Highland Lover - Hannah Howell The Murrays

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on.”

      By the time they reached the shelter of the wood, Alana felt battered and bruised. She did not think covering such a short distance had ever taken her so long or hurt so badly. When she felt the first drop of rain upon her face, she nearly cursed aloud.

      “Now what?” she asked, glaring up at the sky.

      “We run,” Gregor replied.

      “For how long?”

      “Until we cannae run another step. Then we have a wee rest and begin to run some more.”

      “Oh joy.”

      Chapter 4

      Why had she thought that getting out of the pit the Gowans had tossed her into would mean she would be warm and dry? Alana asked herself as she fought to keep pace with Gregor. She was wet, cold, and tired. Very, very tired. Dawn had come and gone hours ago, yet on they ran. Gregor allowed a few rests and a regular change from a fast pace to a slow one and then fast again. Alana knew she was an excellent runner, could go fast and endure a hard pace for a long time, but she feared she had passed her endurance miles ago.

      The chill of the rain had begun to sink deep into her bones, joining forces with the well-settled chill of the prison. She ached from the cold, ached from weariness, and ached from pushing herself far beyond her strength. She wanted to lie down someplace warm and dry and stay there for a day or two, perhaps even a full sennight.

      It occurred to her that she was not even sure where they were running to, but she was too tired to ask Gregor. Alana decided that as long as it was away from the Gowans, it would be good enough for now. Later she would take up the hunt for her sister again. Exhaustion had so dulled her wits and senses, she doubted she could find her sister even if she stood only feet away.

      When Gregor paused to take a drink of water from his wineskin, Alana stumbled to a halt. A moment later, she felt her unsteady legs collapse beneath her. She was too exhausted to even curse as she sat down on the cold, muddy ground. Although she knew it was unwise to sit, she could not find the strength to get back up. Then she began to shiver and a soft roaring filled her ears. She looked up to see Gregor staring at her while holding out the wineskin and felt herself slowly topple onto her back.

      Gregor cursed and knelt by Alana’s side. He slid his hand beneath her shoulders and lifted her partly up out of the mud. The way her head lolled against his arm, the complete limpness of her body, told him she was unconscious. When he started to brush the mud from her face, he cursed again. The skin beneath his hand was hot despite the cool rain falling on them.

      “Och, poor wee lass,” he murmured. “I pushed ye too hard, didnae I.”

      He picked her up and set her down beneath a tree where the ground was not quite so muddy. Using his plaid, he formed a blanket sling so that he could carry her and yet keep his hands free. It took several tries, but he finally got her settled against his chest so that her legs dangled off to his sides and would not impede his stride. Picking up their belongings, he set out to find them someplace where they could hide from the Gowans until she recovered.

      Fate smiled upon him and, within an hour, he found a small stone cottage. When no one responded to his pounding upon the door, he opened it and cautiously looked around, but saw no sign of life. Although the cottage was small, it looked sturdy and its thatched roof was still intact. Gregor quickly laid claim to the abandoned shelter. He set Alana down on the floor and, pulling out the few blocks of peat he always carried with him, he started a fire. Wood or more peat would be required soon, but first he had to get Alana dry and settled near the meager fire.

      Thanking God that he had had the foresight to secure two blankets in the oiled sacks he and Alana carried, Gregor turned his attention to getting Alana out of her wet clothes. He prayed she remained unconscious until he was done, for he felt certain she would object most strenuously to being undressed by a man.

      He tugged off her boots and stockings and then rubbed the damp from her legs just vigorously enough to restore some warmth to her limbs. Although she was slender and her legs appeared rather long despite her lack of height, Gregor felt his conviction that she was not what she appeared to be grow a lot stronger. The legs he now rubbed dry were far too shapely to be a child’s.

      When he removed her cloak and gown, he softly cursed. Her shift was as wet as her outer clothing. Gregor tugged it off her and then sat back on his heels and stared at her. She wore a delicate, more feminine style of a man’s braies, but that oddity was not what really grasped and held his attention. There were several layers of linen bandages wrapped around her chest. He had little doubt that it would not be some wound he found when he unwrapped her.

      Forcibly recalling himself to the need to finish getting her warm and dry, he drew his knife and cut away the sodden bindings. Plump little breasts were revealed to his appreciative gaze, the dark rose tips hard from the chill air. His mouth actually watered with a hunger to taste those long, tempting nipples. The marks the binding had caused were an ugly scar upon her soft skin.

      Gregor forced down the lust heating his blood as he prepared to remove the last of her clothing. Knowing he was about to uncover a woman’s secrets and not just infringe upon a young girl’s modesty, he was still surprised at how fiercely the sight of a fully naked Alana affected him. Her thighs were firm and slender. Her hips were gently curved and her stomach was flat and smooth. Between those beautiful thighs was a tidy little vee of brown curls that held a strong hint of red. She was perfection, he decided.

      He then realized he was panting. Disgusted at how he was acting no better than a stag in rut that had just scented a doe, he quickly finished drying Alana off. Setting her down on a blanket, he dug through her belongings until he found a clean, dry shift and hastily put it on her. He then covered her from her chin to her tiny feet in the second dry blanket.

      To further tamp down his lust, he looked at her hands, carefully unwinding the dirty bindings. A soft curse escaped him as he saw how badly scraped they were. Using some of the water from his wineskin, he gently bathed the scratches, careful to remove all grit and dirt. Deciding it might be best to leave her hands free of bandages, he patted them dry. He just wished her fever were as easy to tend to. There was a lot more he would need to do to keep the fever from settling in too deeply, but his knowledge of such things was scarce.

      Standing up, Gregor began to more closely inspect the cottage. It took him only a few moments to decide that it had only recently been deserted. There was still some peat and wood in a box near the fireplace. The fact that the little cottage even had a fireplace was surprising, and he had to wonder what it had been used for. After building up the fire, he pulled a rough bench closer to it and draped her wet clothes over it so that they would dry. He then returned to his explorations.

      The fact that the cottage had a sturdy wooden door should have alerted him to the possibility that this was no mere cottar’s hut, he realized. Opening one of the thick shutters on one of the three windows, he found glass panes, a true luxury. Although the mattress upon the bed was stuffed with straw, it was thick and clean. A poor man would have taken such a fine mattress with him. Gregor then recalled how the cottage was tucked deep within the woods with no area cleared for farming or the raising of animals. He began to think he had stumbled upon some laird’s retreat, perhaps even a place where he housed his lemans out of sight and reach of his wife. It was pure luck that the man was between lovers at the moment, Gregor mused.

      He shook his head as he removed his wet clothes, rubbed himself dry, and donned some fresh dry clothes. After arranging the second bench in front of the fire, he laid his own clothes over it to dry. When he had wished for shelter for himself and Alana, he had never expected to find something this fine. The Fates were definitely smiling on them.

      Stepping into the room at the back of the cottage, Gregor found himself in a small kitchen. Whoever had lived here last had left only a few things behind, but they could prove useful. He was impressed by the fact that the fireplace was actually two sided, the kitchen side being constructed more for use in cooking. Here, too, was a supply of peat and wood. As long as the Gowans did not find them, he and Alana could stay here in comfort until she regained her health and strength.

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