Page 19 of The Finest Scottish Fate

“Mockingbird,” he whispered again without even realizing it.

She curled closer, fisting her hands in his jacket and holding tight. “I hope you’re an EMT. I think I’m dying.”

What the devil was an EMT? He shook away the wondering. It didn’t matter. “Ye’ll not be dying. I shall not allow it.”

“Everything hurts, and if I open my eyes, I’m going to throw up.”

Throw up? She had to be one of the Fae. She didn’t speak like anyone he’d ever known, and her clothing… He swallowed hard. The way her breeks hugged her fine arse gave him a rising that raged to be acknowledged. What could she throw when she didn’t appear to possess anything other than the clothes on her back?

“Throw up what?” he asked a bit louder than he meant to.

“My breakfast, and I don’t mean to be rude, but could you not shout? Everything is so loud. My head feels like it’s about to explode.”

“Forgive me.” He kneed his horse to a faster pace. Mockingbird needed the healer immediately. “We will be there soon. Mistress Martha will see to ye.” Some swore the old woman who’d recently arrived at Dubh Tower was a witch. Drummond didn’t care what she was as long as she healed this dear lady in his arms. “She’ll know of herbs to help ye.”

“I hope so,” the lass whispered, tightening her hold on his jacket. “I’m Evie, by the way. Evie Waterton.”

“Evie Waterton,” he repeated softly. Mild disappointment set in. He liked the name Mockingbird better. “I thought the gods called ye Mockingbird?”

“Gods?” She pressed her forehead to her fists that were still knotted in his jacket. A shudder rippled through her. “My granddaddy always called me Mockingbird. I’m not sure what God calls me. I don’t guess it matters—as long as He calls me.”

A Christian, then. Not a follower of the auld ways. That confused him even more. How could she not be a follower of the auld ways when she’d come to him through the storm above the sidhe hill? He’d thought for certain she was one of the Fae.

“I’ll have ye to the keep soon,” he told her, unsure what else to say. “Never ye fear. I shall see ye safe. I swore I would, and a MacMuirrow never breaks an oath.”

She didn’t answer, just clapped a hand over her mouth. Her pallor concerned him. All the blood had left her skin, leaving her white as milk. She weakly thumped his chest with her fist. “Could we stop? Just for a minute? Please?”

Even though he disagreed, he reined in his mount. “Ye would be better served to reach the keep as soon as possible. We should push and get there with haste.”

“Is a keep the same thing as a walk-in clinic or hospital?” She covered her face with both hands, rubbing her forehead while taking deep, shuddering breaths.

He couldn’t resist gently combing her silky tresses back through his fingers. “Dubh Tower’s keep is my home. My new healer, Mistress Martha, is there. I dinna ken what a walk-in clinic might be, and I would never take ye to a shelter for the needy. Ye will always have shelter with me.”

The rhythm of her breathing changed, and even with her hands over her eyes, he could tell she was frowning. “A shelter for the needy?” she repeated, the pitch of her voice higher and filled with confusion.

“Aye. A hospital. A shelter for the needy.”

She pushed away from him, trying to upright herself. “Where are Callum and Morganna? Are they following us?” She swallowed hard, making him brace himself for the possibility of her being ill. “Where is my horse?”

“I know of no Callum or Morganna. Nor anything about yer mount. The storm only spat ye out upon the hill. No one else.”

Her lovely face drawn up in a tight squint, she slowly cracked open her eyes and looked at him. Her jaw dropped, parting her luscious lips. What little color she’d regained disappeared again, leaving her whiter than newly fallen snow.

“Holy crap,” she said. Her voice cracked, making her squeak like a wee mousie.

Alarm flashed in her green eyes, warning him to tighten his hold on her just in time. She exploded with the lively ferocity of a wee Highland wildcat fighting to escape the hounds. Attempting to free herself, she kicked, twisted to bite him, and even tried butting him with her head like a wee angry goat. “I don’t know who you think you are, but turn me loose. Set me down. Now!”

“Stop this foolishness afore ye fall and break yer neck!” He gave her a gentle shake. “Stop this, I say. Immediately! I dinna wish ye harmed.”

“Why?” she asked, baring her teeth like a cornered beastie. “And where did you come from? Why did you disappear last night and not let Morganna see you? Why were you lurking around my cottage trying to scare me? I thought your voice sounded familiar. How did you find out my nickname? How did you know to call me Mockingbird?”

“The why I wish ye to be still is because I swore to protect ye. Keep ye safe. Those other whys, I’ve no idea of what ye’re speaking.” He eased his hold the slightest bit, hoping it would calm her. It didn’t. She renewed her fight to free herself with a stronger flurry of kicking and thrashing. A growl escaped him. He couldn’t help it. “Stop this right now, or I shall bind ye with ropes and throw ye over my saddle like a sack of grain. Is that the way ye wish to ride across the Highlands? Is it?”

She glared at him with murder in her eyes. “Answer me. Where did you come from last night, and why didn’t you let Morganna see you?”

“As I said, I dinna ken of what ye speak. Last night, I was at Dubh Tower meeting with my clan’s council, and I know of no Morganna.”

“You weren’t walking in the fog alongside the road to Craig Durness? Or around my cottage? How did you know my nickname?” She glared at him with even more intensity. “Do you own a black cat?”