyn safe?”

“She is being cared for. Now you need someone to care for you. Please let me take you back to Dunvegan. You might have sealed your wound, but you need a healer to make certain it does not become putrid.”

“The honey—”

“You used the last of it on Emlyn,” Orrick interrupted. “It will take someone truly gifted in the art of healing to make certain you can use your bow as you did before.”

The woman straightened her arm, as though testing to see if she could still hold her bow, then winced with pain. The sadness in her eyes shifted to fear. “Without my bow, I am nothing.”

“Then come back to Dunvegan where a healer can make certain you will still have full use of your arm.”

Her features shuttered. “I will not be your prisoner.”

Orrick stood and held out his hand. “You will be free to leave whenever you desire.” At her continued hesitation he added, “I promise.”

“Why?” She tilted her head, her startling blue eyes curious and suspicious.

He shrugged. Why he wanted her to come back with him was a question he had to answer for himself as much as her. “It feels like the right thing to do.”

“You appear to be a warrior, and yet you would base your actions on a feeling? That seems very out of character.”

“I’ve spent the past five years of my life fighting for causes that were not my own in the West Indies, and because of that I lost myself. Now that I have returned home, I’m not certain what I’m supposed to do. I am no longer the man I was when I left.” Why was he telling a perfect stranger his deepest fears when he had not admitted such to his own family? Perhaps it was easier because she was unknown to him.

She gave him a weary smile. “What are any of us who are survivors supposed to do when our lives shift beneath us?”

That question had haunted him since his return to Dunvegan. “I had hoped to cultivate peace, put away my sword, settle down.” He studied her face. This woman was unfamiliar, but on some level she was also familiar. Perhaps because she appeared as lost and alone as he was. “You seem to have survived something horrible that has happened to you. Perhaps you want the same things?”