Forever Mine #2
Just when Niall would have stepped towards her, a horse reared, kicking him with its hooves and sending him spinning backwards. The other horses began to dance around, the scent of blood and shouts from the men spooking them.
Jean backed away, careful not to run into any of the men locked in combat. When she looked to where Niall had fallen, she couldn’t find him.
She searched everywhere to no avail. He was gone.
Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around her arm. Jean raised her fist, prepared to strike whoever dared to touch her, only to find herself staring into startling blue eyes framed by thick black lashes.
She looked her fill at Braden’s square jaw and high forehead, his aquiline nose, and his wide lips. She liked how his lower lip was fuller than the top. She found herself staring at his mouth as she forgot everything but the man holding her.
“Are you hurt?” Braden asked.
Jean shook her head slowly, struck anew at the presence of Braden MacAlister. Blood coated him, but she didn’t know if it was his or that of his opponents.
Braden glanced around. “Where is MacDougall?”
“I … I struck him. The horses reared and kicked him, and then he was gone.”
“Shite. He cannot have gone far.”
Jean watched and Braden motioned some of his men to follow as he scouted for Niall’s trail. Niall’s guards, those who had dared to stand against the great Braden MacAlister, had all been killed, their bodies lying still upon the ground.
She swallowed the bile in her throat and lifted her skirts running towards the wagon and the other prisoners. Jean jerked at the lock, hoping to find it open. Unfortunately, the guards hadn’t been as stupid as she’d hoped.
“Damn,” she murmured and slammed her hand against the wood.
“Is there a problem?”
Jean whirled around at the deep voice to find one of Braden’s men, all meaty shoulders and barrel chest. “I cannot unlock the wagon.”
The man smiled, showing even white teeth and a twinkle in his dark brown gaze. “Allow me, lass.”
Jean stepped aside. As soon as she was out of the way, the man slammed the hilt of his sword against the lock. It busted open spectacularly and the chain fell away.
Braden’s man opened the door for the captives, but no one moved. They were petrified with fear. Jean stood beside the Highlander and smiled, calling into the wagon to the terrified women and children.
“It’s all right,” she told them and she held out her hand. “You can come out now.”
In moments, she was surrounded by the rest of Braden’s men, helping her encourage the rest of the women and children out of the wagon. Jean found water skins and hurried to pass those around.
One warrior moved to her side. “Why did MacDougall take all of you?”
“To ensure that my clansmen did as he wanted.”
“Foul bastard,” the man said with a curl of his lip. “What clan, lass?”
“MacKay. I’m Jean MacKay.”
“Well, Jean, lass,” he said with a friendly smile. “I’m Keith MacAlister, at your service. I’m thinking Braden will want to escort you and the others back to your clan.”
Jean let out a sigh of relief, but before she could thank him, a shout drew their attention.
She followed Keith to a circle of men who gathered around one of their fallen brothers on the ground.
It took only one look at the gaping wound for Jean to nudge the men aside and decide on a course of action.
“Let me tend him,” she said as she knelt beside the warrior. The cut on his leg went clean to the bone. Jean licked her lips and glanced over her shoulder at Keith. “I’m going to need water and bandages. And needle and thread.”
Keith let out a deep breath, his eyes troubled. “We have no needle and thread here.”
“The wound is too deep. I must stop the bleeding.”
“Bind Colin’s leg for now,” said a deep voice to her right. “We must get moving.”
Jean jerked her head around to find Braden watching her. Something was stuffed in her hand. Jean had no choice but to turn her attention back to the wounded man. With Keith’s help she was able to bind the wound as tightly as she could. It would staunch the blood, but not for long.
She rose as the others lifted Colin into the wagon. Jean looked at the women and children gathered in a tight circle, then to Braden. Someone needed to go along to tend Colin’s wound and she knew she could help.
Jean squared her shoulders and walked to Braden. He paused in his conversation with Keith and another man when he caught sight of her.
She waited until the other two warriors walked away before she spoke to Braden.
“I can help Colin. He’s going to need to be stitched.”
One side of Braden’s lips tilted in a small smile. “We’ve learned to mend each other’s wounds.”
“I’ve no doubt, but Colin’s wound is to the bone. A fever will most likely set in. You will need someone to watch him.”
“Why would you want to help?”
She understood his suspicion, even if she didn’t like it. “You and your men are trying to help all of us. You need every man you have for your continued attacks on Niall. You’ve already got Colin down and several others wounded. Would you leave yet another fighter behind to watch Colin?”
For long, heart-racing moments Braden stared at her, his striking blue eyes made only brighter by the paint still visible on his face. “If, for even a moment, I think you are spying on us …”
“I‘m not,” she said before he could finish. “I only want to help.”
“So be it, Jean MacKay.”
Two
Jean wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Her lower back ached from leaning over Colin’s prone form and wiping his fevered skin. The dwelling they were in was nothing more than tartans strung together around thick poles. A tent, but a roomy enough one.
She had no idea how long she had been in Braden’s camp. He’d covered her eyes to prevent her from seeing the direction they rode. She would never have told anyone where the camp was located, but he hadn’t believed her.
Not that she blamed him.
Jean leaned back and arched her spine, her hands at her lower back. She blew out a breath, concern knotting her stomach. Colin hadn’t improved since they had arrived.
She’d cleaned and stitched his wound, but the fever had set in much too quickly for her liking. All she could do now was pray he was strong enough to overcome the fever.
“You need to rest.”
Jean whirled around at the sound of the voice. She licked her lips and watched the tall, thickly-built Highlander move into the tent and stand beside her.
Keith and Braden were rarely separated – it was obvious Keith was Braden’s right hand, the man Braden most depended on.
“You concern should be with your friend,” Jean said.
Keith grunted and placed his large hand on Colin’s forehead. “It is my concern for him that gives voice to the obvious. You are exhausted. You will do Colin no good if you collapse.”
“I would never.” Jean rose to her feet and clenched her hands. “I gave my word that I would look after him.”
The slow smile that pulled at Keith’s lips only increased her irritation. “You’ve got a temper. Good. It’ll keep Braden on his toes.”
Jean blinked, unsure she heard him correctly. “What did you say?”
“There’s food awaiting, lass. Get some before it’s gone. I’ll stay with Colin for a wee bit.”
Keith quickly occupied the stool beside the cot. Jean took a step back, stunned, before she turned and exited the tent. Once outside, she paused and surveyed the camp. She had known Braden had many followers, but she hadn’t realized just how many fought with him.
The number was staggering. The sheer quantity of tents that dotted that hilltop and surrounding valley left her in awe. It would only be a matter of time now before Niall MacDougall was gone forever.
Her stomach growled, and she wasted no time in getting food. She sighed as the last bite slid down her throat. The meal would fortify her. She hadn’t realized how weary she had been until that moment.
Jean rose and started back to Colin when she caught sight of a large dwelling near the centre of camp. As someone exited the tent, she spotted Braden within.
Before she knew it, she was standing before his tent. Jean hesitated only a moment before she lifted the tartan and ducked inside. She let the material fall silently closed behind her as her gaze roamed over the inside of the dwelling.
To the right were two chairs facing each other. Off to the back was the MacAlister tartan spread on the ground for Braden’s bed. To the right was a chest. In the middle of the tent was a table where a map was spread out with Braden leaning over it, absorbed in his thoughts.
Gone was the blue paint that had covered his upper body and face and made him appear wild and untamed. Braden now wore a saffron shirt with his kilt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing thick black hair on his forearms.
He appeared as any other Highlander, but Jean knew differently. She had seen the warrior he could become, had seen his unquenchable need for vengeance, both for himself and for his people.
She would keep the image of him jumping from the boulder to save her forever in her memory. She had been prepared to die, but Braden hadn’t let her.
Suddenly, he lifted his head and looked at her.
Jean folded her hands and tried to calm the heart that now raced inside her chest. Being so near Braden affected her thoughts and her body in a way that had never happened to her before.
It wasn’t just the power he wielded. It was more than his determination to right the wrongs done to their people.
It was him – the bold, passionate, handsome man with the long, dark hair and the bright blue eyes – that stole her breath.
She wanted to be near him, not because he had rescued her, but because she wanted to know this man who risked everything for his clan.
“I was about to come see you and Colin. Is he well?”
His voice, smooth and deep, made her skin tingle with awareness. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be his woman, to know the warmth of his lips and his tender touch. To hold him, touch him.
Feel him.
“For the moment,” she answered. “A fever has set in.”