In that moment, nothing had ever been clearer. She didn’t want to go with her brother’s men; she didn’t want to leave Lachlan.
She loved him.
The intense initial attraction she’d felt for him had grown stronger as she came to know him. Behind the implacable façade, she’d discovered a man of surprising tenderness. With him she felt safe, protected—and, most of all, wanted. She’d been lost after the death of her mother, and he’d given her a home with a family. He was a rough and brutal Highland chief, but pure of heart and honorable. He was a survivor. A man who’d had to fight for his heritage and his clan not only with brute strength, but with cunning.
He was the first man not to be intimidated by her in some way, whether by her wealth, her supposed beauty, her connections, or her so-called willfulness—which Flora simply considered confidence. Lachlan challenged her and didn’t back down. And she respected him enough to heed the warning. She admired his fortitude, his calm under pressure, and his physical strength.
She loved him more than she’d ever dreamed possible. If only she’d realized it sooner. Not now, when it might be too late.
She raced toward him. But with so many men surrounding him, she’d temporarily lost sight of him.
She searched frantically through the circle of tall, imposing men, to no avail. Hearing the heavy breath of Aonghus as he closed in behind her, she ran faster. A branch snagged her cheek, but she was barely aware of the stinging pain. One of the men surrounding Lachlan fell, and she caught a glimpse of him before the circle around him closed again. The sight of him at that moment would stay with her forever. Swinging his sword with deadly grace, fending off blows from all around, standing proud and strong, as confident as if he faced only one man and not four. No matter his rough ways and his lack of schooling, she would be proud to have this man stand beside her. She would be proud to call him husband.
Thankfully, Murdoch had managed to get the best of his attacker and had moved to help his chief—engaging the man closest to him. Though there were now only three men left, she could see that Lachlan was tiring, his movements slower and more laborious. Sweat poured off his forehead, and blood now soaked his entire sleeve and part of his chest. It was his sword arm, she realized, and blood was running down his arm, soaking his hand.
Holding off five men had taken its toll. She experienced a fleeting moment of hope when another of the men surrounding him fell. Now numb to the horror, she did not turn away. Her primal instincts for survival—his survival—had flared. She knew it wouldn’t be over until the last man fell.
What happened next seemed to pass in slow motion. Lachlan’s blade flashed above his head as he blocked a blow from his right. He then moved his hands to block a nearly simultaneous blow from the left, but the sword landed with a resounding thump on his head. Lachlan dropped to the ground like a rock, and a scream tore from her throat.“No!”she cried. He couldn’t die.
Felling their enemy had stunned the two men for a moment and stopped the fight between Murdoch and his attacker. Hector’s men recovered quickly, and one lifted his sword for the death blow across Lachlan’s still body. She didn’t think, just threw herself on top of him.
“No!” She glared up at the men through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t touch him.” She peered up at them with her arms around Lachlan, relieved to feel the beat of his heart.
Aonghus was right behind her. “Get out of the way, my lady.”
The look she gave him could have started a fire. “I’ll not leave him.”
Murdoch had moved to stand behind them. “The lady said she wanted to be left alone,” he said.
Her brother’s men were clearly at an impasse. She could see the indecision on their faces as they grappled with her surprising resistance.
“Come, my lady,” the man tried to persuade her. “Your brother only wishes for your safety.”
“Tell him that I appreciate his help, but I’m perfectly safe and content where I am.”
Lachlan regained consciousness, feeling as if his head had shattered into a thousand pieces. But he was also aware of the sweetly soft body pressing against his.
When he heard her words, proclaiming before her brother’s men that she wanted to stay with him, he thought his heart would explode as well as his head. Relief, happiness, and amazement crashed over him.
“Are you sure, lass?”
He felt her startle, and then those beautiful blue eyes locked on his. What he saw there answered his question, even as her words confirmed it. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The conviction in her voice was like a song from the gods.
His gaze darted to Murdoch, and reading Lachlan’s intent, the lad moved around to stand between him and Hector’s men. Ignoring the pain in his head and arm, he sprang to his feet, hauling Flora up after him.
He addressed their leader, an old warrior he recognized—they’d crossed paths before. “You heard the lady, Aonghus. She does not wish to leave.”
“I have my orders.”
Lachlan caught the other man’s glance toward the trees. Guessing the direction of his thoughts, he said, “The rest of your men won’t be coming back.” He shifted Flora behind him and lifted his sword, which thankfully was still in his blood-soaked hand. “There has been enough death for today. Leave now or the next will be your own.”
“You speak boldly for a man with one arm and a lad against three.”
He heard Murdoch’s grumble of outrage and quieted him with his hand.
He wouldn’t need more, but pointing it out would only force Duart’s men to fight to defend their honor. So instead he said, “Aye, but I have good reason to fight.” He gave a meaningful glance toward Flora. “Can you say the same?” He paused, giving them time to realize he was right. “Return to your chief and tell him the lass refused his…gracious invitation. She is happy where she is.”
