Entrusted to a Highlander: Highland Promise Trilogy Book Two Page 2

“Come” She smiled and motioned with her right hand. “My cottage is not far.” She turned to the cat and dog. “King, Princess, home.”

  He gave a whistle and a horse ambled out of the woods and came to stand beside him.

  The cat jumped up on the large dog’s back and settled in the mix of brown and black hair, his face peeking between one brown ear and one black ear, then the dog ambled off.

  “King seems a suitable name for your cat,” Arran said, with a glance at the black cat with a white-tipped tail and two white, front paws resting regally on the dog’s back.

  Purity laughed lightly. “It’s a perfect name for him since he thinks himself royalty.”

  “I’ve never seen a cat attack a man so viciously and without fear. He is extremely protective of you,” he said as they walked.

  “I’ve raised him since he was a kitten,” she said as if that explained it, hoping he wouldn’t recall seeing King in the barn where she had often gone to play with the kittens when visiting the Clan MacKinnon. Or worse, recall the time he had caught her there after he and a woman had enjoyed a good poke. She had averted her eyes, somewhat, having had been caught there unaware until it had been too late for her to make her presence known. She’d been so embarrassed when discovered, not so Arran.

  After a few minutes of walking silently, Arran spoke up. “I see now why King rides on the dogs back. I noticed the dog—”

  “Princess,” Purity said, wanting the dog to know they discussed her so that she would be on alert.

  “Princess,” Arran repeated, “is missing one eye. King helps her to maneuver the forest more easily and safely with the tap of his paw to the sides of her head giving her direction.”

  Purity was amazed by his observation. Only those closely familiar with King and Princess knew that. No one else had ever realized that about the pair. That he did in such a short time warned her to be careful. Though what difference would it make if he did realize who she was? Probably no difference at all, and that was what hurt.

  “Princess was born without an eye and her mum abandoned her as most dog mums do with the weak ones of the litter. Instinct tells them they won’t survive and to them it’s the kindest thing to do.”

  “But you thought differently.”

  “Aye, I did, and she’s grown into a fine dog and is family now.”

  Silence followed and Purity didn’t mind, her thoughts straying to how different Arran appeared. He’d never been one to remain quiet too long and rarely had he been seen without a smile. Raven had told her how Arran never had failed to make her smile or cheer her when she needed it. He wore a smile no more and looked as if he could use some cheering. Once he reached home and he was among family again, surely that would change.

  Purity stopped by a clump of overgrown bushes and pushed them aside. “My home.”

  Arran followed, pushing the bushes farther apart to fit through and stopped when he saw the stone home built into the side of the sizeable hill, the roof solid turf, and smoke drifting out of the hole in it. A good-sized garden sat to the side of the cottage, wild onion and cabbage prevalent while other plants he didn’t recognize.

  A stack of cut wood sat next to the front door and Arran’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “You live alone?”

  “I have the animals,” Purity said.

  He cast a hasty glance around. “No man to protect you?”

  “No, visitors are rare to these parts of the woods.”

  “Yet three men were here today and one ran off,” he reminded and let his hand ease off his sword.

  “That was strange, though I have no concern of Quiver returning. He was far too full of fear. It’s a lovely autumn day. Why don’t you sit under the tree?” She gave a nod to a large oak, its trunk so thick it had to be ancient and its branches spread out creating a fine canopy. “I’ll bring you food and drink.”

  He gave a nod and she disappeared into the house.

  Arran walked toward the tree, keeping watch on the dog and cat, not so much the dog since she found herself a sunny spot, which probably wouldn’t last long, and stretched out. The cat, however, paced not far from him as if he waited to see what Arran would do. Once he settled under the tree, his back against the trunk, the cat wandered off.

  He looked toward the cottage. The woman had lovely, soft features, not a beauty, but there was something about her face that enticed. Or perhaps it was that she smiled with ease or was it that she found reason to smile even after she’d been attacked and almost abducted?

  He had once smiled often, but then there had been things to smile about, not anymore. The evil he had seen, and had been forced to do to survive, had robbed him of the person he had once been. A person who was now gone forever.

  Arran had been surprised when the woman hadn’t shivered in fear or collapsed against him after she’d been attacked. And he had taken note of the way her soft green eyes had gone to both animals after it was over, assuring herself they hadn’t been harmed. She had the loveliest hair he’d ever seen. Various gold-colored strands ran through her lustrous brown hair making it appear as radiant as the sun and it hung in a braid down to the middle of her back. A few strands had fallen loose and he had almost reached out to tuck one or two behind her ear, but had stopped himself. It had been a gesture that would have come easily to him in the past, but had vanished with time. That it had returned had startled him. He wasn’t that foolish man anymore and he didn’t want to be.

  He’d ask her more about these parts, eat and drink as he did, then be on his way.

  He inhaled the quiet of the woods. Five years ago he wouldn’t have favored the quiet. He had enjoyed daily life with his family and clan, talking with his da and brother Royden, sharing an enjoyable poke with a willing woman, chastising his sister Raven for sneaking around and seeing and hearing things that weren’t proper for her ten and five years. And then there were the endless times spent on the practice field.

  Now after having known nothing but never-ending battles for the last five years, the quiet of the woods was a welcoming treat. The gentle autumn breeze whispered across his face and enticed more than the touch of the limitless amount of women that had been made available to him during his years spent unwillingly with the mercenaries.

  He’d had enough of senseless battles, couplings that served to relieve but meant nothing, forced camaraderie, and an emptiness that at times reached down to his soul. He didn’t know what had gotten him released from the mercenaries, since the only way to be free of them was to buy your way out or die, and of late he had felt death close to him. Or perhaps it had been that he wished for death rather than continue to live as he had.

  When he’d been released, had walked away from the mercenary camp, it was as if he had breathed for the first time in five years. The only thing he had been told of his release was that a high price had been paid for it and that he should be grateful.

  Who paid that price? He didn’t know, but he was grateful for it.

  On his way home to his family and clan, he had discovered mixed news about his sister Raven. There were rumors that she had died shortly after the attack on their clan, while other tongues wagged that she still lived. Thankfully, Royden had sent word that he had reason to believe Raven was alive and he trusted his brother’s word. All other trails he had followed regarding his sister had proved fruitless. No matter how much he probed and dug he could find nothing to substantiate any of the rumors one way or another. And yet here he was following another one.

  He had had little choice. He’d never forgive himself if he ignored the drunken whispers of a merchant who had insisted that Raven hid deep in the woods, a day’s walk from his home, the Clan MacKinnon. Could Raven have taken refuge there? Had she managed to survive? He had to find out. He wished the woman could be more accurate about when Raven might have been here. It might help establish a timeline and some sort of pattern that could help trace her. The various possibilities of what might have happened to her still continued to churn his g
ut. He had to find her. He had to.

  His family had expected him home a couple of months ago, but he had sent word to his brother about following some leads he had on Raven’s whereabouts. Royden would know that he would follow every single one. He, Royden, and their da had made a promise to keep Raven safe and they had failed her, hadn’t even known what happened to her. Arran couldn’t live with that. He would find her and bring her home.

  He rested his head back against the tree trunk and shut his eyes.

  A nudge from his horse’s nose had him opening his eyes and rubbing her face. “It’s all right. You and I will be on our way soon enough.”

  He had acquired the mare not long after his release. The animal had been in poor shape, the owner only too glad to exchange her for a bit of food and a day’s worth of work on his farm. With some gentle care, the mare had improved and he had seen in the mare’s eyes something he had once felt himself. Hopelessness. So he had named the mare Hope.

  “I’m not leaving you here, Hope. We leave together,” he assured the horse. For some reason the mare had attached herself to him. It was as if she feared him leaving her, so he had found himself assuring her often that they would not be parted, and he meant it.

  “I’ll tell you again, Hope. We’ll settle—you and I—in one of the crofts a distance from the keep and village. We won’t have to bother with anyone unless we want to.”

  The horse snorted and nodded her approval.

  He never thought he’d want a solitary life, but at the moment it was necessary. In time that might change, though in all honesty, he didn’t believe it would. He’d lost too much of himself that he’d never get back and he didn’t care if he did.

  “Go eat your fill as will I and we’ll be on our way,” he said and the mare moved only a few steps from him to munch on the grass while he closed his eyes once again.

  Purity found him sound asleep and was grateful. She hurried to place the bread and quail eggs she had wrapped in a cloth on the ground beside him, spreading the cloth out. She added a skein of wine and stepped back, keeping her hand hid beneath her tunic. He’d probably ask her where she got the wine, but she was prepared for that.

  She stepped away from him, though kept her eyes on him. There was a hardness to his features that in no way distracted from his fine looks. It did, however, disturb her. What horrors had he been through that had stolen his smile and jovial nature?

  She turned when the horse nudged at her back with her nose. She didn’t know what it was about animals that drew them to her and made them feel at ease around her, but animals forever approached her without fear.

  “You’re a beauty,” she whispered, resting her face to the mare’s and rubbing her gently. She could tell that the mare had suffered some neglect, but there were signs of improvement as well, and it brought a smile to her face. Arran had always treated his horses well and she imagined he was the source of the mare’s healing. Somewhere beneath his newly hardened features, the old Arran still lurked and that made her happy.

  She heard a rustle of leaves and turned with a sharp warning, “Don’t you dare touch that quail egg!”

  Arran’s hand froze. “I thought you brought them for me.”

  “My apologizes. I didn’t mean you, please enjoy the food.” Her eyes shot to the branch above his head. “Get out of there this minute, King. Those quail eggs aren’t for you.”

  Arran looked up to see the cat perched on the edge of the branch ready to pounce.

  “Scat! Now!” she said with a sharp clap of her hands and King turned on the branch, his tail shooting up in the air, presenting his backside to her, and strolled up the branch. She quickly dropped her hand to shove beneath her tunic, glad Arran still focused on the cat.

  He snatched up the small quail egg and popped it into his mouth. He picked up the hide skein to drink, and after two bites finished the egg. His brow shot up at the taste. “Wine and good wine at that. Where did you get it?”

  Purity was ready for the question. “A merchant got lost in the woods one day and gave it to me for helping him find his way out. He returns occasionally with more wine and other things I might need.”

  To her relief he seemed to accept her explanation and continued eating.

  “I’ll leave you to enjoy your food and drink,” she said after a few minutes of silence, and he nodded. She was glad he did, since she didn’t want to take the chance of talking with him and stirring memories.

  Again she asked herself what difference would it make if he knew, yet something told her it was better that he didn’t know. Or was it because she didn’t want to admit to herself that seeing him again after five years had not just stirred the feelings she once had for him but had woken her love for him that had remained dormant all these years. She loved him with the same depth and strength as she had five years ago. She was a pitiful fool and she was glad Raven was the only one to know of her folly.

  He would be gone soon and she’d never have to see him again and the thought was like a sharp stab to her heart, fool that she was. Why did she have to love a man who would never love her?

  She needed to busy herself, forget he was even here, not something that would be easy to do. A sting to her arm drew her attention to the wound she had suffered when the arrow grazed it. It needed tending, but she didn’t want to take the chance of him seeing her deformed hand. That limited anything she could do.

  “I’ll be on my way.”

  Purity jumped, not having heard him approach, or expecting him to finish so soon, and she almost cringed when she offered, “You’re welcome to rest a bit.”

  “You shouldn’t invite men to rest even for a bit. They will think you want to couple,” he said.

  She didn’t know what to say to that and it took her a moment to find her voice. “I will remember that. Good day to you then.”

  “You should find yourself a good man to keep you safe,” Arran said and turned.

  The words rose up from the past to spill from her lips in a whisper. “No one wants me.”

  Arran whipped around. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” she said, silently cursing herself.

  He walked closer to her. “You said something. What was it?” He scrunched his brow. “It sounded familiar.”

  “Mumbles that’s all,” she insisted, annoyed she had once said those very same words to him.

  He looked at her strangely then, as if he was actually looking at her and seeing her for the first time and her heart slammed against her chest when his face showed that he recognized her.

  Arran reached for her left arm and she pulled away from him.

  “Show me your left hand.”

  “You should leave,” Purity said.

  “Don’t make me grab your hand. Show it to me,” he demanded.

  Purity shook her head. “Why? You obviously recognized me.”

  “Purity?” he asked in disbelief.

  Chapter 3

  Purity held up her deformed hand to confirm what he had already surmised.

  How could he not have recognized her? Perhaps it was because she was unrecognizable from the lass he recalled, the one with long limp hair and a plain face that never wore a smile. However, her love and partiality for animals had remained.

  His next thought spilled from his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why didn’t you recognize me?” she asked.

  He stepped back, turning away from her for a moment. “Five years change people, Purity.”

  “That they do,” she said, a touch of guilt and foolishness for not having told him who she was jabbing at her. “I didn’t recognize you right away either.”

  “It is good to see a friend,” he said.

  Friend? She had never thought Arran considered her a friend, an acquaintance or a neighbor perhaps, but never had he been a friend to her.

  “Sit with me and talk,” he said, pointing to the oak tree.

  Friend. She needed to accept him as a friend and nothing
more. He would return home and she would have her life here in the woods—content with her friends, the animals. She turned to head to the tree when his hand took hold of her arm, stopping her.

  “You told me you were unharmed,” he said, seeing the blood that stained the torn sleeve of her shift.

  “A minor wound from the arrow that grazed my arm.”

  He got annoyed for not having noticed it. It had been years of ignoring minor wounds that had him not paying it heed. Such wounds were unimportant, cleaned and wrapped by the warrior himself when given the chance, while a healer saw to the direr wounds. Not so with Purity. Her wound needed attention.

  “I will tend your wound while we talk.”

  Purity noticed that Arran rarely asked. He commanded, as if his words were the final say on the matter.

  “I can see to it,” she said, not comfortable with him touching her bare skin. Or was it fear at what his touch would reveal?

  He cast a glance around and seeing the rain barrel, said to her. “Go sit while I get what’s needed to clean your wound.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said, his commanding nature at odds with the freedom she had gained living in the woods.

  “You’ll go sit,” he ordered and before she could argue any further, he walked—rather rushed her to the spot under the tree—and sat her on the ground with a forceful hand. He turned and left, though not before issuing another order. “Stay there.”

  He had changed. The Arran she had known would have used sweet words, a gentle touch, and a smile to get her to sit and let him tend her. She had seen many women surrender to his magnanimous, charming nature. Now he was aloof and commanding, as if his generous heart had turned cold.

  It took him no time to fill a bucket from the rain barrel and find a couple of cloths Purity had recently washed. He returned to the tree with the items and sat them and himself beside her.

  “Your arm,” he ordered curtly, and she held it out to him, hoping to keep contact to a minimum.

  He rolled her sleeve up to nearly her shoulder, exposing the wound. Then he slipped his hand along under her arm to cradle it as his other hand got busy cleaning the wound.