From her current position hanging so far from the ground, it was difficult to gauge precisely, but she would guess he stood at least a handful of inches over six feet. A giant by any standard—even a Highland one.
If he was a Highlander.
He’d spoken in Scots and not in the Highland tongue, but she thought she’d detected a hint of brogue in his voice. It was difficult to tell from his clothing. He wasn’t wearing thebreacan feileof the Highlands, but that wasn’t unusual for a man of wealth and position. And on that account she had no doubt. Even from a distance she could see that the black leather doublet and trews he wore were of exceptional quality.
But the fine clothing did little to camouflage the savage beauty of his broad chest and powerfully muscled arms and legs. His impressive build coupled with the enormousclaidheamhmórsword he wore slung across his back left no doubt in her mind that he was a warrior. And she’d wager an impressive one at that.
But it was more than his size that bothered her. She would also have preferred a rescuer who wasn’t quite so dominating. It was everything about him: his wide commanding stance, the stamp of absolute authority on his face, and the bold way he looked at her. His manner unsettled her so much that it took her a moment to realize how handsome he was. Arrogantly so—as if his expertly chiseled features were a mere afterthought to the force of his overpowering masculinity.
She wasn’t alone in her perusal.
Her body prickled with awareness. Dear God, the way he was looking at her . . . atallof her. His gaze roamed her body from head to toe, lingering at her breasts long enough for a blush to rise in her cheeks. Suddenly she became very conscious of her nearly undressed state. The sark that had seemed a suitable covering a short while ago now felt as insubstantial as gossamer silk under his penetrating stare. It felt as though he could see right through the linen to her bare skin.
She’d always been protected by her father and brothers; no man had ever dared to look at her like this—as if she were a juicy plum ripe for the picking.
And Caitrina didn’t like it one bit. She might not be dressed as one right now, but any man of sense could see that she was a lady—even if he didn’t notice the fancy gown that was plain as day right under his nose.
Who was this bold warrior who held himself like a king?
She would swear she’d never seen him before. From his clothing and weaponry, he was obviously not an outlaw. He was probably a chief from distant lands come for the games—which meant he was owed the sacred obligation of Highland hospitality. But if he was a chief, where were his guardsmen?
Well, chief or not, he shouldn’t be looking at her that way. “Your name, my lord?” she demanded. “You are on Lamont lands.”
“Ah, then I have reached my destination.”
“You are here for the gathering?”
He gave her a long look, one that made her feel he knew something she did not. “Among other things.”
He hadn’t told her his name, but at the moment she didn’t care who he was. She would welcome the devil himself—or, God forbid, one of his Campbell minions—if he would help her down. Her arms were starting to ache from trying to hold most of her weight as to not put too much weight on the fragile branch. Her rescuer certainly was taking his time. “Well, are you just going to stand there watching me all day?” she asked impatiently.
His mouth lifted at one corner. “I might just do that. It’s not very often that a man happens upon a half-naked wood nymph climbing a tree.”
Caitrina’s cheeks flamed. “I’m not half-naked, and if you could spare a glance upward”—away from my chest—“you would see that I’m not climbing, but stuck and in need of some assistance.”
Her blustery response seemed only to increase his amusement. Though he wasn’t precisely smiling, his steely blue eyes twinkled as radiantly as the shards of sunlight streaming through the trees.
The wretched brute was laughing at her.
Caitrina narrowed her gaze, not used to being laughed at—particularly by a man. She supposed there was something amusing about the entire situation, but he should have the courtesy not to show it. It left her feeling at a distinct disadvantage, which was silly given her circumstances. Shewasat a disadvantage. But not for long. When he got her down from here, she would give him a piece of her mind.
She bristled and in her most haughty voice—the one she used with her brothers when she wanted them to do something—said, “Just hurry up and help me down . . . now!”
She realized immediately that issuing demands might not have been the best tactic when the smile that had temporarily lightened his hard expression vanished and his lips thinned into a straight line. He gave her a long stare, then crossed his arms over his broad chest. Her breath caught, confronted with the impressive bulge of muscle. Good gracious, he was strong.
“No,” he said lazily. “I don’t think I shall.”
Chapter 2
Caitrina gasped, more shocked than angry—at first. “No? You can’t say no.”
He lifted a brow, begging to differ.
“But why not?” she sputtered inanely, finding it impossible to comprehend a refusal.
His gaze slid over her body. “I’m rather enjoying the view from here.”
“How dare you!” She gave him a withering stare, which was easier said than done from her position. “You are a vile man.”
