Seduction of a Highland Lass (McCabe Trilogy #2)(3)

“Home,” he commanded hoarsely.

He gripped his side and tried valiantly to remain conscious, but with each jostle as the horse flew across the terrain, Alaric’s vision dimmed.

His last conscious thought was that he had to get home to warn Ewan. He just hoped to hell there hadn’t been an attack on the McCabe holding as well.

Chapter 2

Keeley McDonald was up before dawn to tend her fire and ready herself for the day. She was midway between the wood pile behind her cottage and her cottage door when it occurred to her how ridiculous it was to imagine that she had a day filled with duties and activities.

She stopped as she came around the corner of her cottage and stared down into the valley that stretched to the distant crest several miles away. Smoke from the McDonald keep and the cottages immediately surrounding it rose like a whisper and floated lazily toward the sky.

How fitting that she should be afforded a prime view of the one place she was never welcome. Her home. Her clan. No more. They’d turned their backs on her. They didn’t acknowledge her as kin. She was an outcast.

Was this her punishment? To be relegated to a cottage where she was forever reminded of her birthplace, close enough to see but barred from returning?

She supposed she should be grateful to have any place at all. It could be worse. She could have been forced from her home with no place to go and no recourse but to earn her way in life on her back.

Her lips grew thin and her upper lip curled into a snarl.

It was a trial to her good nature to dwell on such matters. It only made her bitter and angry. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t change the past. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been able to seek justice against the bastard McDonald for all he’d done. And his wife. She’d known the truth. Keeley had seen it in her eyes, but the mistress of the keep had punished Keeley for her husband’s sins.

Catriona McDonald had passed on four years ago, and yet Rionna hadn’t sent for Keeley. Her oldest and dearest childhood friend hadn’t come for her. Hadn’t summoned her home. And Rionna, of all people, knew the truth.

Keeley sighed. It was stupid to stand here and dwell on past hurts and dashed hopes. It was stupid to have ever had the hope that when Rionna’s mother died, Keeley might have been welcomed back into the clan.

The huff of a horse whirled Keeley around, and she dropped the armful of wood with a clatter. The horse clopped into view and came to a stop beside Keeley. Sweat gleamed from the horse’s neck and there was a wildness in its eyes that suggested it had suffered a fright.

But Keeley’s eyes were riveted to the warrior slumped over in the saddle and to the blood that dripped steadily onto the ground.

Before she could react, the man fell off the horse with a heavy thump. Keeley winced. Jesu, but that had to hurt.

The horse danced to the side, leaving the sprawled warrior at Keeley’s feet. Keeley dropped down, pulling at his tunic as she sought the source of all the blood. There was a huge rend in the material at his side and when she pushed aside the tatters, she gasped.

There was a cut that ran from his hip to just underneath his arm. The flesh was flayed open and the wound was at least an inch deep. Thankfully it wasn’t deeper, for surely it would have been a mortal blow.

It would certainly need needle and thread and a lot of praying that he didn’t succumb to a fever.

She ran her hands anxiously over his taught abdomen. He was a strong warrior, lean and well muscled. There were other scars, one on his belly and one on his shoulder. They were older and didn’t look to have been as severe as his current injury.

How was she to get him into her cottage? She glanced back at her doorway with her bottom lip stuck solidly between her teeth. He was enormous and no match for a lass her size. It would require cunning to solve this dilemma.

She rose and hurried into her cottage. She stripped the linens from her bed and wadded them into her hand. She ran back outside letting the material unfurl in the wind.

It took her a moment to position the sheet just so, and she had to place rocks on the end to keep it from billowing up in the wind. When she was done, she went around to the other side of the warrior and pushed at him to roll him onto the sheet.

It was like pushing a boulder.

She grit her teeth and put more muscle into the effort. He bobbed a bit but remained in his position.

“Wake up and help me!” she demanded in frustration. “I can’t leave you out here in the cold. ’Tis likely to snow today and you’re still bleeding. Have you no care for your life?”

She poked him for emphasis and when he didn’t stir, she smacked his cheek with the flat of her palm.

He stirred and frowned. A growl escaped his lips that nearly sent her back into the safety of her cottage.

Then she scowled and bent closer so he could hear. “You’re a stubborn one, aye, but you’ll find I’m even more so. You won’t be winning this battle, warrior. ’Tis better if you surrender now and help me in my endeavor.”

“Leave off,” he snarled, his eyes never opening. “I’ll not aid you in taking me to hell.”

“ ’Tis hell you’re going to if you don’t stop being difficult. Now move!”

To her surprise he grumbled but rolled as she pushed him.

“I always knew there would be women in hell,” he muttered. “ ’Tis only appropriate that they should be there causing as much difficulty as they do on earth.”