Return of the Highlander (Immortal Warriors) by Sara Mackenzie Page A

vibrated beneath him and a heartbeat later he heard the hoofbeats. Alert, he turned, every muscle rigid, his hand already on the handle of his claidheamh mor .
    A horseman, his blood-red cloak sailing behind him, came galloping his horse down from the slopes above the loch. But he wasn’t looking at Maclean. His sights were fixed on Bella.
    Sweet Bella, who, even with her hidden strength, would be no match for an armed man.
    Maclean roared, wrenching his broadsword from its scabbard and taking off at a run toward the approaching rider. He was a big man, but he was powerful and strong, and as he ran now he was filled with purpose. He must reach the rider before he caught up with Bella. The man had not acknowledged his shout, his gaze still fixed ahead on Bella where she had stopped to test the shallows at the edge of the loch with her fingertips.
    “Run, woman, run!”
    She looked around. Did she hear him? The horse?
    Maclean had no time to ponder it, or the startled expression on her pale face. His breath burned in his chest, the weight of the sword in his hand was as nothing and, although he stretched the muscles in his legs and gained even greater speed, the world around him slowed. As he approached diagonally to intercept the man, he could clearly see the foam on the horse’s flanks, the grim determination on the rider’s face, the cut across his cheek, and the battle madness in his eyes. There was only one way to stop a man with the scent of blood in his nostrils.
    Behind him he heard Bella scream, and the shrill sound spurred him on.
    Maclean flung himself into the path of the horse and rider, raising his sword with both hands and swinging it down, aiming to cut the man in half.
    The blade passed through without resistance.
    Maclean struck the ground hard. Briefly he lay, dazed, struggling for breath, and then he rolled over and lifted his head. The sun blinded him and, cursing, he shoved himself to his feet, heart pounding, expecting to see Bella trampled. Dead.
    She was standing stock-still, her mouth hanging open. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God .”
    For a moment, a wonderful and terrifying moment, he thought she could see him. But then he realized she couldn’t. She was looking to one side, up the slope where the horseman had come from before he…vanished.
    Bella blinked, hard, her hands in tight fists.
    Maclean stumbled a few steps, turning to look all around him. The blood throbbed in his ears. The rider really was gone…if he had ever existed. Was he a ghost? Or was he something like Maclean, who had been awoken from a long sleep by the Fiosaiche and released from the between-worlds? In which case, what game was she playing?
    “Bloody hell!” Maclean returned his broadsword to its scabbard with an angry ring of metal and wiped the sweat from his palms. And that was another thing. If he was a ghost, then why was he puffing and panting, with his heart thudding fit to burst open his chest?
    Maclean cursed some more, when all he reallywanted to do was grab hold of Bella and shake her. Hard. And hold her. Tight.
    He started off after her, his long legs eating up the distance in no time. He was more than a little annoyed that he had just saved the woman in a very heroic manner and she didn’t even know it. As soon as he was close enough he began his tirade.
    “When I say run, then ye will run! Do ye hear me, woman? Bella!”
    As his heartbeat quieted he became aware of her voice. What was she saying? Something about him causing her to feel like a natural woman?
    Bloody hell, she was singing! In a tremulous voice, her eyes still big and scared, she was singing to soothe herself.
    Maclean groaned. She had done that before, in the cottage, when the man had left her, and then again when she had seen him. What sort of woman sang songs in her darkest moments?
    “Singing willna save ye. You’ve no more sense than ye were born with,” he said huffily, trying to hold on to his anger. But just like that it