“By God, I’d ha’e their blood with me bare hands,nam buh ùr-in dhomh. I’d kill the brute bastards again, if I could.”
She heard his words but Elsie could not wrap her mind around what he was saying. She watched his lips continue to move, and knew after his tirade he was asking her a question, but she could not seem to make sense of what.
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
“I asked why were ye wanderin’ alone?” He repeated slower.
“I wasn’t alone! Not truly!” she let out an exasperated breath. “I was simply… oh nevermind. I don’t expect you would understand.”
“I can understand just fine, lass,” he replied, with a snark to his tone. “Ye were nae satisfied perhaps and were looking fer a wee bit o’ adventure. But perhaps bit off more than ye bargained fer?”
He arched a brow.
“You’re insufferable,” she huffed.
“Aye,” he said. “But ye’re alive.”
Before she could give him a smart answer in return, the world tilted. Her vision blurred right at the edges and she felt weak. It was as if her bones were melting, taking her down to the ground against her better judgement. She tried to speak, to say something, but no sound would escape her lips.
Halvard caught her the moment she crumpled, his arm steady around her shoulders. “Easy now, lass.”
His voice was distant and rough.
She rather liked his brogue and the rough timber. That was the last thought she had as the world faded to black.
CHAPTER FOUR
Halvard caught the lass before she hit the ground. Lady Elsie Montgomery was what she had called herself in the complete jumble of words she had spewed at him before she passed out cold. One moment she had been glaring at him, challenging him. Fire flashed behind her emerald eyes, and the next her knees gave way and she folded like linen on a wind-swept day.
He pulled her against his chest. She was light as a feather, and her fingers were cold, too cold. He could feel their ice even through his gloves.
“Easy lass,” he murmured in her ear. “Ye’re safe. Ye’ve done enough fer one day.”
Her head rolled against his shoulder, a loose strand of golden-brown hair brushed against his jaw and he used every ounce of power in his being to ignore the sudden spark that fired through him. She was English, unconscious, and very likely more trouble that he knew what to do with.
He carried her away from the bodies of the men who had tried to take her as they lay in the heather. The air stung with iron and smoke, and the wind was sharp and biting. He laid her down gently on a patch of grass, brushing the dirt from her cheek with his thumb before catching himself in the intimate moment and pulling his hand back quickly as if her skin were flame.
She’s a stranger, MacLeod, and an English lady.
He had no wish to entangle himself further with the lass. No matter how intriguing he seemed to find her.
Behind him Sten gave a low whistle. “Well, that was a lively distraction on the ride home,” he said. “Next time will ye let me get a shot in as well, laird?”
Halvard straightened snapping himself back into the moment at hand. “We cannae leave th’ lass here.”
“Nay, but what d’ye plan tae dae wi’ her?”
“She’d nay last th’ hour.”
“Then we’re takin’ her wi’ us?” Sten cocked an eyebrow and Halvard knew the man knew better than to make a comment.
“Aye, we’ll see her safe, at least.” He knelt beside Elsie again, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. “Find water, will ye? There should be some in th’ flask on me beast.”
As his second went to fetch the water, Halvard studied the lass’s face. Lady Elsie Montgomery. The name meant nothing to him. He barely kept up with the various titled English on his side of the border, let alone those in England. Being Laird on Rasaay gave him somewhat of a detachment from the politics of London and the crown. Except for what waited for him at home.
Her face, though, that was a whole separate issue. Her face did something odd to his chest. There was strength there. She had a stubborn set to her mouth and a faint crease between her brows, one that suggested she liked to think. She wasn’t the pampered delicate sort he would have expected from her educated accent. He had seen warriors in battle with less fight than she had shown this day.
It didn’t matter anyway, he thought as he dragged his gaze from her and scanned the road ahead. The Highlands. His home and his heart, where wild and empty hills rolled toward a gray horizon. Somewhere beyond Brochel Castle waited for him, as it always had, yet today it held visitors. That blasted royal envoy and their damned marriage contract. His stomach dropped.
