Seduction of a Highland Lass (McCabe Trilogy 2)

It appeared the warrior had questions of his own.

“Who are you and what have you done to him?” he demanded as he pointed to where her warrior lay on the floor.

She gaped, unable to call back her gasp of indignation. “Do? I’ve done nothing, good sir. Well, except save his life, but I suppose that’s paltry.”

His gaze narrowed and he pressed in closer to her, gripping her arm until she gave a small cry of pain.

“Leave off, Caelen,” the apparent leader barked.

Caelen scowled but eased his grip and shoved her a foot away so that she bumped into the chest of one of the other men. She turned, intending to scramble away, but he took over where Caelen had left off and grasped her arm, albeit much more gently.

The leader knelt by the sleeping warrior and concern darkened his features. He ran his palm over the warrior’s fevered brow and then over his chest and shoulders as if seeking the source of his illness.

“Alaric,” he called out, his voice enough to wake the dead.

Alaric? ’Twas a fine name for a warrior. But Alaric didn’t so much as flinch. The man kneeling over him turned his worried gaze toward Keeley and then his green eyes, so much like Alaric’s, turned cold and stormy.

“What has happened here? Why won’t he awaken?”

She turned and glanced pointedly at the warrior holding her arm and then down to where his hand clamped around her flesh until he got the message and released her. Then she hurried over to where Alaric lay, determined that whoever this man was, he wouldn’t bully Alaric while he lay so riddled with fever.

“ ’Tis a fever he’s taken,” she said huskily, trying to ward off the fear that surrounded her just as these men surrounded her.

“That much I can surmise on my own,” the warrior growled. “What happened?”

Keeley reached to push aside the remnants of Alaric’s tunic where she’d stitched his side. There were several quick intakes of breath and Caelen, who’d squeezed her arm so hard it had nearly broken, advanced to stand over Alaric as he looked down at the stitched wound.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said honestly. “His horse bore him here, and he fell onto the ground outside my door. It took all my wits to get him inside so that I could tend his wounds. ’Twas a nasty cut to his side. I stitched it the best I could and have tended him well and kept him warm ever since.”

“She did a fine job of stitching him,” Caelen said grudgingly.

Keeley bristled but held her tongue. What she’d like to do is give him a swift kick in his arse. Her arm still hurt where he’d gripped her.

“Aye, she did,” the leader said softly. “I only wish I knew what transpired for him to arrive so grievously injured.” He turned his seeking gaze on Keeley, probing, as if he considered whether she was being truthful with him.

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” she grumbled. “ ’Tis shameful. He must have been ambushed or fought unfairly. He seems fit enough to handle himself in a fight.”

The leader’s eyes glimmered for a moment and she swore he almost smiled.

“I am Laird McCabe and Alaric is my brother.”

Keeley cast her eyes downward and bobbed an awkward curtsy. He wasn’t her laird, but still, a man of his position commanded respect, and it wasn’t as if her laird was a man deserving of any.

“To whom do I speak?” he asked impatiently.

“Keeley,” she stammered out. “Keeley … Just Keeley.” It wasn’t as if the McDonalds claimed her as kin any longer.

“Well, just Keeley. It would appear I owe my brother’s life to you.”

Her cheeks pinched tight as heat gathered and pooled there. She shifted uncomfortably, unused to such praise.

Laird McCabe began issuing orders to his men about how to transport Alaric back to their lands. Aye, she knew they’d want him home, but she felt pressing sadness that her warrior would no longer occupy her hearth.

“His stupid horse left,” she blurted, not wanting the blame for not taking better care of his steed. “I did what I could.”

Again, something that looked remarkably close to a smile flickered over Laird McCabe’s features.

“That stupid horse alerted us that Alaric was in trouble,” he said dryly.

She listened idly as they made plans for immediate departure and almost missed the mention of her. Nay, there it was again. A distinct reference to her.

She whirled around, gaping at Caelen, who obviously had to be another McCabe brother. He looked nearly identical to Alaric, though to be honest, Alaric was more pleasing to look at. Caelen frowned so ferociously, that she couldn’t imagine a woman wanting to go anywhere near the man.

“I’m not going with you,” she protested, sure she’d heard incorrectly.

Caelen didn’t respond to her statement, nor did he look impressed with her ire. He simply plucked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and began walking from the house.

In her outrage, she was momentarily stunned. Speechless and motionless. By the time he got to his horse, she understood his purpose and she began to kick and fight.

Instead of forcing her onto his horse, he promptly dropped her onto the ground and then loomed over her with a look of sheer annoyance.

She reached underneath her skirts to rub her bruised behind and glared up at the warrior. “That hurt!”

Caelen rolled his eyes. “You have two choices. You can get yourself up off the ground and give in gracefully. Or I can tie you up, preferably with a gag, and throw you over my saddle.”

“I can’t just leave! Why on earth would you want me to? I’ve done nothing against your brother. I saved his life. Where is your gratitude? I have people who rely on my healing skills here.”