Highlander's Challenge (16 page)

What was he doing? What did he care if she'd left? It was what he'd wanted all along. Wasn't it? Although he hadn't decided that she was innocent, wouldn't it be best to let her go and be done with her?

His feet slowly moved once more, guiding him to Ian's room. He entered and walked directly to the window, his thoughts still not clear on what he should do. The state of 149

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uncertainty puzzled him all the more. It wasn't like him to be scatter minded.

He knew that woman would be trouble.

"Something has happened. What is it, Colin?" Ian asked, propping up on one elbow.

"'Twould seem our guest has left."

"You mean Amelia?"

"Aye." He moved to the window to look out over the island.

"Damn it, man, go after her!"

Crossing his arms firmly over his chest, he said, "Nay." He waggled his head, satisfied that he'd ended his moment of confusion. She would no longer bedevil him. "I grant her safe journey and good riddance."

Ian climbed to his feet and grabbed at the corner bedpost for balance. "You cannot leave her out there on her own. The MacKenzies will kill her on sight."

Colin clenched his jaw at the thought. "She made her choice." If she was careful, she could avoid them. He believed she wasn't whom the MacKenzies truly wanted, not in light of his father's recent injury by their hands. Ian pushed himself across the room and leaned against the wall by the window, his gaze pinned on Colin. "At least send some men to protect her until she finds safe passage off the island."

"I'll not risk my men on a woman I know nothing about." He clenched his jaw tighter as everything he did know about her flooded his thoughts. Her shapely visage by firelight, her soft soothing voice as she read, the way in which she cocked 150

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her head with a lissome quirk of her rosy lips and a sharp remark on her tongue. Her strength, her determination, her courage, and her blasted stubbornness. By the saints, he was actually going to miss the shrew.

"She saved your life, man, and mine," Ian argued. "You simply cannot stand the fact that she isn't cowed by you. That she pulled you from your damned horse." He shuffled to the opposite wall and retrieved his tunic from a peg. "If you refuse to go after her, then I will." Colin snatched the clothing from his shaking hands and tossed it in a chair. Grabbing his friend by the arm, he directed him back to bed. "You're in no condition tae be going anywhere."

"I will not stand by and let that woman die because she's bruised your bloody pride!" Ian struggled vainly against Colin's grip. "The MacKenzies will assume she's a MacLean. Her life will be forfeit." Ian clamped his eyes closed and grimaced.

"Be still, you damn fool." Colin knew he'd regret what he was about to say, but his friend left him no choice. He'd kill himself going after her. "I'll fetch the she-demon back, but I make no promises. I'm likely tae kill her myself once I lay my hands on her."

Ian's head hit the pillow with a grateful sigh. "I knew you could not be all barbarian, contrary to popular opinion." Colin shot him a glare. "I must be daft tae go after that woman again."

His friend chuckled a moment before his mouth turned down. "Again?"

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He jerked at Ian's covers and tossed them over him. "Aye. She left the night you were deep in your cups. She—she caught two men lurking about in the wood," he grudgingly admitted.

Ian snickered then cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. Her injured wrist."

"She scaled the damned wall! She could've fallen tae her death. I tell you the lass is mad."

"Mad or not, you must find her. Take several men with you and mind your back. The MacKenzies—"

"Shut your yap, you Sassenach. I know what I'm about."

"I wonder, at times. I truly do," Ian said with a theatrical sigh.

"You know how tae try a mon's patience." Ian chuckled roughly. "Just find her, Colin. There's something about that woman, I feel it."

"Aye, you're in love. Again."

"Is that jealousy I hear, old boy? Have you finally succumbed to the power of love?"

His teeth would be dust if he didn't take his leave soon and find the wretched female. "You're off in the head. That woman is a pain in the—"

"Ah, but what a lovely pain she is. Find her, Colin. Whatever she is to you, she does not deserve to die at the hands of a band of ambushing demons." He sighed heavily. "Nay. That she doesna." He moved toward the door muttering beneath his breath. "If the woman would only do as she was told, if she would behave as a woman ought, I wouldna be in this mess." 152

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"True. However, you would be dead, more's the pity." Ignoring that remark, Colin asked, "Did she tell you anything that would be of help?"

Ian glanced to the window, his eyes narrowing as he thought. "Not exactly. She said she was from the U.S., wherever that is, and that she learned to fight in some army." A laugh burst through his lips, then halted. "You are serious. And you believe her?"

"Yes," Ian said with a stern frown. "I know nothing about her land of origin, but I saw her fight, my friend, while you were otherwise occupied." He rubbed his shoulder. "She is quite skilled. How many men do you know who could successfully get past your guards, day or night, capture two men, and have only a slight wrist injury from their endeavors?"

Colin let out a long, suffering breath, recalling her comments about taking command. Could it be true? "I dinnae have time tae debate you. Did she say anything else?" Ian nodded. "Yes, she said something odd before she left my chamber."

"Well, tell me, mon, so I can get on with this daft business!"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "So much alike." Colin growled.

"She said something about doing her job," Ian said quickly.

"What the devil does that mean?" His friend shrugged slightly. "I suppose you shall have to ask her when you find her. And you must find her." 153

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"Aye, I'll find her and when I do..." He strode purposefully from the room. If one of his men received so much as a scratch because of that woman, he'd gladly take her over his knee and paddle the sass out of her.

He swallowed hard at the image that thought invoked. Her perfectly shaped backside pointed to the rafters, her breasts pressed against his thigh as he held her across his lap.

"I'm the one who's daft," he grumbled, and hurried out of the keep.

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By searching the immediate perimeter around the field, Tuck was certain she'd found the water source that fed the fountain. Situated in a small clearing with moss and fern growing in abundance along the banks, it looked almost ethereal, like a fairyland. It had to be the one.

"Well, here goes," she said with a sigh and pulled her knife. She wasn't sure where this little trip would land her, but she was determined to be ready for anything. Taking a deep breath, her knife clutched tightly in her fist, she lifted her foot and paused, letting her boot hover over the water. If this worked, she'd never see Elspeth or the others again. She'd never see MacLean again.

"It doesn't matter. They're already dead." But it did matter, and it bugged the hell out of her.

"Damn it, I've got a job to do." She nodded firmly and stepped into the spring before she could change her mind. She waited, her feet and ankles getting colder by the second, but nothing happened. Her shoulders sagged with part relief and part disappointment as she trudged back onto the bank. She was either stuck in the past or there was a piece of the puzzle missing. She'd found the spring, or so she assumed, but she wasn't a water sprite. Not as if she could do anything about that part. There had to be something else. Something she was supposed to do, or say, but what?

An idea popped into her head, although it was crazy. "Huh, like sitting here expecting this stupid spring to take me back to my own time isn't crazy?"

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She dug into her pocket and pulled out a penny. Clutching it tightly in her fist, she wished she was back with Jenny. The

"kerplunk" was muffled by the trickle of the water. Pushing thoughts of the people she was leaving behind from her mind, one in particular, she jumped in with both feet.

After several seconds she opened one eye, then the other, warily looking around.

"Damn. Still in the past," she said with a weighty sigh. Thoroughly disgusted, she tromped out of the spring and through the wood toward the shoreline, nibbling on a pineapple flavored Gummy Bear, savoring it for as long as she could. She had to ration them since it looked like she was stuck in the wrong century. Her favorite vice wouldn't be invented for a very long time.

Tuck walked along the shoreline, kicking stones as she went. She may as well stick it out back at the castle until she could come up with another plan. Without any real provisions, she couldn't rough it outside for any length of time. Her hands shoved deep in pockets, her cold feet shuffling along the sand and stone, she rounded a small point. Children's laughter caught her attention, and she raised her head.

The fortress loomed above the small group doing what children tend to do at times. Single out one of the smaller kids and torment him. She'd been there many times, yet being bigger than most, she'd suffered the taunts and jeers from behind her back. But they were no less painful than the ones to her face.

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At first she was only going to make her presence known to the kids, figuring they'd let up once they realized an adult was around, but the moment the little boy was shoved to the ground, she'd seen all she cared to see. She had to get involved.

"That's enough," she ordered, moving closer. Their faces paled as they scurried back. She heard mumblings of witch, but ignored it. Maighread's little storytelling would take some time to kill. Something she should probably see to when she got back to the castle since she was stuck here for a while.

She looked at the boy on the ground. He didn't look more than eight or so, and a scrawny eight, at that. Her gaze flickered over the crude crutch by his side. Not only was he smaller than the others, he was crippled as well. Reining in her anger, she asked, "You okay, kid?" His dark eyes wide, he warily nodded.

She picked up his crutch, then leaned over and stuck out her hand. He didn't move a muscle.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you, regardless of what you've heard." She waited patiently, testing that slim virtue. "Look at it this way. You take my hand, and they'll think you're the bravest little Highlander of all," she whispered with a wink. He cocked his head to the side as he considered what she said. His gaze darted to the others, then back to her. He swallowed and slowly reached for her hand. His filthy, quivering fingers slid into hers, and a load of relief relaxed her tense neck muscles. Scaring the bad guys was part of the job, not innocent little kids. She helped him to 157

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his feet to the sound of gasps and set him right with his crutch.

Satisfied the boy was okay, Tuck turned to the other children. "This won't happen again. Will it," she said flatly, making certain they knew it was not a question. They shook their heads as they stumbled backward, then spun around and broke off in a dead run down the beach.

"Ye aren't really a-a-a witch, are ye?" the boy asked, his eyes still wide.

Tuck shook her head. "Not the last time I looked, no." His face fell and he dropped his chin to his chest. "Oh." Struggling across the rocky terrain, he turned toward a path up the side of the hill to the keep.

Not that she expected much, but a "thanks" would've been nice. She walked alongside him, curious as to why he seemed disappointed when he'd been so scared of her.

"You don't seem too happy about that. Care to tell me why?"

"I thought if ye were a kind witch, kind enough tae tend Master Southernland, then ye might fix me leg," he muttered at the ground.

"I see." She cupped his bony shoulder. He tensed slightly, but didn't pull away.

From what she could tell with a quick glance, he'd been born with a clubfoot. She'd heard of braces and casts on babies to fix the abnormality, but in the boy's case, surgery was likely what he needed. That was something she couldn't do.

"You got a name, kid?"

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"Robby."

"Well, Robby, I can't heal you, but I can help you," she said.

He stopped and peered up at her. "How?"

"Oh, a few little maneuvers, some strengthening of your muscles. Basic stuff really."

"I'll never be strong." He dropped his chin.

"Look, you're tired of getting picked on, right? And you'd like to be able to take care of yourself?" His puzzled expression pulled at her lips and she grinned. "I could teach you how to fight."

His dirt smudged brow furrowed. "But ye're a woman." Tuck rolled her eyes heavenward. "God, they brainwash them young around here." She looked down at the boy with a heavy sigh. "Do you want to learn or not? The only thing wrong with you, other than lack of faith, is a bad foot. The rest of you seems to be in perfect working order." She poked and prodded at his muscles, winning a faint giggle from him.

"But my da says I'll always be sickly. That I'll never be—be worth anythin'," he ended softly.

Familiar pains pierced her armored heart. "Your father is wrong, Robby. Dead wrong. Now, come on down here where the ground isn't as rocky and let's get started," she said with a jerk of her head.

He hesitated, not convinced in the least. The spark of hope in his dark eyes overshadowed years of pain and rejection.

"Hey. It can't hurt to try, can it?" she asked. Slowly, he moved back down the path, closer to the water. 159