Arran was enchanted.
Once she’d eaten her fill, she took a long drink from the waterskin and then walked to the water’s edge and rinsed her hands.
She looked up at him and asked, “Is there time to explore, Arran?”
Arran nodded.
Skye walked around the water’s edge, picking some flowers, breaking twigs off a willow tree, and gathering leaves of various sorts. .
Arran raised an eyebrow when she started digging up a plant. “What are ye doing, wife?”
Skye looked up at him, lifted her muddy hands, and replied, “I need this mertle root for me tonics.”
She continued to dig and then pulled, and pulled some more, to no avail.
Arran finally took pity on her. He reached down and dug out the plant and its roots almost effortlessly. Skye smiled up at him.
Arran turned around and went to the horses. He tied their bag to his saddle, then took each horse to the pool and let them drink.
He enjoyed this quiet place often, the tranquil pool and the sound of the waterfall. It felt good to be back.
Suddenly, his blood turned to ice in his veins. Skye was gone!
“Skye!” he called, drawing his sword. “Skye!” he called again as he walked toward the water.
He heard her voice come from a thick wall of rushes just away from the water’s edge. “Dinnae ye dare come any closer!”
“Are ye all right? I looked up, and ye were gone. What are ye doing?” he asked, concerned. “And ye cannae tell me what I can and cannae do, Skye.”
“Well, if ye must ken, Arran,” she huffed, “I am relieving meself before we start the ride back.”
Arran felt foolish. Nonetheless, she needed to learn that she couldn’t disappear whenever she wanted.
“I’ll leave ye, then. But, wife, dinnae ever go where I cannae see ye. I dinnae trust Blackwell. And he’s nae the only threat, ye ken?”
Arran walked back to the flat rock, sat, and waited for Skye to return.
Suddenly he heard a tree branch snap, and he jumped up at theswooshof a sword.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I’m ready now, Arran!” Skye called as she emerged from the bushes.
Suddenly, the sound of clanging metal shattered her peace. Two men attacked Arran, and she rushed to aid him.
“Skye, stay back!” he hollered.
This time, she obeyed.
Arran held his sword tight, ready to swing again.
“Step aside, Laird MacArthur,” one of the men growled, his voice rough and threatening. “We are here for Skye Pressly. I daenae want to kill ye as I’ve been ordered to, but I will.”
Arran tightened his grip on his weapon. “I daenae think ye’ll be doing either,” he replied coolly. He drew his blade back over hisshoulder, the polished metal catching the last rays of the sun. “I’m givin’ ye one chance. Leave now, and ye will live.”
The men exchanged glances before lunging forward, one slightly ahead of the other. The lead man, his sword held at the ready, struck first. Arran met the attack head-on, his sword clashing against his with a sharp ring. The man was skilled, his movements swift and precise, but Arran’s size and his brute strength gave him an advantage. Nor was he without skill.
The second assailant circled to strike him from the side, but Arran had out his dagger, and used it to fend off the blows. He met each of the man’s strikes and countered with powerful blows that sent the attacker tumbling to the ground, his sword flying from his grasp. Realizing he was beaten, the coward turned and fled into the forest. Arran let him go, and focused on his companion.
