The surviving men gathered their fallen comrades with unseemly haste, Duncan's eyes promising future violence even as he retreated. Within moments, they had disappeared into the forest as quickly as they'd appeared.
Cameron cleaned his blade with methodical care, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of further threat. "Think they'll try again?"
"Nae taenight," Tòrr replied, wiping his sword on a dead man's plaid. "But this willnae be the end of it. Munro's nae the type tae accept defeat gracefully."
"Nay," Cameron agreed. "He'll be back. With more men next time."
"Let him come. I'll be ready."
Liliane stood frozen in the aftermath, her wounded arm cradled against her chest, blood seeping through her fingers. The reality of what had just happened crashed over her like a cold wave. Men had died because of her.
"Let me see yer arm," he said, approaching her with concern replacing the violence in his expression.
The moment his fingers brushed her wrist, fire shot through her entire body. Not pain, but something else. An electric shock that seemed to race along her nerves, making her skin hypersensitive and her pulse stutter.
She jerked backward as if he'd burned her, fury and confusion warring in her chest. How dare her body betray her like this? How dare it respond to a man who had just slaughtered people in front of her?
"Dinnae touch me."
The words came out harsh but she was too shaken to care. She pressed her back against a tree trunk, putting as much distance between them as possible.
"Yer arm needs tendin’," Tòrr said, his voice gentler now. "That cut is deeper than it looks."
"I'll tend it meself." Her voice shook with the force of her emotions. "I dinnae need help from a brute."
"A brute?" His eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "Those men came here tae kill me and Cameron, tae drag ye back tae a faither who sells his daughters like prize cattle. What would ye have me dae, let them succeed?"
"Ye enjoyed it." The accusation burst from her lips before she could stop it. "I saw yer face when ye killed them. Ye liked it."
"I did what was necessary tae protect what's mine," he said quietly. "Naethin’ more, naethin’ less."
"I'm nae yers!" The words exploded from her with volcanic force. "Ye bought me like a prize horse, dragged me away from everythin’ I ken, and now ye stand there covered in blood expectin’ me tae be grateful?"
"I expect ye tae be smart enough tae recognize when someone's tryin’ tae help ye," he replied, his voice hardening again.
"Help?" She laughed, the sound bitter and broken. "Ye've ruined everythin’.”
"Yer arm is bleedin’ freely."
"I said I'll manage it meself." She pressed her hand harder against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. But her fingers were shaking, and the gash was deeper than she'd thought.
"Stubborn lass," he murmured, and there was something almost admiring in his tone. "But stubbornness willnae stop ye from bleedin’ tae death in a Highland forest."
"Maybe that would be a mercy," she whispered.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Ye're bleedin' too much."
Her face had gone pale in the moonlight, and her breathing was too quick, too shallow.
He tore a strip of fabric from his tunic with sharp, efficient movements, the linen coming away clean despite the night's violence. The sound made her flinch.
"Here." He held out the makeshift bandage. "Bind it tight, or ye'll bleed all over me saddle."
She snatched the fabric from his hand without meeting his eyes. "I told ye I can manage."
"Aye, I can see that."
