Untamed Hearts (A Highland Hearts Novella) (Entangled Edge) (5 page)

“I’ve never been chased out of a town so quickly before,” he said and let his mouth soften into a grin.

She stretched a little in her seat, as well as she could with two sleeping children trusting her to keep them steady. “So ye’ve been chased out of town?” As a ray of moonlight filtered down, he could just make out her white teeth as she smiled.

“Some of the best,” he teased, and she chuckled softly.

“Ye must have some stories to tell,” she said.

“I have seen my share of adventure.” He paused, and the silence felt heavy so he continued, “There was an island the captain thought was uninhabited. We scoured it to find fresh food, water.” She watched him intently as he led them through the trees. “Then we heard the drums.”

“Drums?” she whispered.

“Aye, a low beat.”

“Let me guess, ye followed the sound rather than paddling back to yer ship.” She shook her head as if the thought was ridiculous.

“Well, certainly.” He laughed. “To run from the unknown is foolish. There is enough of the known to run from.”

She snorted softly. “And?”

“We came upon a fire in the middle of a dozen or so crude huts. There was a big pot over the fire, and near naked men danced around it.”

“Witches?” she asked.

“Nay, cannibals.”

Margery gasped behind her, apparently awake. “How did you know they were cannibals?” she asked.

He smiled wickedly as he kept Jonet’s gaze, but shook his head. “’Tis not for young girls to hear.”

“What did ye do?” Jonet asked.

“Well, now.” He chuckled. “They had a good amount of fresh fruit in the trees that we just couldn’t leave. We snuck back through the leafy forest, gathering what we could carry. We would have gotten clean away if not for one of their scouts spotting Dory in a tree, plucking a coconut.”

“Dory was with you?” Margery asked, her little voice filled with youthful awe.

He laughed. “Aye, she is the best at shimmying up those blasted tall trees.”

“Did he chase ye?” a child asked from the wagon that Stephen drove next to them. The lad had steered it closer to them when the forest had given way to another moor. Will turned and saw that he had quite an audience. Ah, his favorite thing. Another boy was speaking in Gaelic to the wagon, perhaps translating.

“The native man, dressed only in skins—”

“Skins of men?” the boy asked.

“Possibly,” Will said slowly and heard a little chuckle from Jonet. “But probably from one of the wild cats or boars roaming the forests.”

“Did ye see some of the animals?” another asked.

“Shush,” the first boy said. “Let him tell the story.”

Will continued, “The man had paint on his face, around his eyes to make them seem bigger. He had a spear and tried to throw it up to hit Dory.” They all sat in the wagon, eyes as large as he remembered the native’s had been when he spotted Dory in the trees above him.

“Dory threw the coconut down on the native.”

“Good for her,” Margery said.

“But she missed,” Will said. This was where his and Dory’s retellings always veered apart, but she wasn’t out there in the dark with him at the moment. “The native had a blow dart, tinged with poison most likely. He took aim to hit her as she tried to reach another branch. But before he could blow, I lunged into him, knocking him to the leafy ground.”

“Ye didn’t just slice his head off?” Stephen asked.

“Well now, we were stealing from the man’s island.” He glanced at Jonet, who watched intently. “That is what pirates do, you know. But he didn’t need to lose his life unless he was truly a threat.”

“So ye got away then?” the boy in the wagon prompted.

“Not exactly,” Will drew out, and the whole wagonload of children stilled to hear the rest. Will continued on in full description of how the native’s warning cry had reached the fire, rousing the whole tribe to flush out the crew of the
Queen Siren
. Will had slashed a path through the heavy vines for the crew to follow him back to the beach while dodging blow darts and spears. And he swore he’d heard a wild panther leaping after them also.

The children watched, enraptured, as he performed a few thrusts, demonstrating how they’d been forced to battle for their lives. He with his sword and Dory with her wind had held back the tribe while the crew loaded the dinghy with fruit and themselves.

“We pushed off, still battling a few determined to have our heads and hearts,” he said dramatically, grabbing his chest as if to fend off someone from ripping his pumping organ from his rib cage. “And with one last thrust,” he slashed his arm through the darkness, making several of the children gasp, “I thwarted the final native. The crew put their backs into the oars, and we rowed to the
Queen Siren
.”

They walked in silence for several heartbeats. “Bloody fabulous,” the boy said, and Jonet laughed.

“But is it true?” she asked outright.

“Of course,” Will said. “On my honor as a pirate.”

That made her laugh even harder, but she nodded. “Well, it must be true then.”

“Tell us another adventure,” Margery insisted.

They had miles to go, and he had enough stories to make the journey seem to go a bit faster. “If you are all brave enough lords and ladies,” he warned. Jonet smiled as they all nodded silently. “Very well then.” He began a tale about a river trip with lions on one side and angry natives on the other.

Through root-tangled forests and out across two moors, Will continued to conjure exotic beasts and angry natives, leaving out the gruesome facts that would definitely lead to nightmares. Jonet laughed whenever he exaggerated, always sensing when the truth skewed toward the fantastic. The moon continued to plunge into the increasing cloud cover, and a light mist began to fall. Wool blankets came out to cover the wagons. Jonet passed Charissa into Stephen’s to hide under cover.

As hours passed, the children in the wagon slumped over into sleep. When the last head bowed, Will let his words trail off. He enjoyed the silence of the night for a while before he felt Jonet brush his arm.

She’d leaned down with a bladder. “Here, ye must be parched from all that talk.”

“Like the dirt under the devil’s feet,” he said and pulled long off the fresh water. He stretched his shoulders. Even with the heat of constant walking, the wet chill slicked against his skin. Just like at sea.

“Let me walk. Ye need a break,” she offered.

He was tired. Though he’d spent many nights awake, walking the decks in his turn, he’d never walked the earth so long. But he’d also never make a woman walk in his place. He looked at her to deny the offer, and a flash of moonlight through the trees caught her mutinous expression. She’d recognize a lie as easily as Dory.

“I don’t know how to ride a horse,” he said softly. “Only been on two all my life.”

“I don’t believe ye,” she said.

He snorted. “You think I would make up something like that. Especially to a woman who was on horseback probably from the cradle.”

She studied him, her face softening. “Ye really don’t know how to ride?”

“Where would I have learned, living on a ship?”

He walked again in silence onto another blasted moor. The rain tapped down in an annoying beat.

“I’ll teach ye,” Jonet said. “Ye can show me how to throw the dagger, and I’ll teach ye to control a mount.”

He glanced at her. The slight haze of moonlight filtered down to glint off her dark hair that pooled thickly around her shoulders to reach her middle back. He nodded. “Aye, ’tis a bargain set.”

She smiled, becoming even more beautiful. God’s teeth, how he wanted to kiss her again, pull her from that horse and lay her in the sweet, spring flowers in the sunshine, not the cold rain. Everything about Jonet Montgomery was soft on the outside, her velvety voice, her perfectly pale skin, her silky hair. Such a contrast to the strength he sensed on her inside, her cleverness and desire to help the children and even the sick Davidsons with her blankets. And passion, he’d tasted it in her kiss, a tidal wave shorn up by a dike he knew he could crack.

One of the horses toward the muddled front of their army whinnied. The horse carrying Jonet twitched his ears and snorted. She looked out across the moor, and Will heard her breath hitch. He followed her gaze.

All along the edge of the dark forest, sets of eyes glowed back a bright yellow. A quick count brought the number of pairs to twenty or so. “The devil’s beasts,” he swore as several Druim warriors began to ride toward the front to help the wagon drivers.

“
Madadh-allaidh
!” Will didn’t need to ask what the Scotsman had yelled, waking the children and half-asleep drivers. There was no doubt.
Madadh-allaidh
meant wolf.

Chapter Five

Stephen stopped the wagon, and Will held tight to the horse’s reins. The skittish animal seemed nervous enough to bolt with the two girls tied to its back. Jonet leaned forward to whisper against the horse’s flicking ears.

“And how do you battle against a large pack of wolves?” Will asked, not taking his gaze from the glowing eyes peaking from the dark trees. All the wagons had stopped there on the moor, waiting. The Druim warriors off-loaded their passengers near the wagons and rode to the front of their line.

“With arrows and blades,” Jonet said.

“’Tis a good time for you to practice,” he said and handed her the black-handled dagger. “Try not to slice anything but a wolf.” He pulled his own cutlass and glanced at the children, fully awake and silent in Stephen’s wagon. “And now you all will be part of my next tale of adventure.” He grinned.

“Move to the center of the wagon,” Jonet said, and all the kids climbed close together.

One of the men toward the front whistled long and high. Several others did the same. Was this a battle cry or warning? The line of beasts stepped out onto the moor, their black shapes blending with the low brush, slinking forward. Apparently, the whistle hadn’t deterred them.

“I’d rather ye were off the ground,” Jonet said, swiveling her head to take in the few wolves advancing from the left.

“I’d rather be on my ship.” Will watched the larger animals toward the front. Several smaller wolves dodged back and forth behind them, slinking like shadows just above the moor. They seemed to have their pack strategy perfectly coordinated.

Donald was riding between the wagons, motioning for them to come together. Stephen veered toward the middle, and Will tugged the horse along next to him as he jogged. The damp grasses and mud made the ground treacherous, but he was used to the wet decks of a ship moving beneath him and kept a steady pace. The clouds hid the moon, giving the beasts a chance to slink closer in the dark. He couldn’t get a count with their steady shifting.

“Surround the wagons,” Donald yelled and repeated it in Gaelic. “All women and children in the middle. No strays.”

The children looked petrified. Charissa cried quietly where she sat in the wagon. “Children,” Will said. “Remember this moment for it will be a story you’ll be able to tell for generations. But you’ll have to add some more danger, because this is too easy. Maybe a lion—”

“There are no lions here,” the talkative boy from before said.

“Well then, perhaps a dragon,” Will countered, his eyes trained on the slinking beasts in the back. ’Twas often the less-obvious dangers that could kill.

A few children giggled. “We don’t have dragons, either.”

“God’s teeth! Scotland seems rather dull,” he commented. That got the children talking quietly in the wagon about all the adventures and dangers Scotland had to offer, other than a pack of wolves closing in. Sometimes it helped to think of all the things that weren’t about to kill you to remind you that it could be a lot worse.

The horse whinnied and sidestepped, almost knocking into Will. “Blasted animal, keep your path.” Within moments, they’d reached the center with the other wagons, the warriors on horses and on foot surrounding them. Will readied his dagger while still holding his cutlass. He could take down at least one with a short blade right between its yellow, demonic eyes. He held it easily in a soft grip, ready to fling it toward the largest. “I’ll take out the one in the middle,” Will said loudly so Donald could hear.

“I’ll back ye up if ye miss,” Donald answered.

“I don’t miss.”

Donald chucked, though it sounded tight. “The beasts have a tendency to dodge.”

“Been dodging all my life,” Will answered.

Will focused on the leader and felt the prickles on his nape rise as those yellow eyes seemed to focus back. They weren’t the soulless, black eyes of a bloodlusting shark, but they were downright eerie.

Donald yelled in Gaelic. Several arrows flew, and a yelp broke through the silence.

“Will!” Jonet called, and he caught sight of one of the slinkers creeping through the gorse just a few yards out from her horse. Almost at the same time, the large leader lunged forward, breaking into a charge toward them. Will stood ready, his dagger poised.

Off in the woods, a deep howl echoed, and Will caught the glint of steel in a stray beam of moonlight. The leader wolf slowed to trot in a tight circle, his ears pricked high. “What the devil?” Will murmured and watched the wolf pack condense in on itself around the leader as if switching from an offensive strike to a defensive posture. Again, a wolf howl cut through the dark, and movement along the forest line sliced through the shadows. Donald yelled a string of Gaelic.

“What’s happening?” Will asked.

“I think we have help,” Jonet answered.

“What type of help would stop a pack in mid-attack?”

As if in answer, horses broke through the tree line, but the strangest part was the loping beast running alongside a man onto the field, a smaller shadow following.

“Meg’s wolf,” Jonet said, “And Searc Munro. Looks like he has a new pet, too.”

Will studied the strange trio. He’d met the sixteen-year-old boy, Meg’s cousin, in London a month before. As the moon shone down on him, a flash of red reflected in his eyes for the slightest moment. The wolf next to him growled low and loud, and the dog barked a rapid tattoo. Will blinked, and the lad’s eyes had returned to shadow. Odd. Maybe it had just been a trick of the night. The wolf pack whined and ran, the leader staying behind to snap at the giant wolf beside Searc before turning to follow his troops back into the forest.

Out of the woods came wagons and more on horseback. “Munros,” Jonet whispered

Searc ran forward to meet Donald as did a tall man on horseback with a lady latched on behind him.

“Is anyone hurt?” the lady asked. “Sick?”

“Nay,” Donald said, “but there are many back at Druim, the whole Davidson clan.”

“Meg is safely at Munro Keep,” the lady said. “And she says that another healer is at Druim?”

Donald looked Will’s way. “Go,” Jonet urged, and he jogged up to the group. The dog ran to him, barking, his tail wagging, and Will recognized the mongrel Searc had befriended in London.

“My sister, Dory, can heal like Meg,” Will said and nodded to Searc and his father, Alec. The woman must be Searc’s mother, Rachel. “But she can’t heal them all, not without dying.”

The woman nodded. “I will share the effort with her and teach her how to regain her strength quickly. Alec, let us ride.”

“We’ve brought wagons for your people,” Alec said, glancing out at those who had been walking most of the night. “’Tis several more hours to Munro Keep at yer pace. Searc will help guide ye.”

Donald sidled close to Alec, and they clasped arms. “Thank ye. ’Tis good to be allies now.”

Margery climbed down from Jonet’s horse and headed with Searc toward one of the Munro wagons. Women and men without mounts climbed in them as well. Jonet nudged hers close to Will. “’Tis a good time for ye to practice.” She grinned down at him, kicked her foot out of the stirrup, and extended her hand. He snorted but took its fragile weight in his own palm and hoisted up behind her in the saddle. Blasted hell, it was a long way to the solid ground.

“Hold on.” She laughed and pressed her legs into the animal’s sides, making it jump forward and Will to curse. Her perfectly rounded backside rubbed against his groin as they loped across the moor to follow Searc. Devil, how did the men stand it? The heat of her body warmed away the chill from the rain. Her hair slid across his cheeks. The movement of her against him heated his blood to nearly boiling.

“I should ride in front,” he grumbled by her ear.

“Ye don’t know how to steer a horse.”

“I can learn,” he gritted out. He leaned into her and inhaled the flower scent she gave off. His breath licked along the rim of her ear. “If I have to continue to grind up against your arse, you won’t make it to Munro Keep unravished.”

Jonet’s spine straightened at his words, but she kept up the rhythmic pace.

“Very well,” he said, his fingers fanning out around her middle. “You had your fair warning, woman.”

“Blast,” she cursed and pulled back on the reins, letting the others continue. They stopped under a tree. The darkness pressed in on them, and she turned in his arms, a slight shiver running through her. “Well, get down and mount in front of me,” she said, a bit breathless.

Will stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she caught her breath. “I think I’d prefer to ravish you.” He held still, every muscle in his body taut. Would she slap him away, pull back at least, call his mother the whore she probably was? She did none of that but stared back. Perhaps it was his imagination, but her face seemed to move slightly closer into the palm of his hand.

“What?” she whispered. “Without an audience?”

Without sight, his other senses flared high to take in Jonet’s sweet essence. He turned her completely in her seat, pulling her soft curves into his hard chest. He tangled his fingers through her fragrant fall of hair to cup her head. He heard her breath as shallow whispers, giving away the racing of her heart. He reeled her in rapidly, remembering the honeyed press from the festival, slanting her mouth to open under his masterful assault.

A soft moan slipped from her, a whisper of the passion he knew boiled under her doe-like skin. The sound shot quick-fire through his veins, turning his well-planned attack into a smoldering kiss with no distinct strategy at all. The world floated away on a sea of sensation. All Will could feel, could think, could taste was Jonet. Her kiss was pure bliss, lush and honest. He felt her heart pounding, her fingers twining in his hair. Never before had he known such power surging through him, yet at the same time drowning him.

He surfaced long enough to make certain she wasn’t pulling away. She slid even closer along his body. They breathed against one another, and he trailed heat the length of her jaw to kiss a path down her neck. She murmured something Gaelic that sounded like a request for more. He bent over her, inhaling, reveling in this woman. Blast, he couldn’t get enough. He nibbled the softness where her shoulder and neck met, and that little moan welled up out of her again.

The horse shifted under them, and he squeezed his legs to keep steady. Will fell backward along the beast’s rump as the devil jumped forward.
Bloody hell!
Jonet screamed, twisting frantically to grab the reins that had slipped from her fingers.

“
Stad
!” she yelled, but the horse continued to prance through the trees.

“Ho there!” Will recognized the voice. He caught his balance and sat upright just as the horse whinnied, pawing its front hooves in the air.

“The devil won’t settle down!” Will called.

Jonet pulled back on the reins and patted the horse’s neck. “Ye startled him,” she said to Searc as he stepped farther out from the trees. The horse whinnied again but calmed under her hand. Will held onto Jonet and the saddle rather than squeezing his legs again. Blasted difficult animal.

“I’ve never seen a horse shy so from a person,” she said and patted at her hair.

“Perhaps he senses Nickum. Meg’s wolf is somewhere near,” Searc said.

“What are you doing here?” Will asked, a bit surly from being interrupted. “Besides spooking our horse.”

Searc frowned in the diffused moonlight. “I noticed ye had stopped.” His eyes narrowed at Will. “Wanted to make certain Jonet…and ye were safe out here alone in the dark. Wouldn’t want ye to get lost.”

Jonet must have picked up on Searc’s protective stance. “Searc Munro,” she chided. “I’m not some young maid ye need to champion. I can take care of myself.”

“There are some things more dangerous than wolves,” Searc said slowly.

God’s teeth!
Apparently, Ewan had talked to the lad about his carousing past. “I know how to behave around a lady,” Will said low.

“That’s not what Eric Douglas just told me.”

“
Och
, Searc,” Jonet swore, “the lad is still fuming over my refusing to wed with him. Will and I were just getting to know each other a bit, not that it’s any of yer concern.”

Searc stood with his arms crossed.
Damn Scot!
Will kicked his leg over the back of the horse and jumped down. He’d rather be on the ground walking than rubbing up against the young widow or falling off a frantic beast. He strode to Searc and heard Jonet clicking to the horse to follow. He met the lad’s eyes and again saw a flash of red before it disappeared into shadow. He blinked and spoke softly so Jonet wouldn’t be able to hear.

“I don’t care what you’ve heard about me,” Will said. “But I will
not
touch any woman who doesn’t want me to touch them.”

“I never said she didn’t want ye to touch her. Just ye should consider what wooing a lass here in the Highlands could mean to her when ye sail away.”

The lad was shorter than he and must’ve known he’d never win a fight, but he stood tall and threatening. Did he hold a soft spot for Jonet?

“Whatever ye are saying, Searc Munro, hold yer tongue,” she called and nudged the nervous horse closer. “Now lead the way, or leave us be. I know enough of these woods to figure out the way to yer bloody castle.”

Will chuckled. “You heard the lady, lad. Lead the way.” The boy turned, and a large, dark shape several yards off to the right slunk along beside them. Sly wolves, overprotective Highlanders, and a spirited lass with kisses that practically robbed him of control. Scotland was certainly less dull than he’d expected.

…

Jonet groaned softly, still unwilling to open her eyes. How had her bed gotten so hard? She inhaled, and the faint smell of spice drifted into her.
Will Wyatt
. She blinked and found herself staring at the arched rafters holding up the ceiling of Munro Castle. She pushed onto her elbows to take in the sprawling landscape of sleeping people on the stone floor of the great hall. Several stirred, others were up and moving on silent feet. The fire was low in the hearth, adding a soft glow to the predawn light filtering into the room from high-up window slits. Charissa and Margery slept on one side of Jonet, but the pallet that still held the faint essence of Will was vacant.