The Wolf and the Highlander (Highland Wishes) (14 page)

He felt connected to her. The power of the connection terrified him.

The urge to claim her was a living thing, an instinct arising from the same place that had given him the strength to defeat the wolves today. But she’d already been claimed. She was a treasure fit for a king. He needed to protect that treasure, not plunder it.

Snarling, he tore across the river and into the forest. The undergrowth was thicker here than near his home. Thorny bushes and reaching branches scratched at his skin with stings that distracted him from his hopeless predicament. His feet beat against the hard ground, hitting sticks and rocks with flares of dull pain that faded all too fast.

He pulled the fresh air into his lungs, searching through the scents of pine, cedar, and moss for the spicy bite of game. There. He veered to the right, following the nose-ruffling scent trail of a young buck.

The air changed. A barely audible flutter in his ears meant the buck had heard him and taken flight. He forced his attention to the hunt. His feet flew as he closed the distance between him and his prey.

He rounded a copse of pine and saw the white tail disappear into the trees. He pushed himself to run faster, ignoring the burn in his muscles and the pain from his wounds.

The buck had speed and grace, but Riggs had strength and endurance. And hunger. Deep hunger. He let the empty ache in his gut summon his instinct to the surface. His thoughts reduced down to their simplest form.
Catch. Kill. Feed.

Provide.

* * * *

Anya tossed and turned on Riggs’s bedfurs, but she couldn’t sleep. Not when
he’d given her proof of her worthlessness. Not when humiliation heated her belly and made her want to slink away into the darkness, never to bother Riggs again.

But she wouldn’t slink away. He might not want her like she wanted him, but the thought of leaving and never seeing him again hurt worse than breaking bones. She’d cling to him despite their apparent imbalance of desire, because she could. Because even though he’d just hurt her, being near him would provide a measure of comfort. Until they reached bloody Chroina.

She was pathetic.

But she’d known that already. She’d get over it. In the meantime, she’d make herself as useful as she could. Riggs already had to carry her and provide meat for her. The least she could do was forage for her own greens and make a fire so she could cook the meat herself when he returned.

She got up and made her way to the half circle of blue night beyond the black cavern. Thanks to the moon, she could see well enough to make out the winding river below and the densely wooded hills all around, making of this place a hidden valley. Far in the distance, the loch sparkled like a dark gem.

Somewhere out there were men intent on finding Riggs. Were they anything like the brutes who had first found her? Would they try to arrest him for murder?

She’d vouch for him that the deaths of the Larnians had been justified, but who kent what a woman’s word was worth in this place, especially a crippled woman. Speaking on Riggs’s behalf might do more harm than good.

Stop borrowing trouble, lass.

She turned her attention to the task at hand. Pulling the cloak tight for warmth, she hobbled down the hill in search of firewood. Riggs had warned her not to leave the cave because of dangerous animals, but she was no stranger to spotting wolf and bear sign. She’d ventured into equally wild areas in search of kindling for Gravois’ camp and managed to avoid predators well enough. Besides, she had the hunting knife at her hip. The axe, she’d left in the cave. ’Twas far too large for her to wield effectively.

The narrow patch of earth between the river and the forest would make a nice bed for the fire. She began collecting twigs and arranging them in a conical shape. Venturing into the dark forest but never going so far she couldn’t hear the river, she let her hands and feet guide her search for logs small enough to carry. After an hour’s work, she had a decent woodpile she could light with her flint box once Riggs returned.

Having worked up a hearty thirst, she lowered herself to her elbows on the pebbly bank. Several groans came forth, and she was glad Riggs hadn’t been there to hear them. Reaching down to the water, she scooped up a few handfuls.

Ah. Cold, crisp. Wonderful.

The chill of the water on her skin made goose bumps sprout up and down her arms. It left an icy trail down her throat to her empty stomach. Meat would be very welcome after nothing to eat all day.

Rustling in the foliage across the river made her look up sharply. An enormous black form appeared out of the trees. ’Twas too large to be Riggs. She sucked her breath and scrambled back from the bank. Pain shot up her legs.
Och,
she couldn’t get them under her to flee!

When she tried to draw the knife at her hip, the blade caught in the sheath. In her panic, she struggled with it and managed to slice the webbing between finger and thumb.

She hissed with the pain and made a second attempt, bringing the knife out and brandishing it toward the giant now wading through the hip-deep water. It was coming straight for her.

“What are you doing out here?” came a booming, growling voice. Riggs’s voice.

He came up the bank like a Norse conqueror, moonlight reflecting off his wet muscles, thunderclouds gathering behind his eyes. As he approached, she saw his already substantial size was exaggerated by the partially eaten carcass of a buck draped across his shoulders. He slung the carcass to the bank with a wet thud. Water drained off him, making puddles around his feet.

She exhaled with relief. He might be angry, but at least he wasn’t a hungry bear or a Larnian tracker.

“I told you not to leave the cave. You could have been eaten. You could have been taken! By the moon, I can’t even leave you alone for an hour!” His voice rose until it echoed around the valley.

“
Cease your caterwauling!” She sucked the wound on her hand, embarrassed. He was right. If he’d been a wild animal, she wouldn’t have been able to defend herself. She was too slow, too crippled. “I’m no wee ane in need of constant care. I doona even want your care. Just tell me which way Chroina lies and I’ll find my own bloody way. I’ve had enough of you, you—you big brute.”

“You’re not going anywhere on your own.”
He’d ceased his yelling as she’d asked. He was quiet now. Dangerously so.

After all his bellowing, hearing him like this filled her with dread. Or mayhap he only seemed more dangerous because he smelled like blood from his hunt. Whatever the reason, she’d lost her appetite.

Foolish lass. She should have slunk away while she had the chance.

* * * *

Anger surged through Riggs. Anger at Anya for disobeying him. Anger at himself for leaving her alone. Images of wild animals tearing her apart or Larnian trackers capturing her flashed before his eyes and tied knots around his heart.
Protect!
his instinct roared. It was his ultimate duty, and it was pure luck that he hadn’t failed in it tonight.

His lungs tightened with the urge to yell at her some more, but he stopped when she uttered a cry. She was trying to get up off the ground, and causing herself pain in the process.

“Here.” He went to her and wrapped a hand around her slender arm.

She shook him off. “Doona touch me!”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“I doona require your help.” She managed to get her feet under her and rose with a grimace. Without casting him a glance, she limped off toward the incline.

He followed her with his eyes, afraid he’d shake her senseless—or nuzzle her senseless—if he went after her.

She passed a pile of wood that hadn’t been there when he’d gone hunting. It was half as tall as she was and as big around as a uniwheel cart. It would burn more than long enough to cook the hindquarters he’d brought her. And the clothes he’d left in a heap were folded neatly atop a flat boulder. His boots sat perfectly straight, side by side like soldiers in a line.

He was a royal shite.

She hadn’t been challenging his order when she’d come down here. Disregarding it, maybe, but with the intent to help him. She was hungry and weary and probably sore from rowing all that way, yet she’d worked to save him time and effort and to do what she could to take care of herself.

He wiped a hand down his face.

Anya was unlike any lady he’d ever heard of. Independent, hard working, surprisingly capable for someone so small and so damaged. She liked to be active and make decisions for herself. Much as he hated to admit it, her logic was sound given what he’d told her, which wasn’t much. How could he expect her to steward her own safety if she didn’t understand the threat?

It was time to tell her everything.

He yanked his trousers on and went after her. She was just entering the cave when he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The coppery scent of fresh blood stung his nostrils. His stomach dropped.

“You’re bleeding.” He hadn’t realized it when she’d been near the buck.

She shrugged his hand off. “It’s no concern of yours.”

He stepped around her, halting her progress. “Lady.” He put both hands on her shoulders.

She wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” Good thing he didn’t plan on keeping her for himself. A heartless clod like him didn’t deserve such a delicate treasure. He would only hurt her again and again, like tonight, like yesterday when she’d fallen near those mushrooms. King Magnus would know how to treat a lady. King Magnus wouldn’t make her hide her face and shy from his touch.

“I doona wish to talk about it. Leave me in peace. I’m tired.” She tried to shake him off again, but this time he held fast to her graceful shoulders. The muscles there were overly warm through her shirt and cloak.
He swept the heavy wool of the cloak aside to explore that heat with his fingers. He found knots and started rubbing them like he’d done for her legs last night at Aine’s Falls.

The tense line of her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“Where are you bleeding from? What happened?”

“If
you must ken, I thought you were a bear, and I cut myself trying to draw your bloody hunting knife.”

Curse him. “I’m sorry.” He felt down her arms until he had both her hands in his.

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it a thousand times if that’s what it takes to earn your forgiveness.” He lifted her hands. There. The right one had a gash in the tender place between finger and thumb. He put the wound to his mouth and licked it, like he’d do for himself if he were bleeding. Her blood tasted sweet and salty and clean. The flavor made his eyes roll back in his head.

She hissed in a breath and went completely still. “Only a thousand?” she said on a wavering breath. She cleared her throat. “
Och,
it would serve you right if I demanded ten times that number.”

He continued to lap her wound gently. It wasn’t deep, wouldn’t need sewing. The bleeding had nearly stopped already. “Ten thousand apologies?” he murmured, his lips brushing her hand. “I can do that. I might get them all said by the time we reach Chroina.”

She stiffened at his mention of their journey and slipped her hand out of his grasp.

He let it go with a pang of loss. “It’s time I tell you why I’m bringing you there. And what’s at stake if I fail.”

In the ensuing silence, it felt like the weight of the world settled on his shoulders. Maybe it had. His world would die without her. She needed to know it. He couldn’t be with her at all times. She needed to know how important she was, how vulnerable.

She would
probably hate him once he told her the truth. His proud lady would not like being told she must provide an heir for his king. Then again, maybe her hating him would be for the best. His scent already wafted off her from when he’d nuzzled her earlier tonight. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, layering more of his scent on her. Instinct demanded he make her smell like
his.

But she wasn’t his. The instinct was wrong.

He needed her to hate him so she wouldn’t let him touch her again, but not so much she’d refuse to do what his people needed.

Shite. Women were complicated.

He held out his hand to her. “Come. I have no idea how to cook your dinner. You show me what to do, and I’ll tell you all about King Magnus.”

Anya eyed him suspiciously. Then she put her hand in his and let him lead her from the cave.
“You’re right,” she said. “’Tis about bloody time.”

Riggs crouched on the bank and skinned the buck’s hindquarters.

Standing by the woodpile, Anya drew a flint box from her pocket. Smart lady to have kept it on her person. The one he used to make campfires for tea was still in the abandoned pack the trackers would have confiscated by now.

When she knelt, she didn’t make a peep, but her pain was written in the pinching of the corners of her eye.

He moved to help, but her glare warned him not to go near her. He resumed skinning the buck and pretended not to be entranced by her proud yet vulnerable beauty.