HIGHLANDER

"Keep searching."

Luke sat on the bank of Loch Duich and watched. Skye stood in water that reached her knees. The sleeves and most of her skirt were soaked. Her hair lay in wild disarray around her shoulders. The long ends floated in the water.

For two hours she complained of being cold. That did not concern him. What he did care about was finding his sword.

He'd slept not a wink last night. Each time he closed his eyes he found himself at the cliffs. The faces of Lindsays mingled with those of the English. Matthew's body, broken and dead, lay against sharp rocks. Laughter rang in his ears until he thought he would go mad.

Earlier this morn, he'd dispatched his men to Lindsay land with the bodies of the guards and a demand for ransom. Another messenger traveled to the Isle of Skye. If Lindsay refused to pay the fine, surely Macleod would.

His mood then was black enough, but when he entered the Lindsay woman's chamber, the sight of her red and green plaid ignited his hatred even more. It brought back the feelings he'd dealt with during the long, lonely night.

Then the woman had the nerve to strike him.

He closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder. Lord help him, but he did not remember drawing the blade. If she had not whispered her apology when she did . . . he preferred not to think of that.

"Why force me to search for the sword?"

He opened his eyes. Skye stood no more than thirty feet away. Hands planted on her hips, she glared at him.

"Because you are the reason it is lost."

She gave him a look he knew was meant to slay him on the spot. "Need I remind you that I am not the one who attacked? ‘Tis because of you we landed in the drink."

Luke shrugged. "If you had not been riding on my land, I would never have attacked." He nodded. "Keep searching."

Skye grimaced and continued her task. The tips of her breasts skimmed the water as she moved her arms beneath the surface. Her loose hair fell over her shoulders and blocked his view.

"I am getting hungry, Highlander. The least you could have done was feed me."

Luke scowled and looked away. "All in good time."

"My feet hurt. The walk here would not have been so bad if you had allowed me to fetch my shoes."

"I gave you plenty of time to dress. Whatever you failed to put on is your problem, not mine." He looked upon her again. The scar showed vividly against her pale skin. The strange stirring he felt in his chest yesterday returned. He wondered, once again, how she became injured.

"Why did you make me walk? I was good enough to share your saddle, yesterday."

"Aye, but yesterday you did not stink." Luke raised his eyes to the heavens and sighed. "Clouds are robbing the sky of light. Unless you wish to be here when the rain begins, I suggest you make haste."

Skye clenched her jaw, gathered her skirt in her hands and headed for the shore. "I have been in that water for hours. I am tired, cold and hungry. You want the sword back, you--"

"If you want food, you will find my blade."

She fixed him with a narrow gaze then turned sharply away from him. Water splashed around her knees.

"You are out too far, woman. I was closer to the bank."

Skye glanced at him from over her shoulder. "You could have mentioned this earlier."

"Aye, I could have." The cross look she gave him pleased him somehow. He could not quite explain it, but he found enjoyment, baiting her.

"If I catch lung fever, ‘twill be on your head," she muttered and waded toward the bank.

"You look hale enough to me, woman."

She glanced at him and grimaced. "My name is Skye, Highlander."

"I learned that yesterday. I prefer to call you woman."

Skye fixed him with a narrow look then resumed her search. "What is so special about this blade? ‘Twould be simpler to have a new one crafted."

Anger flared in his chest. "The sword belonged to my brother. You will find it."

She scowled and lifted the blade from the water. "Here. Mayhap now you will cease roaring at me." She held it in one hand and waded toward the shore.

Luke climbed to his feet and waited for her at the bank. Skye stopped a touch away. Blue eyes met his. She released her gown and held the sword before her, both hands wrapped around the hilt, as if she tested its weight.

She would not dare...

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This selection is a Scottish Standard, The Flower Of Scotland.