Highlander Enchanted(6)

He paused at his horse, grey gaze settling on her once more. “If ye seek t’deceive me, m’lady, I will show no mercy.”

“Deceive you?” she repeated. “What need do I have to do so? I cannot run, and where would I go if I could? There is nothing for me elsewhere.” The tremor in her too true declaration made her face hot.

The laird was studying her. She had the impression that he was reading her mind and lowered her eyes, fearful of revealing any of her secrets.

His men mounted and began moving down the trail.

“Ye wish me t’stay?” a scarred man with dark hair called.

“Nay, Niall. Scout the way she came.”

The man named Niall was smiling when he rode away.

Their laird approached her once more, and she wished she had tried to walk instead of facing him again. “What ails ye?” he demanded.

“My leg.” She had already shifted her weight off it and pointed.

The gruff laird’s gaze went over her in a way that made her uncomfortably aware that she wore a boy’s thin clothing and not the bulky layers of dress that normally hid her shape. To her surprise, he bent on one knee and touched her leg.

She jerked, not expecting his boldness or the intimacy of the act to affect her.

“Easy, lass,” he said, focus on her leg. The heat of his large hands bled through the thin cloth, somehow banishing the chill of early morning. “Ye’ve a bump. Might be broke.” He touched the tender spot at the center of her shin.

Pain shot through her, and she hissed. Darkness crept from the edges of her mind and clouded her vision. She had the sense of falling before she was caught by something strong, firm and warm.

Isabel blinked fast and clutched at the material of his tunic, willing away the spell. His scent surrounded her, while his heated solidness steadied her. She breathed him in, unable to recall when she had found the natural smell of a man comforting, if not appealing. His arm held her against his warrior body. She found herself interested in permitting her body to linger, to experience the rugged strength of a barbarian who would fight for his woman with the fidelity he did for his clan. Highlanders were known at court as troublesome neighbors, ignorant warriors and fierce lovers. She had never desired to know more about them before now.

“Ye canna kill a man if yer barely on yer feet.” Warm mirth was in his tone. The laird lifted her chin and met her gaze. Overwhelmed by the physical sensations of their bodies meeting, she found herself speechless at his direct look. “Though yer the bravest lass I ever come across. Braver than most men.”

Satisfaction, tinged with awe, bloomed within her. She should not care for one barbarian’s opinion but the idea he was earnest, that he saw her strength when she felt naught but fear and fatigue, made her hope flicker to life again. “Thank you,” she managed.

Aware of the scandalous intimacy of her position in his arms, she pushed at him.

“Ye canna walk, lass.” With no concern for her noble birth, the laird scooped her off the ground with ease and carried her to his horse. He rested her on its back.

Isabel hastily pulled away and made a show of righting herself to hide the trembling of her hands. Her thoughts were unfocused, leaves in the wind, and she was oddly fevered from the brief contact with him.

“Cousin!” The cry was a welcome distraction.

He turned, and she fanned her face.

Niall was tearing through the forest atop his steed, his features grim. Before he spoke, Isabel knew what he had found.

Fear and dread flooded her. She had been discovered. The man chasing her was much closer than she thought. Without Ailsa, though, she could escape faster, and the tan gelding on whose saddle she perched was one of destrier stock, bred for agility as well as power.

She shifted forward and took the reins of the laird’s horse. She turned the toes of her hurt leg out farther than usual in an effort to stem the pain.

“I doona ken who they are, but they’re English,” Niall said, pulling his horse to a halt beside them.

“English, this far north?” the laird’s features lost any of the warmth he had shown her. His eyes grew cold and hard. “A raid?”

With her pursuers confirmed, Isabel crossed herself and offered a quick prayer. She sneaked a look at the Highland laird. He was a mighty warrior who claimed to be honorable, one who probably was not going to take her actions well. But between his anger and that of he who followed, she did not think there was anywhere safe to be, except perhaps in the keep of Black Cade, who would think her his intended bride and protect her long enough for her to kill him.

“’Tis a small party for a raid. Ten knights, two noblemen, five servants. No wagons.” Niall was frowning.

“They value speed over comfort.”

“Yea, seems so. They keep to the main road, but they are close.”

“If not a raid then why –”

Isabel did not wait for the laird to finish. Even a barbarian was able to understand what it meant to find her and shortly after, to stumble upon the search party pursuing her. Whether the warrior-laird turned her over or killed her for leading the English this far into the Highlands, her fate was sealed the moment Niall spotted them.

She kicked the horse’s sides and hunched over its withers.

The beast bolted, and Isabel held on for her life.





Chapter Four