Chapter 7
Elsea gaped at the handsome, dark-haired man.
Why was he shirtless and wearing only a plaid belted about his hips?
His golden tan skin and the well-developed muscles of his arms and torso, marred with a few white battle scars, proclaimed he was a powerful warrior—more fearsome than any of her brothers.
With a concerned frown, he glanced down at Elsea's blood-covered palm, then up into her eyes.
"Come, lass. You've had a horrible head injury.
" He offered his hand. What was his name?
Who was he? He observed her as if he knew her and as if... looking into her eyes pained him.
He cocked his head sideways. "Are you well?"
She didn't know. Nay, she was not well. She shook her head slightly, so as not to cause herself more discomfort.
How had she gotten here... wherever here was?
Firelight glimmered over the stalactites hanging from the ceiling, the stone walls, and the gritty dirt floor.
The wood smoke did nothing to conceal the dank, musty scent. Why on earth was she in a cave?
"My clansmen arrived with a birlinn," he said.
Dare she trust him?
"I'll take you to Farspag, where the physician can help you. Do you remember Finnian?"
She shook her head. The name sounded familiar, but she could not visualize his face. Regardless, a physician could be good or bad, depending on how ancient his methods were. Would he bleed her?
"When will you be back, Brodie, my love?" the woman asked.
"I have nay inkling," he growled, showing he cared naught about her. Why were they here together?
"May I come with you?" the woman asked with forced sweetness.
"Nay, I'll return for you later, Margaret."
"Very well." She gave a demure smile that did not reach her eyes. "I'll patiently await your return, my sweet."
Was Margaret in love with this man she'd called Brodie? Or only using him? Could he see her deception?
"Come, lass. Can you walk?" He motioned to Elsea.
She nodded.
Brodie took her hand—the one without blood on it—in his warm one and drew it around his bare arm above the elbow.
Her fingers pressed against the base of his hard, bulging biceps muscle.
His hot skin almost burned her, but maybe that was because her own hands were so icy.
He led her toward the cave's exit and into the soft dawn light.
She should have been frozen in this chill wind, but she wasn't. Heat radiated off Brodie's skin.
She glanced down at her half-dry smock. What had happened to the rest of her clothes?
Thankfully, the smock was a thicker winter garment made of linen.
Her feet within her boots were still wet and squishy.
She wore trews hidden beneath everything, which had been her habit for years because she rode so much.
Where was her horse? She glanced around, but naught was familiar on this wind-whipped sea island. Rugged gray cliffs jutted skyward, white waves crashed, and calling seagulls darted through the sky. A chestnut-brown wooden galley sat beached in the surf.
An image flashed in her mind—someone kicking her backward on a galley at night. Her head hit something hard. She drew up short. Heavens! Who had done that? Why had she been on a galley? Was it the same one that waited in front of her?
"What's wrong?" Brodie frowned, giving her a curious glance.
Everything. Panic flooded her, increasing her heart rate.
"We must hurry." He pulled her toward the galley. Several men remained on board, while a few lingered on the beach, watching their approach. Which clan were they? Friends or foes of the MacAuley clan?
"Are you cold?" Brodie asked.
She shook her head.
Without warning, he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the shallow surf toward the galley as if she weighed no more than a bairn. He smelled of the sea and masculinity. The heat from his body provided all the warmth she needed, but he wouldn't keep holding her.
"Can you help her, Kenneth?" Brodie called to a man on board.
"Aye, chief." The warrior, just as large and strong as Brodie but fully dressed, reached down, lifted her, then placed her on one of the wooden thwarts.
The cold became extreme, and her teeth chattered.
Her hair and smock were still damp. She hissed in a breath.
Why did she feel as if she'd plunged into icy water? Naught made sense.
"She's freezing. Have you an extra plaid?" Brodie shouted as he boarded.
"She can have mine," one of the men offered, grinning as he unbelted it.
Her face burned, and she was glad the dawn light was dim enough to cover her blush. Thankfully, the man wore a long ivory linen shirt, which concealed anything scandalous. Since Brodie was shirtless, 'twas clear why he didn't give her his plaid.
Brodie enveloped her, including her head, in the man's warm, dry plaid.
"You well ken what it means when a lass is wrapped in your plaid," the man teased.
All the other men laughed.
"Och! Shut your gob, Neil," Brodie grumbled. "She's nay yours."
"Aye, chief. We ken who she belongs to."
The men laughed again.
Belongs to? Elsea's face burned even hotter, but she found the men's mischief amusing despite her precarious situation.
Which clan was he the chief of? She opened her mouth and tried to say which, but no sound emerged. Even if she could've whispered, the sound would've been blown away on the wind and drowned in the loud waves.
"Is that her ladyship?" an older man asked, giving her a critical glance.
"Aye." Brodie cast him a warning glower and took a seat beside her.
Elsea frowned. Did the men know her, too? She looked to Brodie, hoping he would explain. She must have met them sometime in the past.
He met her gaze reluctantly, his expression surly. "Does your head pain you?"
She nodded. It did, but her memories remained foggy. How had she hit her head? Oh aye, a man had kicked her down on a galley. She tried hard, but 'twas all she could recall.
She didn't know whether she could trust Brodie or any of the people manning this galley and raising the sail, but she had no choice.
They left the island, which was quite a distance from the mainland.
She could barely see it through the mist. When she tried to recall how she had come to be here, her memory went dark.
Again, she reviewed the memories she'd retained, thinking of her family and clan at Kincreag. Did they know she was here? Would her brothers retrieve her?
When Brodie's bare knee beneath his plaid touched hers, the wind didn't chill her as much. Almost like being in a heated room.
How was he doing that? 'Twas like magic. Was he a sorcerer?
She tried to figure out what sort of man Brodie was. Being a chief, he was strong and commanding, obviously. He frowned and scowled a lot, but wanted to make sure she was warm. He'd asked about her pain, and he was trying to get her to a physician.
Aye, he must be trustworthy. When the sea grew rough, Brodie clasped her forearm to hold her in place, then moved his hand to her upper arm.
"What's this?" He lifted her hand and looked down her sleeve. "A sheath?"
She nodded, glancing at the empty leather sheath. Had she lost all her weapons? She checked the sheath on her other forearm. Also, empty.
"You always were armed to the teeth," Brodie said. "Where's your sgian dubh?"
Frowning, she shook her head. How did he know about her carrying weapons? Blast it, he knew her... somehow, and so did his clansmen. He was an unforgettable type of man, so why couldn't she remember him?
"We had to remove your cloak, belt, and arisaid in the sea. 'Twas weighing you down too much."
Oh, so that's where her clothes had gone. And the dirk her da had given her? Blast. 'Twas gone forever if it had sunk to the bottom of the sea. She placed her palms against the sheaths on the outside of her calves and found the sgian dubh hilts still in place.
"You have something there?" Brodie asked, pressing his fingers against the sheathed weapon. "At least you didn't lose them all. What were you doing out there on that galley?"
Trying hard to summon the memory, she shook her head.
"Arabella told me you cut the bonds of the females."
She frowned, searching his dark eyes. What on earth was he talking about? Which females, and who was Arabella?
He flicked a glance at her, this one less severe. "Do you remember?"
She shook her head.
"You said you remembered who I am."
She shook her head again, slightly. She should, but she didn't.
His glare sharpened. "In the cave, you said you remembered me."
Had she? If so, the memory had vanished.
He blew out an impatient breath, his gaze darting away.
She was sorry she'd forgotten. Why was he being so callous about it? Did he think she was lying?
Oh, good Lord, she prayed her memory would return soon. If Brodie was someone she knew, she certainly wanted to remember him.
***
WILONA MACRAE GROUND her teeth and strode to the mouth of the cave. In the distance, the galley tossed and rocked over the waves, the pale sail full of wind. In the first rays of dawn light, she could barely see Brodie and his whore along with the men.
"Bastard! I'll show him," Wilona seethed.
She spoke the ancient Gaelic words, the spell to turn herself into a giant sea eagle, even larger than a natural bird, with a ten-foot wingspan.
Normally, she chose to shift into smaller birds, for it took less power, but she would need to be massive to grab the lass in her talons and drop her into the ocean.
Flapping her massive wings, Wilona delighted in her strength. With ease, she lifted off from the shore despite the wind and flew high into the air. She stayed behind the galley to maintain the element of surprise. Her vision as an eagle was unsurpassed.