Page 9 of The Runaway Bride and the Highlander
“Ye do realize I just saved ye?” he blurted.
“I could’ve saved myself,” Skylar bit back stubbornly.
The laird chuckled deeply then. “Aye, I saw that. I watched yesave yerselfas that soldier chucked ye over his shoulder. And when ye were thrown tae the ground and stripped, ye were clearly saving yerself there too,” he hissed. “And let’s nae forget the obvious saving o’ yerself ye were doing when Colum had his hands all over ye. Och, aye. Ye could’ve saved yerself for sure.”
His words dripped with sarcasm which made Skylar huff. It wasn’t just the fact that he was obviously right, but the sense of arrogance in which his words were draped only frustrated her. That being said, she could not deny what might have become of her if Laird Macleod and his men had not arrived when they did. He had saved her, and they both knew it.
Not long afterward, they arrived at the water’s edge. The Isle of Iona was situated on the west coast of Scotland and was separated from the Isle of Mull by just under a mile of water. From what Skylar had overheard, it was not the only boat they were going to have to take to get to Laird Macleod’s castle.
After some muted negotiations between Bram and the ferryman, the small group dismounted and climbed aboard the vessel. It was fortunate their group was so small or it would have taken two trips. Skylar settled herself at the bow, pulling the plaid tightly around her shoulders. Watching the rough water breaking as the boat ploughed onward, she remembered the last time she was on this boat. Only, on that occasion, she was not leaving the Isle of Iona—she was heading toward it.
Traveling with four of her father’s most trusted men, she had been dressed as a boy. In fact, her father had done the same with all his daughters. His reasoning had been that Johnson’s army would not be looking for a group of men traveling together. They would be searching for a woman amongst them. It had been ingenious, and likely only for her father’s clever cunning, Skylar had made it to the Nunnery safely and unharmed, for not once had they been stopped or followed.
Skylar had imagined back then that when she was finally able to make the journey back to the mainland the threat would be over, and she would travel to be reunited with her father and three other sisters. Yet, she knew differently now. Such a reunion could never be. She may one day see her sisters again, but her father was long gone.
Once they landed on the other side, the group mounted their horses once more and began the journey to the north of the Isle of Mull. Skylar was back on the laird’s horse, but even with the heat of his body and the plaid wrapped around them, she was still freezing. The weather had turned, and along with the bitter cold, a heavy downpour now rained down on them. It continued for hours as they traveled through the night.
Her eyes grew heavy, and her head lolled. She was so very tired, likely from all the trauma and excitement she had experienced in only one night. If only she could sleep. Closing her eyes, she tried to rest. But she was sure she could never really fall deeply into slumber.
* * *
Skylar woke up feeling disoriented, with a strange sensation on her cheek. It was rough and tickled her a little. Blinking her eyes open, she realized her head lay against Laird Macleod’s chest, the plaid covering most of her head, though, for the life of her, she did not know how she managed to get into such a position. Pushing herself swiftly up and feeling a little embarrassed, she looked up at him.
“Did ye enjoy yer rest?” he said, his mouth lifting slightly at one side. “It appears I make a good pillow.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldnae have done that.”
“Ye didnae,” he replied. “I put ye there when ye fell asleep with yer head back. The rain was battering onto yer face. We’ve still a long way tae go, and I cannae have ye catching yer death.”
“Thank ye,” Skylar replied bashfully. “How far is it tae yer castle now?”
“Och, we have two more crossings tae make yet.”
Her words appeared to make him think though, and a moment later, he turned behind him and called over his shoulder. “Let’s make camp,” he shouted to those following behind. “The horses need tae rest, and so do we.”
A small while later, wood had been gathered, a fire had been lit, and a skinned rabbit was turning on a twig above it. The group sat around it, all apart from Bram and the laird, who had taken themselves off a small distance and were talking amongst themselves. Skylar tried to listen to what they were saying, though it was hard to hear over the conversation of the men at the fire. But she did catch small bits.
“…the wedding will have tae go ahead now,” Bram said.
“Aye, well,” the laird replied, “Fiona MacTavish’ll be in for a shock when she sees the state of ye.”
Bram laughed at this comment, and Skylar could only deduce that Fiona MacTavish was Bram’s betrothed. Why she would be in for a shock when she saw Bram, Skylar could not know. Perhaps they had not yet met, in which case, shewasin for a shock, for Bram was a frightening sight indeed.
The rain had abated for a while, but even with the small warmth of the fire, Skylar was still freezing. She was wrapped in Laird Maxwell’s plaid, but it was soaked from the downpour earlier. Maybe the heat of the fire would dry it out a little, but with the thickness of its dense wool, likely not fully.
“Ye’re tae have the tent tonight,” the laird said a little later when he and Bram had rejoined the group. “We only brought one with us tae make the journey lighter. But for yer privacy, ye can make use o’ it, lass.”
“Where will ye sleep?” Skylar asked, her brow furrowed.
“Under the stars,” he said coldly, raising his hand upwards and gesturing to the sky. The clouds had cleared, and the black canopy above them twinkled with millions of tiny dots of light.
“But ye’ll freeze,” Skylar replied, looking down at the plaid still wrapped about her body.
“I’ll be grand.”
“Then please, take yer plaid back—”
“Woman, I said I’ll be fine,” the laird barked.
