The canine sounds intensified in strength and pitch until Mena was certain they were distressed. Drifting carefully forward, she climbed over a fallen tree limb and followed the sounds through the thick foliage until the tree line suddenly gave way to a thin, steep grassy knoll. She found that she was at the peak of this hill, though taller, imposing black cliffs rose to to the north, and to the south. A steep path led down some amber-tinged autumn grasses to a hidden cove of golden sand.
Below her, a tall sheepdog and her tiny replica frantically paced at the surf, barking and howling loudly. Occasionally the mother would dive in and attempt to break the pull of the waves to reach an outcropping of rocks, upon which one little black and brown puppy yipped and cried for help.
Demons all but forgotten, Mena checked her surroundings before tucking her skirts into her wide belt and descending the steep and rocky trail to the cove as hastily as she could while still keeping her balance. She guessed the dogs had been playing on a sandbar and frolicking around the rocks when the tide had come in. The mother must have only been able to rescue one pup before the water became too deep and powerful for her to reach the other.
Since the coast of Wester Ross was buffeted by the Hebrides and the Isle of Skye, the surf was not as wild as the open ocean, and Mena felt confident that she could reach the little creature in time.
Abandoning her shoes and stockings the moment she reached the sand, she pulled her skirts even higher as the mother and her puppy raced toward her. They danced at her feet, barking pleas for help, rushing back to the water’s edge, and then returning to nudge her legs.
A pang of fear slid between her ribs as she realized how cold and alarming the water would surely be, but it only took one look at the whimpering, stranded puppy for Mena to find her courage.
“I’m here,” she told the frantic mother, who wouldn’t stand still long enough to be touched. “I’ll get your little one.”
The icy shock of the autumn ocean drew a gasp from Mena as she plunged into the gentle surf. But as frigid as it was, it had nothing on the asylum’s dreaded ice baths. Mena knew exactly how long she could function in water this cold.
Her skirts became heavy as the water engulfed her knees, then her thighs. But she quickly found the sandbar that the dogs must have crossed, and was able to navigate quite a ways to the outcropping of wet rock without the water reaching past her hips.
Once she neared the terrified pup, she reached out just in time as the little creature leaped into her arms. “Come here, my darling,” she soothed as the tiny warm body squirmed and whined and burrowed its little face into her neck. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. Your poor mum is awfully worried.” The chill of the water now stung her legs, and the depth began to creep upward toward her waist. Mena cuddled the wet pup to her breast and turned toward the beach.
Then froze.
The mother and pup were no longer alone. A man had joined them, and was even now kicking off his boots and wading into the water toward her.
Suddenly her trembling had little to do with the cold.
He waved a hand as he plunged into the tide, his strong legs displacing water much more efficiently than hers. “Whit like, lass?” he called in a friendly voice.
Mena knew she had very few options at this juncture. She couldn’t very well go farther out to sea, she’d drown or freeze before she swam to the island. And now that her skirts were heavy with water, there was no hope of outrunning the man.
Lord, but they did breed a very different kind of male out here in the Highlands, didn’t they?
His kilt of Mackenzie plaid tufted out about him in the water, and then sank as his large body shuddered with cold. He was tall and broad, and built like the strong men working in the barley fields. All slopes and swells of muscle and not an inch of fat to be found, this becoming more apparent as the moisture seeped into his shirt, causing it to cling to his well-sculpted chest.
“I’m quite all right,” she replied as he waded closer.
He ignored her flinch as he swept a brawny arm beneath her elbow and secured another about her waist as he helped her press toward the beach while simultaneously allowing her the hold on the puppy she clung to.
“I’ve got ye,” he rumbled.
Mena was going to remark on the fact that she hadn’t needed to be gotten. Though she had to admit that with the brawny man’s help, she didn’t have to rely so much on the failing strength of her legs straining against the icy pull of the Atlantic.
Once they began to splash into knee-deep water, they were accosted by the distraught mother, and the creature in her arms yipped and wriggled to be let down.
Mena took a few more steps, grateful the man released her to do so, and waited for a light wave to recede before placing the little thing back into its mother’s care. The dogs whined and yelped and tumbled over each other in exuberant reunion, the mother obsessively licking over both her children who romped toward the tall grasses that eventually led to the forest.
“There’s gratitude for ye.” The Highlander chuckled from behind her. Mena turned to stare into the most extraordinary green eyes she’d ever seen. Much darker than her own jade irises, his gaze reminded her of the shady canopy of trees that she’d traversed this very afternoon.
Mena’s thoughts stalled for a moment at the brilliance of his smile and how it illuminated the rest of his handsome face. A face that seemed familiar, somehow, though she was certain she’d never before been introduced to him. Something about the raw shape of the jaw, or the proud, broad planes of his forehead. He had the look and build of a Mackenzie, she realized, though his coloring was more falcon than raven. Hair the shade of the wet sand beneath them glinted with strands of copper and gold when illuminated by the afternoon sun. He wore it short in the London style, though his garb was that of a Highlander.