Page 11 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

A glimmer of hope reflected in her eyes before it died a heartbeat later, replaced by sadness once more. “The English will allow neither of us to put away our weapons anytime soon.”

“Perhaps. But they are not on Skye at the moment. It is safe for you to let down your guard for a short while until you heal. Are you willing to allow yourself that time?”

At first he thought she would maintain her silence, but then she sighed. “I’m no use to anyone, including myself, until I heal and can use my bow and arrows again.”

He stretched out his hand once more. “Then come with me.”

She frowned at his hand, but eventually she shifted her weight onto her feet, took his hand, and stood. “I will only stay until my arm heals.” She pulled her fingers from his.

Perhaps if they were no longer strangers she would trust him more. “We’ve not been formally introduced. I am Orrick MacLeod. And you are?”

“You may call me Isolde.”

He frowned. “You have no clan?”

“None that would claim me.”

He winced as he recognised how much pain lay under her words. Perhaps when she came to know him better she would tell him more. Until then, simply knowing her name was enough. “Then, Isolde, is there anything you need from here other than your bow and your quiver that you’d like to take back to the castle with you?”

She laughed suddenly, her face alive with amusement. “Since I did not fell a deer as I intended this morning, there is nothing.”

As her warm laughter moved over him, the chill that had followed him home from the West Indies eased. “Then let us make our way to my horse before the snowfall gets heavier.”

“Are you no longer used to Scottish winters after being in the West Indies for so long?” she asked as they made their way to his horse.

This time it was his turn to laugh. “The heart of a Scotsman remains in Scotland no matter where his travels take him. While away, I dreamed of the craggy hills of the Quiraing, the open moors covered in heather blossoms, and the shores of Dunvegan at sunset. This is my home, no matter the season.” Careful to avoid her injured arm, he lifted her and settled her on his horse before mounting the animal behind her. With a light flick of the reins, he signalled Phoenix to head for home.

Once they settled into a rhythm on the back of the horse, Orrick’s attention shifted back to the woman in his arms. She smelled of burnt flesh, but also an intriguing combination of smoky peat and Scottish rose. Her skin was still clean despite her dishevelled state. Gazing at her profile, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen her before. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember where they’d met, but he would solve the puzzle. He always did.

In the short term, he had more serious matters to think about. Like how he would introduce her to his family. He’d told no one he would be returning with a mysterious woman. There was no doubt they would welcome Isolde. But with her being female, they might jump to conclusions about what connected the two of them. He was simply offering aid to a fellow warrior. That she happened to be female was not something within his control.

To avoid questions, perhaps he could whisk her inside with no one knowing, or at least until he was ready to answer to his kin. For he had a feeling there was far more to the story of her life in the cave than she was willing to share at present.

When he and Isolde passed through the gates of Dunvegan, Orrick’s heart sank to see Alastair, Tormod, Gwendolyn, and Fiona waiting to receive him. So much for escorting Isolde in unnoticed. “Prepare yourself.” It was all the warning he could give her before his kin came forward to greet them.

When Orrick stopped before them and dismounted, Alastair’s gaze shifted from his brother to the woman he lifted off the horse and kept close by his side.

“You left in such a hurry, we were worried something had gone amiss,” Alastair said, continuing to study Isolde.

“I should have said something before I raced out of here. It was Isolde who rescued Emlyn from the badger, not me. Her arm is seriously injured. She needs to see Healer Lottie as soon as possible.”

Tormod frowned as he sniffed the air. “Why do you both smell like burnt flesh?”

“It’s a long story.” Orrick slipped his arm about Isolde’s waist and propelled them towards the castle, forcing the others to follow along. Isolde flinched away from his touch, but he held firm. The sooner they got inside the fewer questions there would be.

Alastair hurried to the doorway then stopped, blocking the way inside. “I think the womenfolk can see to Isolde’s needs better than you can. Why don’t you stay here and inform Tormod and me on all that has happened this morning?” The determination in his brother’s expression said he would not take nay for an answer.

Before Orrick could respond, Gwendolyn came forward and took Isolde’s arm. “Let’s leave the men to their discussion. Fiona and I would be more than happy to see to your care. Come.” Gwendolyn propelled Isolde forward, across the threshold and away from him. Only the slight widening of Isolde’s eyes hinted at dread. It wasn’t until she was out of sight that Orrick realised he still held her quiver and bow.

“Would you care to explain how you came to be in the presence of Isolde Nicolson?” Alastair asked, the lines between his brows deepening.

“Nicolson? Is that her clan name?” Orrick frowned. “She said no clan would claim her as their own.”

“Who is she?” Tormod asked, arching his brow. “In her dishevelled state, she looks more like a child of the fairies than anything human.”

“She bleeds like the rest of us, though I dare say she is braver than most,” Orrick said. “While searching for the lost girl, I came upon her near MacLeod’s Tables, hunting red deer. During the badger attack, when I failed to strike the animal with my arrow, Isolde threw herself at the badger and child, breaking the badger’s hold on Emlyn’s leg. Before she could move away, the badger sank its teeth into her arm—a wound she sealed herself while I returned Emlyn to Dunvegan. I knew she was injured and I had to go back for her. Her injured state is because of my hesitation.” Orrick looked away from his brothers’ probing gazes. “My inability to fight almost got her killed.”

Tormod made a disgusted sound. “Her injuries are not your fault, Orrick.”