Then she heard rustling in the trees, and the doe bolted, nearly knocking Jeane over as she jumped into the deep forest.
Curious, she stepped forward into the clearing and saw a man slumped over on the ground, clearly unconscious, and another man, his tunic torn and bloody, and with his sword drawn, standing above him.
Nay! He’s goin’ to kill him!
Jeane did not think, just acted. She tended to look before she leapt, a trait her father despised, but she could not, in good conscience, allow a defenseless man to be killed.
“What are ye doin’?” she called out, and then her eyes widened as the man turned his dark gaze to hers. Jeane shuddered as she could see in the man’s eyes that he would not hesitate to kill her as well.
Jeane took a step backward and then another, hitting a tree behind her. She stumbled and fell onto one knee. The leaves crackled under her as she scrambled to her feet.
Her attacker growled in the back of his throat, giving chase, and Jeane ran through the forest, jumping over roots and whipping by the bone-bleached branches of the trees.
She held up her skirts with her hands, so she would not trip, and her father would hate that, too, hating her for flashing her thighs, but she could not falter. The man was just a step behind her. She stumbled over a rabbit hole, and he swung his sword. It fell just behind her, thudding into the ground.
He grunted as he picked it up, and Jeane took the opportunity to flee in the other direction, toward McKay castle, hoping that someone from her father’s clan would see and help her. It wasn’t that shewantedto go back, but this man could be even more dangerous than her father. At least her father wouldn’t kill her outright.
She did not realize she was running in a circle until she saw the unconscious man again. She was far enough ahead of her pursuer that she could not hear his footsteps anymore.
Her breath came fast and hot, and she held her hand over her mouth to quiet it, scooting back behind the tree line.
She pressed her back against the rough bark, breathing out through her nose. She could hear her heartbeat hammering in her ears.
Leave him. This isnae yer concern.
She caught herself biting her lip in worry. That was not a very nice way to think, but she was being chased by someone who was determined to kill her, and she needed to be careful. She did not know this man or why he had been attacked. But at the end of the day, with the healing skills she had, Jeane could not leave him behind.
She glanced through the branches from her hiding spot. He had not moved. Maybe he was dead after all, and this was all moot. But then the man stirred, turning his head, and she got a clear view of his face.
It was not one of her father’s men, which did not surprise her. She was far from the McKay castle. He was handsome, though, other than a ragged white scar that came down over one eye, stopping just at his sharp cheekbone. It did not take away his good looks, Jeane admitted to herself. Others might find it horrifying, but she thought it added to his looks, giving him an edge and a danger that drew her in.
A warrior, then? He had a sword sheathed at his side.
“Where are ye, lass? A pretty one, at that,” a voice taunted, startling Jeane. “Maybe I shouldnae kill ye. Maybe I should keep ye.”
Nay,Jeane thought, even mouthed it. She could not be taken by this man. She knew what happened to lasses kidnapped by bandits. Even though this man’s tunic was cleaner than most bandits’, that had to be what he was. She would rather die than be captured by this man or any other.
“I can hear ye breathin’, lass,” the man said cruelly as he got closer, and Jeane could do nothing but stare as the man approached her. “Ye interfered, and now, ye will die, too.”
Her whole life flashed before her eyes.
How was she to get out of this? Could she pick up the sword? Get to the unconscious man, maybe wake him up?
No. It was too far away, and she was fast but not that fast. The man also seemed to be out cold, so that would not do her any good. She was stuck, and all she could do was hope that he could not really hear her breathing.
She put a hand over her mouth, breathing as slowly as she could through her nostrils. She had to be quiet, or the man chasing her would hear her and find her. She knew the man would either kill her or, worse, use her to his satisfaction and then dispose of her.
Jeane wondered whether her father would be relieved. His scowling face came to mind with lectures about how a proper lady should behave. She had always disappointed him, and she could only imagine her death would benefit him.
The man stepped closer, grinning madly, and as he poked his sword through the bush, it stopped mere inches from her face, and she started to tremble.
“There ye are,” he murmured, but then the unconscious man stirred again. The man after Jeane turned. “Ye arenae dead yet? Ye’re a stubborn bastard, that’s for sure.”
The attacker smirked, as if he had already won. He raised his sword for a final blow.
Jeane was shocked when the unconscious man opened his eyes and struggled to his feet, drawing his sword.
“Aye, I am,” the scarred man said, bringing his sword up over his head and lunging toward the other man, taking advantage of the other’s opening. “Too stubborn to die.”
