Page 32 of Highlander Redeemed
Her eyes grew wide. “But that is nothing new, nothing special. I thought everyone could do that.”
“It may not be new, but it is special. Tell me, is it the same now as it was then, or has thisknowinggrown stronger of late?”
She had to really think about that. “It grows stronger. Clearer, really. I used to get this ... itch ... in my mind when Rowan or Jeanette drew near and I did not wish to be found. Now it is as if the thought ‘Rowan is on the trail to the burn’—” She looked at him with her brow scrunched together and a startled look in her eyes. “Rowanison the trail to the burn. She is. Right now.”
Duncan smiled, that broad grin that she loved, that he seemed to save only for her. That thought stopped her. Surprised her.
“And Jeanette, do you ken where she is?”
Scotia closed her eyes and thought about her sister. “Aye. She is studying the Chronicles at the back of the main cave.”
“Is there anyone else you canknowabout?”
“My da. Uilliam sometimes, but only if he is angry with me. I knew Nicholas came for me and Ian in the fire, but that is the only time I have known where he was.”
“Emotion is the key, Scotia. There was no emotion involved when you were asked to find Jeanette’s bag of herbs, but you have a soft heart for the weans, so you were able to find both Maisie and Ian when they were frightened and alone. Nicholas feared for your life in the fire. The sword almost took your life. And the dagger ... I suspect you will always be able to find that dagger no matter how well it is hidden, or how far away you must travel to retrieve it.”
“And you. Iknowyou.”
He nodded, holding her gaze with his own. “Aye.”
She would not let herself look away from him, from his dark brown eyes gone soft as he waited for her to say something, to do something. But she would not let herself close the small distance between them. She knew herself, and she knew Duncan. They would drive each other daft if there was anything more between them than teacher and student, big brother and bratty wee sister. And yet she did not think of him as brotherly anymore. There was nothing brotherly at all in the way Duncan had invaded her thoughts, and her dreams. Nothing brotherly when he had kissed her. And there was nothing sisterly in the desire for him that swamped her at odd times.
Besides, they both knew she was a fickle creature. Her infatuation with Conall had only lasted until she had other things, more important things, to fixate upon. And there had been lads before him, fleeting flirtations, a few stolen kisses. Of course things had gone a bit further than kisses with Conall. She turned away from Duncan then, pretending she had heard something behind her. She was not proud of what had happened with Conall, though at the time it had been thrilling to know he wanted her so much, to know he would put his life in danger to lie with her. It had been a heady rush of power that she had never experienced before. It had been an escape from the impending death of her mother. And yet she had found no joy in learning of his arrival at the caves.
But she did find joy in her time with Duncan, and not just from the training. She found herself looking for his smile when she finished one of his tasks, and was disappointed if it did not appear. Spending time with him made her forget, sometimes, the things that had happened, and managed to suspend her fixation on the battle to come, allowing her to simply be with him, in the moment.
Daft. She was daft. She wanted no escape from the horrors that had befallen her and her clan since those days of naïveté. Now she wanted to hold the pain, the anger, the sorrow, and the grief close to her so she would never forget, so she would stay focused on what mattered, on vengeance, on driving the Englishdevils from this land, on killing as many of them as possible so they could not return, yet again, to try to break Clan MacAlpin of Dunlairig. She had two deaths to avenge. If she gave in to whatever this was between her and Duncan she would lose her focus, her edge, her burning anger.
She realized she still stared into Duncan’s eyes, but at least her resolve was once more in place.
“How can we use this ability of mine as a weapon against our enemies?” she asked, turning the tension between them back to what she really wanted.
Vengeance.
FOR THREE DAYSDuncan had driven them both hard with sword practice, testing her gift, obstacle courses in the wood, tracking practice for those things she could not find with herknowing, discussions of strategy ... anything he could think of to tire the two of them out so much and so thoroughly that neither had the energy to dwell on the change in their relationship, for even though she had not admitted as much, the very fact that she couldknowwhere he was at all times spoke volumes about the emotions she refused to acknowledge.
That alone, hiding her emotions, was remarkable and told him in no uncertain terms that she did not want the feelings she held for him. Which was fine. He did not want these new feelings she was engendering in him, either.
But Scotia fought like a demon now that she had a real sword. No longer did she dance through the lessons he set her. The sword, and a better understanding of what her gift could and couldn’t do for her, had honed her to a fine edge, making her move through the exercises with more force, more grace, and far greater purpose than ever before.
“Ouch!” he said as Scotia landed a blow with the flat of her sword on his upper arm.
“If you held your targe where you should, I could not hit you like that,” Scotia said, her sword once more up, her targe in place, and a wicked smile upon her lips. “If ’twas a true battle, I would not have turned my blade, and you would be without that arm.” She shifted her weight side to side, her sword at the ready, enjoying far too much his momentary distraction and her momentary victory.
Duncan attacked. Swords clashed, and for a moment his focus was absolute. Scotia put everything she had into her parries and counterattacks, forcing him to think fast to keep up with her.
She fluttered her eyelashes, the smile still in place, drawing his attention away from her fighting stance to her eyes. The moment his focus wavered, she spun, landed a vicious blow on his targe, then used that force to propel her into another spin. He stopped her next blow with his sword, the blades sliding down each other until the cross guards stopped them, jamming their weapons together and bringing Duncan within inches of Scotia. Her eyes locked with his as she fought for control of the battle.
Duncan could barely hold his ground, struggling to keep his mind on the battle now that she stood so close he could feel her rapid breath upon his face, but they were at a stalemate.
“Enough?” She licked her lips, and he was lost.
Somehow she hooked a heel behind his knee and pulled him off balance, toppling him to the ground. He managed to hold his weapons away, pulling hers free of her grip at the same time, but that meant he could not break his fall. He landed hard with an “Oof!”
In one motion, so fluid ’twas like a dance, Scotia drew her dagger and straddled him, her knife point coming to rest just under his ear. At least she was breathing hard from the exertion. He could barely breathe at all, and it had little to do with the knife at his throat, and everything to do with the woman who sat atop him in a position far better used for pleasure than for war.
Scotia was motionless, her gaze, still locked on his, showed surprise, and awareness.
