Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson #2)

An owl hooted somewhere deep within the encampment’s bordering forest and stirred Layla toward wakefulness. She opened her eyes although ’twas still dark outside, the candle within the lamp almost down to the end of its wick. Warmth cocooned her, from her head to the tips of her toes and she stretched, held her breath. Muscles she’d never used before ached, although an ache she fully embraced. Although not so much the ache that demanded she tend to her immediate needs. A spot behind a tree in the forest would do for that.

Wriggling, she tried to free herself from Tor’s firm hold. Almost there. She squirmed out and thankfully without waking him, tucked the fur back over top of him and tiptoed to her discarded clothes. She stopped at the sight of Cherub’s bag tucked half underneath the pile of furs. The cook had said Cherub had used this tent. She eased the bag out, unbelted the leather flap and flipped the top open. Cherub’s clothes lay neatly folded within. She smiled, certain Cherub wouldn’t mind in the least if she borrowed some.

From the top, she selected a pale blue riding habit with a lacy cream shirt. She donned the shirt, fastened the skirt at her hips then tugged the jacket on. The sturdy leather boots within the bag would be far more useful than her slippers in traipsing through the woods. With the riding boots on, she took one last look at her deliciously sleeping mate and although she didn’t wish to leave him, ducked outside.

A fresh breeze blew in from over the loch and fluttered her hair about, which was likely a complete mess following her night with her mate. Pale colored canvas tents dotted the length of the clearing, the forest rising high behind them while a fire still glowed within the pit in the center of the camp. A good sixty warriors slept around its warmth and two men from amongst their number rose from their bedding, stretched and wandered down toward two warriors on guard at the water’s edge.

A glorious loch, private and perfect for her to use lay not far from here, only a short walk through the woods. The loch also sat on their Matheson land and was quite safe, their border patrols always firmly in place between them and their enemy MacKenzie clan.

She set out along the forest trail meandering through the towering pines. Low brush crowded the pathway and she skipped over trailing tree roots in the moonlight before veering off the trail just before the loch. She found the perfect spot and after crouching behind a prickly brushwood, tended to her needs.

Back on the trail, she snuck between two large trunks and halted right before the shimmering waters of a beautiful pool. Small and flawlessly round, the water danced with the reflection of the swaying trees encircling it while high above through the break in the leafy canopy, the stars glittered like diamonds within a peaceful layer of beautiful black.

Along the mossy water’s edge, she strolled and passed the odd boulder protruding from the embankment. In a clear spot, she knelt, scooped water and splashed her face then with wet hands, ran her fingers through her hair and tried to tame her golden curls as best as she could.

This loch was so enchanting. She would bring Tor here and show him this most magical—

A clomp and a rustle sounded within the bordering trees close behind. She held still, her moonlit shadow shimmering over the water and the shadow of another moving in behind her on horseback flickering over hers. Not Tor. For certain. Her mind was still deeply entrenched within his and he slept on. ’Twas likely one of her kin on duty and patrolling this area.

“Well, well. This is a rather fortunate encounter, finding you all alone.” Donnan’s gravelly voice made the hairs on her arms and neck stand up. Booted feet thumped on the ground and a horse whinnied. “Turn around, Layla.”

She pushed to her feet, turned and gasped, clutched a hand to her chest. Blood coated the front of his great plaid and dripped from the dagger he held, the man before her appearing every inch the blood-thirsty warrior he was. “Whose blood is that?” she demanded.

“A hungry wolf. ’Twas either him or me and since I’ve a great desire to continue living, his life instead came to a fast and sure end.”

“Where’s Gerald?”

“Gerald is currently tied high within the bow of a tree and unable to get down.” Reins in one hand, he tethered his sleek black mount to a low branch, his horse snorting frosty air. He crossed the distance separating them, knelt at the water’s edge, dunked his blade in the water then wiped it across the mossy grass and sheathed it at his wrist. The back of his tunic gaped in a diagonal line from one shoulder to his hip, along with a single claw mark scoring his flesh. Blood seeped from the jagged wound.

“You’re no’ the same man who I spent time with at Dunscaith.” He was far more ruthless than he’d ever allowed her to see.