Chapter 3

Arran Sterling opened his eyes, but believed himself to still be dreaming. Only his dreams were dark and full of dread; this beautiful young woman could never be a part of that.

Her soft, musical voice had roused him from the deep sleep he always fell into after an attack or injury. Struggling to sit up, Arran noticed the laces in the front of his breeks had been loosened and his shirt was lifted. "Steady on noo, lass," he joked, "there's time enough for that once I've washed and had a wee bite to eat."

With those words, the cringing maiden gave a small scream and, using the palms of her hands on the floor, scooted away from him as fast as she could. She had looked greatly perturbed when he rose up out of his sleep, but now she seemed absolutely terrified. Lifting his shirt and checking his stomach and chest for wounds, Arran saw he had nothing much to worry about. The girl's eyes were wide and frightened. She held her hand to her mouth to stop another scream from coming out. His tone softened. This was no wench joyfully removing his clothes while he was unconscious; the fair lass with the amber eyes was a pure maiden who was afraid of him. "I'm a great beast to be scaring ye, girl," he said gruffly, "Forgive me, I beg ye."

Her trembling stopped, but she could only say, "I thought–I thought…" Arran ran his fingers through his hair and felt blood and gobbets of flesh. And he stank of dank animal fur and stale meat. Something rank must have slithered over him while his mind was blank. Jumping up, he walked outside, shouting behind his shoulder. "Where is the well? I must wash."

She followed him, her eyes were so wide they looked like two gold sovereigns shining in the night. "There is a water trough next to the barn—the burn feeds it."

It was summer. The stone water trough was perfect. Stripping off his jerkin and shirt, Arran filled a wooden pail by sticking it under the trickle of water and then poured it over his head. He felt reborn, in every sense of the word. Shaking his head once another pail of water was poured over it, Arran got rid of the mess in his hair. Flinging it back off his face, he turned to go back inside the cottage. The girl looked to be in two minds about letting him back in, but her kindness got the better of her. "Ye will dry oot quicker if ye throw another log onto the fire."

Sniffing and using his shirt to wipe his face, Arran sat down on the stool next to the fire. Looking around him—the cauldron, the fire burning on a warm summer's day, the stool close by for constant stirring—he asked the amber-eyed young woman. "Are ye the local healer?"

She nodded, taking a few steps closer to him. "Aye. Me name's Colleen Cunningham. Some of the lads brought ye to me to see if I could heal ye. But to be honest, Master, I told them to carry a message to the sexton…for him to get busy digging ye a grave."

Arran looked suitably somber. "Was it that bad?"

Her gorgeous eyes rose to look at his brow. Reaching up, Arran felt the brow ridge with one finger. The flesh was still gouged wide open, but the blood was only oozing out sluggishly. If he really dug his finger in, he could feel the bone underneath. Colleen's expression turned to one of revulsion as she watched him, so he stopped. "What weapon struck me there? D'ye ken?"

He watched as her better nature struggled with her disgust. Her kindness won again. Moving toward him, she placed a cool, smooth hand against his cheek. "Ye are wolf-bitten, Master. I am so sorry. When David and Hamish found ye lying in the road amidst the slain MacKenzie soldiers, a wolf was gnawing on yer face." Running a finger along the open wound, Colleen whispered, "This is the only mark the animal seems to have left on ye…"

He could sense her incredulity was stretched thin. Swallowing hard, he looked up at her. "How bad was it?"

She did not take her eyes off him as she began shaking her head. "Nay man could have survived such an attack. Man or beast, ye should have died."

Staring at the fire flames, which were somehow less bright than her eyes, Arran explained. "I came here at the request of a tradesman. One Thomas Tavish put up posters at Inverness, saying he wanted to hire mercenaries to protect his faither's farm and neighboring village—Aberkin. So, I came."

The girl seemed to accept his word. She went to the corner of the room and pulled another stool toward the fire so that she could sit close to him. "So, ye came." A small smile curved her soft pink lips. "Are ye a mercenary?"

He nodded. "Aye. It's a living. But I dinnae ally meself to lairds and barons. There is only one laird I recognize as me chieftain, and he is far away. I take on small tasks that require no allegiance or…domesticity." Digging his hand into the small fur sporran on his belt, he withdrew a letter. "See," unfolding it, he read it for her. "It says, ‘Arran Sterling has received payment of six shillings to defend the village of Aberkin against any attacks or incursions done by one Laird Torquil MacKenzie.'"

Colleen stretched out her hand and waited for him to give her the letter. The lass could read!? She was no common peasant woman eking out a living by selling herbs and poultices. He found that interesting. Slapping the side of his leg, Arran stood up. "Well, how much do I owe ye? And how far is it to the village?"

The pretty lass with the long chestnut brown hair laughed. It sounded like a merry waterfall of mirth. She found his questions hilarious. He waited for her to stop chuckling before holding out his hand towards her again. "I'll need ye to give me that letter back, Colleen Cunningham, so I can give it over to the village council. From the way that troop of soldiers wanted me to turn around and go back to Inverness, I'd say ye folks need me help."

As if she was talking to a child, Colleen explained. "Master Sterling, I have been a healer since I was a girl of ten and three years auld! I ken everything aboot wounds and illness because I learned from the wisest and the best, and there can be nay explanation as to how ye were at death's door one moment and then walking around the next. And if ye dinnae want David and Hamish running to the kirk and telling the priest that ye are a ghost or a werewolf or a sorcerer, I suggest ye simmer doon at let me check those bite marks."

Dropping the letter into his open hand, she stepped back. "Ye can go and trust yer luck to Hamish and David keeping mum aboot yer brush with death or ye can stay. It's up to ye."

Arran admired the way she had conquered her fear. There was not a Highlander living on those cloudy mountains and dark forests who did not fear werewolves and boggarts and will o' the wisps floating amidst the tall trees. But this beautiful girl had gone from screaming in fear to curiosity from the moment he stood up. "D'ye live here all alone?" he asked her and immediately regretted the question. It sounded untrustworthy, even to his own ears.

He could see her weighing up his statement and checking it for lechery. He wanted to shrug his massively muscular shoulders and tell her that for the first thirty years of his life, he had dallied with enough wenches to cause a priest's hair to curl if Arran had ever bothered to give them his confession, but his wenching days were over now. Too much raucous behavior had turned him cynical over the years.

"Show me yer hand," was all she said after dropping her eyes away from him. He stretched out his fingers to her, and she turned it around to read the lines on his palm. The skin on his arms and chest was such a map of scar tissue and cuts that had healed that Colleen frowned as she traced her finger lightly over the flat of his hand and up his arm, only stopping when she reached his chest. "Either ye are an incredibly bad mercenary, Master Sterling," she softened the critical words by smiling, "or ye hold a scarring disease inside ye. Which is it?"

He wanted to act the way he always did with women: by scowling, tearing his hand out of reach, and walking away. But this time, something held him back. Her touch had a certain quality to it: assured because of her craft, yet hesitant because she was a maiden alone with a man. "It is bad luck. It follows me everywhere I go, Colleen. Have ye never met a man with the consequences of his life etched on his body before?"

Letting go of his fingers, the girl sat back as she thought. After a while, she went to the pitcher on the table that was pushed to the side of the room and poured him a small mug of ale. Holding it out to him, she told Arran to drink it down. "I brew it meself." The drink was very refreshing. Draining the mug, he gave it back to her. She went to a small wooden bucket on the table and rinsed it out. Then, with her response ready, she came back to sit down next to him. "The blacksmith comes here to buy salve for his burns. And the farrier has scars on his hands from when the hammer misses the nail, but I can think of no trade that requires a man to sacrifice his safety and comfort in such a way."

Leaning forward, she pointed to some of the scars on his bare chest. "They must have hurt, both when ye received them and while they were healing. And yet from what David and Hamish told me, ye must have great skill with yer sword—ye dispatched ten of MacKenzie's soldiers as if they were no more than scarecrows made of straw—so, where are the fresh wounds?"

He wanted to answer her, he really did, but his mouth felt dry and the room seemed to be tipping from side to side. Rubbing his eyes, Arran tried to stand up, but he staggered and sat down again. "What was in that ale, woman?" he growled.

She came closer, catching him in her arms as he slumped off the stool. After giving a small grunt when she felt his weight, the healer was quite happy to explain. "Arran Sterling, ye have healed faster than any man. If ye are nae a werewolf, then ye must possess some other magic. Sleep noo while I make up me mind aboot ye."

Her melodic voice faded and grew soft as the darkness swallowed him again.

When Arran woke,his wrists were tied to the bedposts with a soft cord. He could smell from the sheets and the posy of flowers on the mantel that it was a female's room. For one delicious moment, he relaxed and enjoyed the fragrance. Somehow, knowing that the delicate scent of summer roses was connected to Colleen Cunningham made everything so pleasant.

Then he noticed that the cord he always kept knotted around his neck was missing. His talisman!

Arran launched into action. It was not hard to break the cords. The bedposts creaked, but they held fast as the Highlander snapped the rope that bound him. Circling his wrists to get the blood flowing again, Arran looked around the room for his sword. Had those two villagers—what had she called them again? Hamish and David—even remembered to bring it with them? When he found his clothes in a chest by the window, Arran saw that the scabbard had no sword. Frustrated and getting angry, he donned his breeks and shirt quickly. His shirt had been washed clean, and the leather of his breeks wiped with some essence or oil to keep the hide supple, but he was too anxious about his talisman to be grateful.

The door was locked. Pounding on the wooden panels, Arran hollered. "I'm awake! And I'm nae a blethering wolf! Let me oot!" When there was no reply, he got ready to kick the door in, but he changed his mind. Colleen had been kind enough to take him in and care for him. He would not repay her hospitality with destruction, no matter how badly the minx had hexed him. Putting his ear to the door, Arran heard a bucket rattling as it was placed on the flagstone floor. Like the rest of him, his hearing was excellent. He could sense Colleen creeping slowly towards the other side of the door. He waited for her to get close and then banged the door loudly. She gave a wee squeak. He grinned. "That'll teach ye for locking me in here like a badly behaved hound, Colleen."

There was no reply. Was she still scared of him? "Come on, lass," Arran had cajoled many maidens in his time and there was not a single one of them he had not been able to wrap around his little finger. "I cannae relax withoot me talisman around me neck. Where did ye put it?"

Her sweet voice came from the other side of the door. "That cord around yer neck was covered in blood. I rinsed and oiled it. It's under the pillow." And it was. Only when it was back around his neck did Arran feel better. Colleen lifted the latch and came in. "I'm nay thief, Master Sterling," she looked at him sternly, her expression critical. "However, I am pleased to see ye are dressed. Ye really cannae blame me for slipping a sleeping draft into yer mug. I needed to be sure ye would nae change into a wolf last night."

Smiling, he shrugged into his jerkin. "How did ye manage to undress me? D'ye have a secret beau hidden away somewhere?" That made her frown. "The only one with hidden secrets around here, Master Sterling, is ye!" She began making the bed with abrupt, angry movements. After tightening his belt and watching her, Arran commented. "What are ye upset aboot, lass?"

Giving a deep sigh, Colleen came out with the truth. "Laird MacKenzie exacted his revenge on the village while ye were asleep. He burnt doon a field of wheat and his soldiers robbed a merchant riding along the lane. The man is furious and demands the villagers make good his losses." Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Colleen struggled to hold back her tears. "It was me dear little sister, Isla, who helped me ready ye for bed. I had to send her away this morning. Staying here is too dangerous. I've lost one sister already, I cannae lose another!" She broke down sobbing.

Arran cursed himself for being no use in moments like this. He always said the wrong thing or told a stupid joke to try and cheer one up. "Och, lass. I'm sorry to hear me actions brought this on ye. I'll walk to the village right noo, gather up some braw lads, and go kick yon Laird Torquil's arse doon the steepest Highland mountain."

Amazingly, she gave a small giggle. Colleen looked up at him with tears sparkling at the end of her lashes.

"I dinnae think yer eyes could become more beautiful, lass," he blurted out, "but I was wrong. They are even more bonny after ye have been weeping."

She blushed and shook her head. "Ye're just trying to be nice, Master Sterling, but I thank ye for speaking such sweet words of comfort to me. I miss me sister so much. I dinnae act like a watering pot most times, but when it comes to me family…"

He sat next to her on the bed and ran his hand up and down her back in a soothing gesture. "The sooner I go to the village, the better—" but she grasped the sleeve of his jerkin so that he could not stand up. Being a man in a bedchamber with a beautiful young woman, a fleeting thought crossed Arran's mind: This bonny lass wants me to lie down on the bed with her and…

"Ye cannae leave, Arran." When she said his name, it had never sounded so good before. "I mean to say that ye cannae leave, Master Sterling. The villagers believe ye to be badly injured. Wait a day or two for the sake of appearances, please."

It washis touch that resonated with Colleen when she went to bed on a bolster in front of the fireplace that night. Whenever she thought about his voice, his body, and the interesting expressions on his face, her stomach would tighten and give a wee skip. He was kind and gentlemanly too. No amount of roaming the wilds or blood stains would ever be able to cancel out the mercenary's rugged attraction.

She had insisted that he stay in bed and rest while she fed the animals and cooked dinner. He had been staring out the little window with a contemplative look in his eyes whenever she came in to ask if he was alright. He was not a restless man, but she could see him fighting the urge to get up and do things. The mercenary asked her if she needed help and he seemed frustrated when she ordered him to stay put.

After supper, Colleen wondered what maiden would not fantasize about the mercenary's braw body and all the delightful things it might do to her. As a healer, she had seen countless male forms before during the course of her work, both naked and semi-clothed, but no man had ever left such an imprint on her mind.

She had to admit to herself that this was the first time in her life that she had admired a patient's naked body with the appreciative eyes of a woman. Agnes had trained her to avoid a patient if she was ever attracted to him.

"Many women will lovingly nurse a wounded warrior back to health, only to weep when he is well enough to leave. I dinnae want that to happen to ye, Colleen." Agnes had said.

But Colleen's body felt warm as his face refused to disappear when she closed her eyes. Sighing and giving a soft moan, she reached out for him. The bedchamber door opened, and the mercenary came into the front room. Colleen could not see his face, but she sensed his presence. He inhaled deeply, like a wolf scenting its prey. She heard a low growl of desire.

So he had transformed into a werewolf and he was desperate to howl at her moon? Let him come.

"Pretty maid, are ye yearning for a man's touch? I crave ye, lass. Can ye feel it? Come, let me lie with ye, I beg ye."

It was a dream come true. Colleen patted the space beside her and licked her lips invitingly. "I cannae get ye out of me mind, Master. So many long years of waiting for a man to stoke the fire inside me, and then ye came along."

The corners of his mouth curled, showing his teeth which gleamed starkly in the dark. Crouching down, he crawled towards her. Ignoring her mouth, he licked her toes, feet, and ankles, slowly moving up her legs with his insatiable mouth. "If ye satisfy me, lass, I will nae eat ye, even though ye taste so good."

But she wanted him to eat her. "Do it! Do it!" she moaned. "I want ye so badly." He was driving her crazy as she writhed and arched her back. She could feel his tongue lapping the soft mound hidden between her thighs. His deep voice shook Colleen to her core. "Do ye want more? Tell me, lass. Show me."

Desperate for more, Colleen tried to grip his dark hair and grind him into her. Her breath was coming in short, sharp pants while the world stood still and waited. It felt so good when she clamped her thighs together, but if she wanted him inside her she would have to spread herself open.

"Aah!" Colleen almost screamed her fulfillment out loud.

She woke up and saw the bedchamber door was ajar. Creeping to his bed, she checked that he was sleeping. His breathing was slow and steady. Horrified about what sort of control he had over her body even when he was away from her, Colleen wondered how long the mercenary would be staying at Aberkin.

Agnes was right. There are some warriors with the power to make a maiden lose her mind.