Free Highland Healer by Willa Blair Page A

crenellations.
    Her heart began to pound as they left the trees and descended into the narrow glen. The closer they got, the higher the tor and the castle atop it loomed. She crossed her arms in front of her. Despite the chill wind, her palms were sweating. This edifice could indeed be defended against Colbridge. And the man who held her in his arms with such casual strength claimed to be the laird of all that light and soaring height. Her home had been a small village of farmers and herders, tied to a manor house, not to a castle with lords and ladies. Tears pricked her eyes as she realized she might never be accepted by people who lived in such a place.
    And what would he do with her once he got her there? Shivering, she remembered that castles had dungeons. Surely, he couldn’t mean to throw her in the dungeon, could he?
    Then she recalled how Toran had described it. A home like any other. Longing warred with anxiety and fatigue. Longing won.
    “Let’s go, then,” she said, and heard Toran’s chuckle behind her—with amusement or sinister promise, she couldn’t tell. He wrapped an arm around her as he flicked the reins. The horse broke into a trot, headed home.
    ****
    The evening activities in the Great Hall of the Aerie were usually just a congenial gathering of the men of the clan over their mead and ale, complete with boasts of conquests, be they battles or ladies, or discussions of current concerns. Tonight, the Hall was quiet, and the men sat at leisure staring into the fire, or carrying on low-voiced conversations. Toran took the subdued mood to be a reflection of their concern for the MacAnalens. Or his clan’s relief at his safe return. He found both ideas acceptable, until he noted Donal’s frowns in his direction as they ate a late meal.
    “What ails ye, mon?” Toran finally asked. “Have I grown two heads, then?”
    “Nay, Lathan, but I sometimes despair of the one ye do have.”
    “Why is that, I wonder?” Toran said and gave Donal a grin, finding himself not to be so worn that he could not goad his long-time advisor. “Is it not handsome enough to please the ladies for miles around?” Coira liked him well enough. But why did he not seem to please the beautiful Healer? Toran’s grin fled his face. Damn, he ached to hold her again, as he had on the long ride to the Aerie. Her body had been lush and warm against him, her breasts heavy on the arm he’d wrapped securely around her ribs. Her body had been so tightly pressed between his thighs that even her tiniest movement had been sweet torture.
    “Did yer head please the invader who captured ye?” Donal said, challenging him, yanking him back to the here and now. “He left it on yer shoulders, I see.” Donal leaned forward, glaring. “What did ye think to do, then, lad? Take on the whole invading army by yerself? Ye damn near scared the life out of me.”
    “Nay, Donal,” Toran said, irritation growing along with embarrassment over Donal’s loudly expressed concern for his welfare. “But once the fighting started, I could scarce leave them to it, now could I,” he said, then sipped his mead, watchful of both his and Donal’s tempers. “I was there trying to make sure the feud our fathers fought died with them at Flodden. What do ye think the MacAnalens would ha’ done if they’d seen me riding away just as they came under attack?”
    “Aye,” Kyle interjected.
    Donal gave him a quelling look, and Kyle went back to serious drinking. Toran hid a smile.
    “During the battle,” Toran continued, “I saw a lad too young to defend himself about to be overrun. I simply meant to give him time to slip away. I could not let him come to harm, now could I?” Toran’s expression was all innocence. He knew full well that Donal held charge over training the lads in the Aerie in the skills a warrior required for defense as well as for offense.
    “Well done, then,” Donal remarked, taking a swallow from his tankard. Apparently this motive