Page 1 of A Highlander’s Heart

Chapter One

Castle Leod

Scottish Highlands

Early Spring 1730

“I doona want ye to touch me! I want ye to send me back to my men!” The Gunn warrior glared at Emma, the Mackenzie healer, pushing her away as she attempted to assist him.

The man had been carried into her healing hut. The two Mackenzie warriors who had brought him to her said his horse had fallen on him and then, as it struggled to stand, the horse had sliced his leg with a hoof.

That sounded grave and Emma knew those types of injuries could be very serious with the lungs being so close to the heart. If the man was lucky, he had a bruise and hadn’t broken many of his ribs, but that she wouldn’t know until she examined him.

Yet one thing was certain. Whether he liked it or not, the warrior could not return to the battle, or for that matter even be transported, either by horse or wagon, back to the Gunn keep for quite a while.

If he was not held as a prisoner.

“I canno’ send ye back to the battle because with the way ye are breathing, I’m sure ye have an injury on your ribs and ye can’t take a chance on moving until ye have been examined. Ye also have a deep wound on the back of yer leg.”

He raised himself up on his elbows and glared at her, his face wincing with the pain of the movement. “Then I’ll crawl. I doona want anything to do with the Mackenzies. Ye will probably knife me in my sleep.”

Emma sighed. “I am a healer, no’ a warrior. I willna knife ye in yer sleep. But if ye doona stop screaming at me, I might bring one of our warriors in to knock ye out.”

She’d had difficult patients before, all of them warriors with arrogance and an idea that they were invincible, an idea she dismissed. She was sure this one would be trouble.

Her stomach tightened. As all Gunns were trouble.

Emma walked away from the bed where the warrior rested so she could gather linens, water, and pain medicants to deal with the leg injury.

At present, a battle was waging at the front of their castle between the Mackenzies and from what she’d learned, the Gunns and the Sinclairs together. Apparently, from what she’d heard from those coming into her hut, the men wanted to abscond with Megan Mackenzie, the wife of the laird’s second in command, Gregory Mackenzie, and have their marriage annulled so she could be wed to the Gunn, who was decades older than Megan.

The claim had been that there was an Order from the King, which both Gregory Mackenzie, and their laird Daniel Mackenzie had dismissed.

Megan was helping tend to the wounded along with the laird’s wife, Beth. Emma had just sent her to the kitchen to get a few mugs and hot water to make tisanes for the patients.

Emma looked up as the door opened and a warrior walked through. She didn’t recognize him, but she didn’t know all the warriors either. “Did ye bring me more patients?” she asked, brushing the escaped wisps of hair from her forehead.

“Nay. I came to collect Lady Megan Mackenzie. Her husband wants her to join him for her safety.”

“He probably would feel safer if ye were right there by his side,” Emma said with a wink as Megan went to the water bucket and washed her hands. She smiled, then left with the warrior just as Beth returned.

“Who was that?” Beth said, watching the two of them leave.

“I doona ken. Gregory sent him for Megan.”

“Are ye going to chat all day, healer? I thought ye were supposed to fix up injured men.” The difficult Gunn patient groused from the bed where he lay, glaring at her. “And how is my horse? He stumbled and I want to make sure he is being looked at and treated.”

Emma took a deep breath, aware that the man was in pain and though he would most likely never admit it, concerned about his future. Trained warhorses were a valuable commodity, never to be treated lightly. “I will send someone to check for ye. But now I am going to fix ye up, after I see what, if any, bones are broken.”

For the first time fear showed on the arrogant warrior’s face. Then he recovered himself and snapped, “Well, get on wi’ it, then.”

She moved to the bed and touched his arm. “What is yer name?”

He frowned. “Why?”

Emma sighed and closed her eyes. “I just think it would be nice if I dinna have to keep calling ye ‘warrior.’”

He gritted his teeth. What an unpleasant man. “Warrior is who I am.” When she continued to stare at him as she would any difficult patient—or child—the warrior sighed, beaten.