Page 7 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

“What did you mean . . . about a wee lass?” Her throat was still raw, but she forced the words past the ache. “Why would she . . . be out here?” she asked, straining to hold her bowstring taut for such a long period of time.

“We could spend the morning shooting at each other until one of us is dead or out of arrows, or you could help me find the little girl who disappeared from Orbost after the MacQueens raided the village yesterday.”

She stared down the length of her arrow into the rich brown of Orrick’s eyes. As they stared at each other, she allowed her gaze to slide along the solid jaw that was covered by a day’s growth of beard, across his straight nose, to his cheekbones where a thin white line showed a scar.

His brows were bent and his full lips were parted. After a long moment, he exhaled and lowered his bow. He returned his arrow to his quiver. “What say you to a truce?”

He offered her a smile. She forced herself to breathe evenly and to battle against the odd sensation that tingled through her body. It had been a while since she’d been this close to another human being, let alone a handsome male. She lowered her bow and stepped back. “Let’s find the girl.”

Chapter Three

Orrick stared at the creature before him. At first sight, she appeared like a wild animal with soft grey fur covering her blond hair. From beneath the hood of her cloak shone piercing blue eyes. The fear he’d seen in those eyes when he’d risen up over her had faded, replaced by both determination and strength.

How had she ended up out here? Alone? Judging by her appearance, she’d been out in the wilderness for quite some time. The clothing beneath her cloak was ragged, and instead of slippers or boots, she wore lengths of hide tied about her feet to protect them from the cold.

She drew back the hood of her cloak to reveal a tangle of wild blond hair. “You think the child is near here?” the wild woman asked in a voice that seemed stronger now.

The morning light played off the gentle contours of her cheeks and seemed to highlight her full lips. Despite her dishevelled state, her skin was clean, radiant almost. “Not long ago, I found small footprints leading this way,” Orrick said. “From the freshness of the last tracks, I know she’s close.”

The woman nodded. “You take the north and east. I will search the south and west.”

They both turned from each other just as a grunting sound filled the air followed by chittering then a snarl. A heartbeat later a shrill scream sounded and the snarling grew louder. Birds hiding in the tall grass took flight, and the combined bellows of several red deer sounded close by.

“That’s a badger,” the woman said, turning back towards Orrick.

She raced past him towards a thrashing sound. Orrick hesitated for a moment as panic surged through him. He clutched his bow in his hands and reached for an arrow from his quiver, but he couldn’t bring himself to set the arrow in place as shame flooded his limbs. All his past failures rose up before him and he saw the unseeing eyes of the men he had killed, staring back at him. Orrick had taken the lives of men simply for fighting on the opposite side from his men who were defending their homeland from British expansion.

The woman, however, did not hesitate. Orrick pushed the memories aside and followed. They broke through to a clearing to see an adult badger with a little girl’s leg clamped tightly in its jaws. The badger whipped its black-and-white striped head back and forth, while the little girl shrieked in terror. Why was the badger behaving so savagely? The animals generally only attacked when threatened or provoked. No matter what had happened, the situation was dire.

Instead of raising her own weapon, the wild woman pulled her cloak around her and threw her body to the ground, sliding towards both animal and child. She reached for the little girl and engulfed her in her cloak, startling the badger enough for the animal to release the child’s leg.

It didn’t take long for the badger to recover from its shock. With an angry snarl, it leapt towards the two females coiled together and, finding the exposed flesh of the wild woman’s arm, the animal latched on once more, screaming its displeasure.

Orrick raised his bow and nocked his arrow. His blood pounded in his ears. Taking the life of an animal was different from killing a man. And yet he couldn’t seem to loose his fingers from the bow. His stomach clenched. He had to take the shot to save the woman and child.

But the woman and child faded from view. Instead, he and his men advanced on the British. They’d been given the order to charge even though hundreds of them would be killed in the initial volley. Down the hill they went, into the valley below.

The acrid scent of powder and black clouds enveloped him and the others as they continued down the slope. Beneath his feet he could feel the bodies that had fallen, smelled the metallic scent of blood, heard the shouting of the enemy, the cries of the fallen even as a new barrage of flame and balls came at them. The targe on his arm warded away the balls with a screech of metal on metal. He charged and sliced through a crimson uniform jacket, the shirt beneath, then the flesh of an Englishman. It mattered not. All that mattered was staying alive as he took the lives of others.

Drenched in sweat, Orrick came back to the moment. His heart pounded. His breath rasped in his throat as he expelled air and released the memory from his thoughts. He was whole. Unharmed. Unbloodied. Safe. Yet he was not alone as he usually was when the memories overcame him.

The woman. His body chilled as the sweat dried in the morning air. He had to help the woman. He fixed on her position, watching as she coiled her body around that of the child. Her movements dislodged the badger from her arm, its face bloodstained. The angry animal backed away. Its body puffed up and all its fur stood on end as it continued to snarl and hiss.

The animal looked from the pile of furs to Orrick, even though he had lowered his bow, and it hissed again. It did not charge. Instead, as though sensing imminent danger, the badger slowly crept backwards towards the grass. The animal headed farther and farther away from the three of them, until only the sound of the child softly sobbing could be heard.

Orrick steeled himself and hurried to the two females.

He knelt beside the woman and brushed the hair aside that had fallen across her face. “Are you injured?” She had tucked her arm inside her pelts, hiding it from view.

The woman opened her eyes and stared up at him. Her face pinched in pain.

“May I pick you and the child up? My horse is not far from here.” He let out a shrill whistle that Phoenix would recognise as a command to come to his master. When the woman remained silent, he asked again, “Are you injured?”

“My arm is bleeding,” the woman said. “I do not know about the child.” Slowly she unfurled herself until he could see the little girl bundled within her fur cloak.

Orrick breathed a soft sigh that she was still alive. He gently placed a finger beneath the child’s chin and brought her gaze to his. The little girl continued to sob. “Does anything pain you?”

“My leg,” she said on a soft sob.