Page 7 of Sins of the Highlander

“The outside entrance is hidden by rock, and inside, the cave hides its secret room the same way,” he explained. After a tight turn, the cave expanded into a high-ceilinged second chamber.

A shaft of golden sunlight poured from an opening high overhead, illuminating a small pool of water bubbling in the center of the vaulted space. Moss clung to the rock walls, creating a natural underground hothouse. The air was several notches warmer here than in the other chamber of the cave.

Elspeth halted midstep. She’d never dreamed once about her wedding with Lachlan Drummond, but she’d been in this very room shrouded in the mists of the Sight more times than she could count. She’d never Seen why she was in this cavern, but the fact that she recognized her surroundings gave her confidence it was Meant. The realization steadied her.

“I know this—” She stopped herself.

How would a madman respond to claims of foreknowledge? He might demand she look into the future for him, and that was not how her gift worked. She could not summon it at will. The Sight came when it would, in hazy impressions or blinding flashes, and showed her what it pleased, not what she asked. Elspeth rarely shared that part of herself with anyone since doing so marked her as different, maybe even fearsome. She decided not to chance telling him of it.

“How did you know this was here?”

“I’ve reived a herd or two in these parts,” he admitted, speaking in a normal tone of voice now. The moss climbing the walls seemed to absorb the sound and freshened the air with the green breath of growing things. “It’s good to know where the hidey-holes are. I spent most of a week here once when Drummond’s men would have stretched my neck if they’d caught me. The water is good.”

He knelt at the edge of the spring and splashed water on his face. The blue clay he’d painted himself with ran off his skin in indigo runnels. Then he dunked his whole head and came up, shaking like a spaniel. Dark hair flying, he sprayed the space with droplets of sparkling water.

The woad swirled in blue ribbons around the spring and then disappeared under the rock shelf into an underground stream.

Now that he wasn’t painted for battle, Rob MacLaren looked younger, not so many years older than she. His jaw was firm and sported a shadow of a dark beard. His mouth slanted across his face in a sensual, cocky half smile. He was tall, well favored, and muscular. She’d have thought him handsome beyond the lot of mortals if he hadn’t abducted her from her wedding.

However, his eyes stopped her cold. They were the brilliant blue of a loch in high summer, but the soul behind them was deadened by grief. He was a man who might do anything.

No wonder folk named him “mad.”

Elspeth knelt to drink, dipping with both hands. The water tickled down her throat, bracing and sweet. The cool water steadied her. “Take off your shirt, and I’ll tend your wound.”

“After I see to my horse. He’s served me well this day. I’d be worse than a knave if I repaid him sore.”

He left her alone, diving back into the dark corridor to fetch the stallion. Elspeth walked the perimeter of the chamber. There seemed to be no other way out except the small opening far over her head. She was as good as in prison with nothing to do but watch the sunlight track across the cave’s floor.

Rob returned, leading the horse. He unsaddled his mount, but left him haltered and tied him to a narrow column of rock rising from the floor of the cave.

“Guess no one’s been here since me,” Rob said as he stooped to pick up a discarded leather bucket. “I was wondering where I’d left this.”

He filled it and gave his horse a drink. The stallion whickered his thanks and then fell to munching oats in the nose bag Rob settled over his head.

Tending the horse seemed to settle the MacLaren. Elspeth was grateful. She wasn’t sure how long she’d stay alive with a madman. Rob sounded like any other Highlander when he crooned soft endearments to his horse.

He patted the stallion’s arched neck. “Aye, Falin, eat yer fill. There’s a good lad.”

“Falin? So he has a name?” Elspeth said. “I thought a man didna name a horse he might eat come winter.”

Rob chuckled. “I’d be eating my shoes before I butcher this fine fellow. Falin’s too valuable. He’ll strengthen the MacLaren herd for generations to come.”

“So ye gave him the name of a demon?”

“Ye didna see him before he was broke. He earned the name, believe me. Even now, he’ll suffer only me to ride him.”

“He let me ride him,” Elspeth pointed out.

“Aye, well, I didna give either of ye any say in the matter.”

Rob shrugged off the blue and green MacLaren plaid draped over his shoulder and peeled out of his shirt. His brawny chest and arms were thickly muscled, and whorls of dark hair swirled round his brown nipples. Blood oozed from one thick bicep.

He settled next to Elspeth near the spring.

“Do your worst,” he said sourly.

“I’ll have you know I’ve doctored my father before, so I’ll have none of your sauce.” She examined the wound, which appeared to be a straight-edged gash. She couldn’t tell for certain till she cleaned it up. “Do ye have anything we might use for a bandage?”