Page 43 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

CHAPTER TWO

G ulping in a desperate breath of air and coughing up a lungful of water, Annora grabbed the man’s shoulders as he swam strongly to the shore.

She marveled at the man’s strength and the way he’d come to her rescue without hesitation.

It was not far to the shore, but two men from the ship still pursued them.

The man’s feet touched bottom and he took a few steps until he was wading and the water was only up to his knees.

Once they had made it to the shore, he lowered her and turned to meet the men scrambling on his heels, shouting fierce-sounding, unrecognizable, foreign words, brandishing their strange, curved swords.

Annora stumbled onto the rocky sand, coughing up water, spluttering mightily, rasping her throat. She curled on the sand, watching helplessly as the two assailants followed them onto the beach and circled her lone rescuer.

All that stood between her and an uncertain fate was this brave warrior.

One blow from those weapons could separate a man’s head from his body, yet her rescuer, a much bigger man than his lithe opponents, and with arms like tree-trunks, was every bit as nimble.

While they might have evil-looking weapons, the man who had saved her drew a short-sword from his belt that was every bit as wicked.

The fight between the three men raged on before her as she crouched helplessly on the sand, her heart in her mouth, observing the battle. Praying silently, she shook all over, only too aware that her freedom – if not her very life – depended on this Scottish warrior’s strength and skill.

Still coughing, she closed her eyes briefly, too fearful to watch.

At the sound of a piercing scream her eyes flew open to see one of the pirates falling, doubled over, his hands clutching his belly, blood pouring onto the sand.

Her heart jumped. Now the odds had shifted in her rescuer’s favor.

If only the man could prevail over his enemy, it was possible she would be saved.

Bent low, he circled his foe, and she was suddenly aware that this warrior was not only an imposing figure, but, despite the grim-set of his features, also darkly handsome.

His nose was straight, his mouth generous and his jaw was chiseled marble.

His wet hair slicked back displayed a broad forehead and dark brows.

His enemy whirled, his wet clothing spraying droplets of water through the air with the speed of his movement,

The painful knot in Annora’s belly tightened as her warrior— why dae I think of him as me warrior?

— stumbled slightly, clearly put off by the sudden change of tactics.

Yet, in a heartbeat he had miraculously regained his balance.

The corsair raised his sword to deal a death blow, but the warrior moved with equal speed.

The moment his foe raised his arms, he leaped forward and up, centering his sword so that it pierced the man above his belly, penetrating deep into his heart.

The strike that would have ended the warrior’s life sliced his sleeve only a glancing blow.

His opponent fell back, his mouth forming a silent ‘O’ of surprise.

After landing with a thud on the sand, he lay prone at the water’s edge. He did not move again.

The Scot stood over his enemy until it seemed he was satisfied that the man was dead, then turned to Annora with a grim smile. In two strides he was crouched beside her brushing her hair back from her face.

“Thank ye…” she began, but her voice came out as an odd croaking sound. She shook her head and whispered hoarsely, “I cannae speak.”

He grinned. “Dinnae fash, lass. There’s time enough fer ye tae tell me yer tale.

Fer now, we’d best be away from this place before more of the privateers come searching fer ye.

Ye’re safe enough now, lass, yet they may still pursue ye.

If ye wish tae accompany me, I’ll dae me best tae keep ye from harm. ”

She nodded, unable to form the words.

He got to his feet and held out a hand to assist the still shaking Annora to stand.

She attempted to rise, but her legs had turned to liquid and simply crumpled beneath her, despite her best efforts.

With that, he sheathed his sword in its scabbard on his belt, hoisted her into his arms and, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a baby bird, strode across the rocky terrain toward a rutted track.

A sensation of disquiet rippled through her. The man who carried her was forceful and commanding and she was acutely aware of his strength and her own powerlessness. Had she escaped twice from enslavement only to become this man’s prisoner?

“I have lodgings further along, ye’ll be safe there.

Tomorrow will be time enough tae decide on yer next move.

” His tone was reassuring, yet she was not ready to trust another soul, despite the fight he’d made on her behalf.

But her head was swimming and when she tried to speak, her throat felt as if it was stuck with a thousand sharp thorns.

Once they reached the rough track that served as a road leading away from the shore she managed to croak into his ear. “Ye may put me down, I believe the strength has returned tae me limbs and I can make me own way.”

She heard his soft chuckle, and then he lowered her, supporting her efforts to stand. It took a moment or two, but with determination she was able to move her legs and head along the path, keeping a hand on his arm to steady herself.

It was near dark as they progressed slowly along the path and there was no shouting in pursuit, only the soft cry of a nightbird and the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. Annora began to believe they had successfully evaded her captors.

Finally, the inn came into view, a hanging lantern illuminating the sturdy entrance gate.

“Oh.” She gasped in dismay, stopping abruptly. Her legs were partly bare. All she was wearing was the tattered remnant of her kirtle overskirt and petticoat. Her heart skipping a beat, she felt around her waist and, to her everlasting relief she felt her little coin purse still tied there.

“I cannae be seen in such a state,” she wailed despairingly, as the full extent of her bare legs dawned.

Her rescuer remained unruffled. “Lass, ‘tis nay time fer foolish vanity, ye’ve come through an ordeal.” His lips quirked infuriatingly, although, in the dim light, it was difficult to make out his expression.

“Dinnae ye dare laugh at me.”

“Me apologies fer saving ye from drowning, lass. Would ye have preferred tae keep yer skirts and gone tae a watery grave fully clad instead?”

She issued a loud huff of indignation. “Of course nae.” She gritted her teeth and tossed her head.

“Well, then, dinnae say another word. I’ll see tae the landlord when we arrive.”

At the gate, he rang the bell, and then bent to scoop her into his arms, doing his best to keep the worst of her state of undress concealed by his loose shirt.

Somewhat mollified she wove an arm around his neck. The gate was opened by a burly, man with a shiny, bald, pate, a grizzled beard and a wide grin on his face.

He greeted them cheerfully and, paying little attention to the state she was in, he led them through a heavy oaken door.

He bowed from the waist. “Yer room is ready, milord, and yer men are already seated in the tavern enjoying our ale.” He gestured toward a room off to the side from where a rowdy sound of carousing could be heard.

“Thank ye. I’d be grateful if ye would show…,” he hesitated, glancing at Annora. “Show… er… me… wife tae the room.” The landlord raised an eyebrow as her rescuer lowered Annora to her feet at the foot of the staircase. She was grateful for the dim, concealing light.

Opening her mouth to protest at being designated ‘wife,’ she held her tongue when he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Of course, it made sense. If the men pursuing her should enquire – although she thought that unlikely – it was safest if she was believed to be his wife.

“Beg yer pardon, I didnae realize ye were travelling with yer… lady wife.” The landlord raised a brow.

“Ah, yes. We met with misadventures in our travels here.” He glanced in the direction of the noisy room to their left. “Did me crew nae mention the trouble we encountered with a privateer?”

Frowning, the landlord shook his head. “Ye’ve had a lucky escape by the looks of ye.

” He gave a sympathetic tut-tut. “Those Barbary pirates are growing bolder by the day. Many of our fisherfolk’s daughters have been captured, and the rest of them have left the sea altogether fer fear of the corsairs.

Those cursed blackguards have been raiding fer slaves up and down the coast and even across tae the Lordship of Ireland. ”

“Aye. We’ve been lucky, indeed.” The warrior nodded and turned to Annora.

“I’ll join ye in a few minutes, wife. I have business tae attend tae.

” He took her hand and pressed it to his lips, looking for all the world like the very image of a concerned husband caring for his wife.

Then he turned on his heel and disappeared through the door leading to the tavern.

Annora’s head was buzzing as she meekly followed the landlord up the stairs, too tired to ask any questions.

Warmed by a fire blazing merrily in the hearth, the room boasted one large bed which, to Annora’s tired eyes, looked supremely comfortable. It was spread with thickly quilted patchwork coverlets and plump pillows.

Wondering idly where the warrior intended to sleep, she could scarcely think beyond divesting herself of what was left of her salty, still-damp, clothing. It would be bliss to lay her head on one of those soft pillows and allow sleep to claim her.

She was still contemplating her next move when there was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Her voice had moved beyond a croak but still rasped her throat.

“’Tis me again, yer landlord. I’ve brought ye some nourishment.”

She opened the door and the landlord entered, keeping his eyes averted from the bare legs she’d not been able to cover. He carried a trencher with broth and a scattering of bannocks, which he placed on the table, tugged on his forelock and hastened out of the room.

Discovering she was ravenous after all, having had naught tae eat since breaking her fast at Castle Tioram before sunup, Annora’s mouth watered at the aroma of the fragrant broth and the freshly baked bannocks.

Caring nothing for her undressed state, she made short work of the delicious chicken broth, soaking up the last of it with the fluffy, bannocks.

Then, without further ceremony she peeled off what was left of her damp garments, save for her chemise and, after tucking her little purse under her pillow, she snuffed out the candles, lay down on the bed and pulled up the coverlets with a contented sigh.

She was asleep before she had time to puzzle any further about the stranger who had saved her and brought her to this mysterious place, or to spare a thought to where she might go from there.

The sound of the door opening and banging shut jolted her into wakefulness. She groaned and rolled over, the light from a candle causing her to blink. Her heart stammered as she made out the tall, broad, figure of her rescuer standing by the fire, warming his hands.

“What are ye daeing here?” Indignant at this intrusion, she raised herself on the pillows, the coverlet clasped around her.

He chuckled softly, “Why, I’ve come fer me bed, wee wifey.”