Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (30 page)

"On the dragon," Warwick rasped, and nodded to his man.

But in that instant, Liam screamed. His mount lunged forward.

Rachel's trance exploded like a puff of black powder. The haze was ripped from her eyes.

Reality leapt at her—Liam on a horse, racing toward her with one rein flapping!

Warwick yowled like a wounded beast, but suddenly there was nothing but the racing horse, the swallowed distance, and hope.

It took no thought, no meditation. Rachel reached up. The stallion's mane brushed her hands, and suddenly she was snapped from her feet. For a moment she floundered. The air was crushed from her lungs as her chest crashed against Liam's leg, but suddenly her heel found purchase, and she was aboard, clinging to Liam's waist.

They were flying. Branches flashed past like a ghost's bony fingers. Behind them, men swore and hooves thundered.

From over her shoulder, Rachel caught a flash of movement in the darkness.

"They come!" she gasped, but there was nothing more they could do but flee blindly, not knowing where they headed.

A branch slapped their steed's face. He lunged to the left, nearly unseating them. They grappled for a hold, but already the stallion was running at an angle to their pursuer's course.

Liam tried to pull him to the right, but an owl swooped at them from nowhere. Panicked, the steed lunged left again, and suddenly, as through a haze, Rachel saw Dragonheart. It hung just where she had left it, winking magically from the darkness. It swept toward them. She could do nothing but reach up, open her hand, feel it slap warm and glowing into her palm.

Warwick's shriek pierced the woods, as if he was everywhere and nowhere, as if he were already feeling the fires of hell.

Beneath them, the stallion stumbled. Liam jerked forward. Rachel snatched him back against her as the steed struggled to his feet. They were running again, but their pursuers were closer now, nearly upon them. She could hear their mounts' pounding hooves, could feel Warwick's evil like a gigantic vise squeezing the hope from her lungs.

"Fly," she whimpered to Liam. "Fly." But he was slipping, drooping sideways.

She tried to hold him on, to stay aboard, but suddenly the ground dropped out from beneath them. The horse jolted downward. Water sprayed up, and Liam was snatched out of her arms.

There was nothing she could do but go with him.

Nothing but let herself fall. Their horse struggled to his feet, his hooves thrashing wildly as he scrambled for the opposite shore. Water roiled over them in great waves of icy blackness, dragging them under.

Noise crashed against Rachel's ears. She neither knew nor care what caused it. She could only struggle for the surface. But it was nowhere. Panic gripped her, squeezing hard. She kicked wildly and suddenly air rasped into her lungs. She pulled it greedily inside, aching with the sweet pain of it.

Something brushed her arm. She jerked at the contact, and realized with rending panic, that it was Liam. She'd lost him. He drifted sideways, his face half-hidden in the waves. She lurched through the water, snagged his tunic and dragged him back against her.

Something scratched her face. She gasped at the contact, but it was only a half-submerged log, thrust loose by the thrashing horses and set adrift.

Reaching out, she grabbed it. It was slick and wet, but she managed to drag it closer and push Liam toward it.

"Hold on!" she rasped, fighting for breath and strength and the slim reed of hope.

Liam jerked spasmodically, his fingers clinging to the wood as they slid sideways down the river.

"The water!" Warwick shrieked. "Back to the water."

"Which way?" someone yelled.

"Shh," Rachel breathed, praying for silence. "Shh." Noises clattered behind them. She closed her eyes, one arm clasping Liam in a frozen grip, the other clinging to the log.

The river scooted on. Caught by an eddy, their vessel listed. Liam's head dipped beneath the waves. Rachel whimpered in terror and dragged him back up. His face gleamed pale and wet in the fickle moonlight, the log turned, nearly escaping.

The river rolled and tumbled, fighting to lose her. But she fought back with ferocity. Every minute was a new battle, every second a waking nightmare.

She had no idea how far they had gone. Time ceased to be in this living hell, but she dare not exit the river, for beside the twisting banks there were no longer any trees to hide them. Worries plagued her. Where was Warwick? Was Liam alive? But no, she wouldn't let herself think of that. She was a healer. God had given her that gift, and why but to heal the man she loved.

She closed her eyes. Fatigue dragged at her like the cold, heavy waves threatening to spill her into darkness.

"She is near," Warwick rasped from the shore above. "Find her."

Rachel jerked awake. Warwick! Within hearing, and worse, within thought. He had followed her by some sense other than sight. Even now she could feel him groping for her mind. Like a clawed, evil beast he grappled for her thoughts.

"Nay," Liam whimpered, only half lucid.

"Shh." Rachel moved closer to him, one arm still wrapped about his shoulders as she dragged them into the reeds along the shore. Her feet struck the mucky bottom, anchoring her there. But still it was difficult to keep them hidden in the swaying grasses.

"Nay!" Liam's voice was louder now and he thrashed in the water. "You'll not have her."

"Liam," she rasped, her lips numb against his ear. "Shh, all is well."

"He is near!" Liam moaned. His eyes, dark and haunted, gleamed in the moonlight.

"Nay," she soothed. "The wizard is not here. You were dreaming. You are safe."

Surreal pain sliced through her. Warwick's scarred face loomed up. She almost screamed, but choked it down. Games! He was but playing games with her mind.

"Cold," Liam chattered.

"Nay, tis warm," she whispered. "Tis lovely here in Lochan Creag. My favored place to swim."

Images of evil pressed in on her, swallowing her will. She shoved them back, battling to remember serenity, to remember the peace she had once known with her cousins beside the lochan.

"Naked?" Liam murmured.

"What?" She breathed the word and jerked her gaze to him, but his eyes were closed, his forehead pressed against the slick curve of the log.

"Are you naked when you swim?"

Death! Torture! The images sliced across her mind. She slammed them back, grappling for serenity. "Aye, I am naked," she rasped. "The moon is bright. But none will see me here."

"None but me."

She choked a laugh. It was sharp with hysteria, heavy with terror. "Except you. Hidden behind the..."

"Boulders," he murmured.

"Rocks!" Warwick screamed. "They are near rocks."

Liam jerked. Rachel closed her eyes and squeezed closer still.

"You are hiding there," she whispered, “between the boulders."

"Watching you," he chanted.

She didn't know if he understood her ploy. She only knew that he complied.

"The birch leaves are whispering above you. The moon shines on their silvery leaves."

"And shines on your bonny face."

She swallowed hard. "You lie very still, only inches from me. You can hear the water lapping the shore."

"I can." His voice was singsong.

"You are close enough to touch me, but you do not."

"How I want to," he whispered. "Always. Since the first moment I saw you. You were laughing.

Never, not for an instant, have I forgot the sound of it. Like the song of sunshine it was, and when you turned to me..." He paused. "How long I have tried to put you behind me."

"Find her!" Warwick screamed.

She whimpered at the sound, but in that moment, Liam drew closer of his own accord, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"But I could not, for the slightest thought entrances me—your eyes, your voice, the curve of a smile." Reaching up, he ran a finger slowly over her lower lip. "But I dared not touch, dared not stand too close lest I lose me shallow control and dishonor you."

"Twould not have been a dishonor, Liam," she whispered.

"I should never have told you I love you. Should not have bared the truth." His fingers slipped to her chin. "They were the words of a fool, for there is no hope for me now—no way of drawing them back. No hope," he said, and slid an inch deeper into the water.

"There is hope," she rasped, wrestling him back up. "Every hope. Even as I linger in this magical place, I think of you, Liam."

"Don't toy with me feelings, lass," he said and slipped again.

"Nay, Liam, never." And it was true. So painfully true that she could no longer deny it. "Tis why I have never wed, because each man I compare to you. Each smile I compare to your roguish grin. Each conversation to your clever wit. Each step to your easy grace. Each moment, each word..."

She paused, letting her heart ache with the regret of opportunities lost, letting her mind drift with the cold and the fatigue to a place that was warm and lovely. "Even here in this magical place when I see the moon through the branches, it reminds me of you. Like a mischievous satyr's, it grins down at me. I know I should resist you. But I cannot, and so I smile back and pretend we are lovers."

His forehead tilted weakly against hers.

"I think of you as I traipse back through the woods," she whispered.

"With no clothes?" His eyes fell closed.

"Up ahead there's the road. It seems to shine in the moonlight."

"It shines on your breasts." He sighed. His fingers loosened on the log.

Rachel tightened her grip, squeezing him against her body. "I step onto the path. The mud is soft between my toes."

"Such wee bonny toes."

"Then I hear something." She gasped as she felt the emotions of her story in her chest where her heart throbbed against the dragon. "I pause, holding my breath and praying I will not be found."

"But you will be," he whispered, neither lifting his head nor opening his eyes. "For I have followed you."

"Aye." His head slumped against her shoulder. She pressed a kiss against his wet hair. "Aye.

Tis you. We hold hands as we run down the road."

"Then we make love?"

She concentrated on the road far behind them, the road down which they had taken the wagons, the road far behind the Rom family that had befriended them.

"We run as fast as ever we can. Our hearts pound, our feet stumble for fear that we will be caught and separated."

Silence. Evil slipped farther and farther behind them.

"Then we make love?" His words were barely audible.

"Aye," she whispered. "Then we make love."

Liam awoke slowly. Pain stabbed through him like a fiery lance. It began in a red hot flame at his shoulder then dulled to a throbbing burn that encompassed the entirety of his being. He lifted his lids with some difficulty. Even that tiny movement hurt, setting up an ache that pulsed relentlessly inside his head.

But the effort gave him no satisfaction, for even with his eyes open, he could see nothing. And yet it was not dark, but rather a nondescript, endless gray. He tried to scowl, but found it was too much effort. Pain pounded through him like the insistent beat of a drum. So this was Hell. He wasn't surprised. Nay, he deserved to be here, for he had failed her, had left her alone and undefended.

He let his eyelids fall closed and wished for forgetfulness, but it would not come of course, for this was hell. Instead, he remembered her eyes, bright with hope, with life. Dear God, he could not suffer enough for having abandoned her.

"You're awake."

Her voice!

A flash of hope cut through him like the edge of a knife. He tried to turn. Agony burned him but he ignored it, forcing his muscles to do his bidding.

She was there, cushioned by the gray nothingness that surrounded him. "Rachel?" He tried to reach out, to touch her, to prove that she was real, but his hand refused to move.

"You're awake," she repeated, and her voice trembled with fear.

The sound sliced through him, and now he noticed that her eyes were unusually bright. How clever Satan was, for who could think of such a subtle torture as her tears.

"Don't cry, lass. Please." He tried again to touch her, but he should have known that would not be allowed. Hell would not be hell if he could touch her. Hell would not be Hell if she were here.

And so she was merely a misty image sent to haunt him, to burn his soul, to remind him for an eternity that he had failed her.

He didn't try to move again, but lay still, absorbing everything about the apparition before him.

She was dressed in naught but rags. Her tunic was gone, leaving her arms bare. Such bonny arms. But there was a scratch on one, and the back of her opposite hand was scathed.

Such subtle torture to see her wounded, to know that it was his fault, to never be afforded the chance to redeem himself.

"I was afraid..." The words lay there in the misty silence for a moment, burning him. "I was afraid I had killed you," she whispered, and a single diamond tear slipped down her cheek.

His heart knotted in his tattered chest. "Tis not your fault, lass. Tis mine. I...failed."

"Never," she murmured, and reaching out, laid her fingertips against his cheek. "The arrow. I could not pull it out. I..."

But he couldn't hear the rest of her words, for nothing reached his senses but the feel of her flesh against his.

His heart lurched, his breathing stopped, and he stared, eyes wide watching the bright amethyst of her eyes, the tangled mass of her hair.

Could it be that she was real? Could it be?

Forcing his muscles to obey, he reached up. Agony ripped through him, but it registered as nothing more than a dull ache as his fingertips touched her cheek. Her eyes fell closed and she tilted her head against his touch.

"You're real."

His breathy words lay in the silence, whispered like a revered prayer.

"What?"

"You're real," he said again, and hiccupped a painful laugh. "Tis not Hell."

She shook her head. "Nay, Liam, I am sorry. The pain..." Her face scrunched as if she herself had felt the agony. "There was nothing I could do but push the arrow through."