As soon as he reached the clearing, he saw it. A man, a laird in name but not in principles, stalking around a boulder. There was a knife in his hand, a predatory curve to his shoulders. The sight of him made Lucas sick.
Then, he saw what he was looking at. A shaking form that was backing away from him. She was tiny both in stature and from hunger, her long black hair catching the sunlight as she hoisted a stone in front of her. Her fear was palpable, even from a distance.
Lucas threw himself off of his horse, his hand already moving to the hilt of his sword. The man didn’t seem to sense that Lucas was running toward him, his eyes locked on the girl in front of him. Or maybe the man did sense Lucas’s presence. Maybe he didn’t think he was doing a damn thing wrong.
Men like him never think that they’re doin’ anythin’ wrong.
“Get away from me!” the woman cried. Her voice was shaky with fear and rage. “Now!”
“Nay, lassie,” the man said with a devious laugh, continuing to approach her. “Ye’re mine now. Ye cannae escape. Ye’re nae goin’ to be able to do anythin’ to me.”
Then, the girl struck. She lifted the rock above her head and brought it down on her attacker’s skull. It fell from her hands, the force of the blow too much for her to maintain her grip, hitting the ground with a dull thud and rolling away. She took one step back, then two. This close, Lucas could see her irises, black pools that reflected the light like polished stone.
“Ye…” the man growled, a hand flying up to where she’d hit him. Blood dripped down his face, coating his fingers when he pulled it away from the wound. “I’ll make ye regret ever doin’ that,lass. Do ye have any idea who ye’re messin’ with? I daenae play games.”
He cursed under his breath, wiping blood from his eyes. The girl—the bonnie, frightened thing—continued to back up, though it seemed that she couldn’t bring herself to run. Maybe she’d expended the last of her energy with her attack.
As the man coiled himself, prepared to surge forward with the knife, the sun glinting off its blade, as he raised it, Lucas pushed himself to go faster. Before the man could lunge forward and attack, Lucas grabbed his wrist. He felt bone crunch beneath his fingers and heard the loud, gritting sound of pain tearing itself from the man’s chest.
“I wouldnae do that if I were ye,” Lucas said darkly, spinning the man toward him.
The man’s eyes were fire, his lip curled up in a hateful snarl. He struggled against Lucas’s hold, but Lucas wouldn’t let him go. No—men who hurt women, men who think they’re nothing more than something to play with, something to let loose and chase and force into slavery when they’re caught… Lucas wouldn’t let them get away with it.
“I bet ye thought nay one would find out about yer little game, didn’t ye?” Lucas growled. “But ye’re nae untouchable. Just because ye’re a laird doesnae mean ye get to do whatever ye please.”
The girl made a noise, something in the back of her throat. Lucas couldn’t tell if it was fear or relief or a mixture of both. He felt her eyes on them, those wide, dark pools trying to figure out if she should keep running or if she should stay close.
Ach, ye daenae need to run anymore, wee lass. Not when I’m around. I willnae let another man lay a filthy paw on ye.
“And who are ye?” the man spat, trying and failing to wrench his injured hand away. “Who are ye to come and interrupt the hunt?”
“I’m Laird McGowan. And I will personally ensure that ye go through everythin’ ye’ve put these women through before I kill ye meself.”
Chapter Two
The man in front of Flora, the new one, the one who was currently holding her attacker by the neck, was one of the most intriguing people she’d ever seen. And it wasn’t just because he was protecting her, though she had to admit to herself that it played a part in her interest.
No, he washandsomein a way that she’d never seen before this moment. His brown hair was windswept, almost as if he’d rushed here, like she was his charge that had been abducted and not a stranger. Even though his small beard concealed his jaw, she could tell that it was set with anger. And his eyes…
They were gray and stormy, flashing in the sunlight. It was as if there was a thunderstorm in them. The depth in them made her breath catch, and something other than fear flared deep in her belly. If her entire body wasn’t shaking, if she wasn’t bracing herself for that sword in his hand to be pulled on her, she might consider what that feeling really was.
Fear. It must be fear. Me head’s nae workin’ right.
Laird McGowan looked murderous. Flora had heard a sickening crunch when he’d grabbed the other laird’s wrist just moments before, but it seemed as though he wasn’t satisfied with just that injury—not with the way he was squeezing the man’s throat. The words that he’d said before this fight started seemed even more true now. Some sort of primal instinct told her that it was only a matter of time before the fight turned on her.
Now, she was certain that it was terror that coursed through her veins. Laird McGowan released the other laird before he landed a blow with the blunt end of his sword, proving that not only was he a savage, but he was even more dangerous than the first man. Her hands shook; her eyes were wide. She couldn’t bring herself to look away.
“Is this what ye sick, sorry excuses for humans do for fun, Aaron?” Laird McGowan demanded, stepping forward and getting into the other man’s face. “Ye paid to be here, did ye nay? Paid to come and hunt women like they were nothin’ more than game? And then when she fought back, ye intended to kill her. That is unacceptable.”
Does he ken this man? His name is Aaron?
She finally took another step back, the truth of that declaration burrowing into her chest. After she’d hit the other man, Aaron, she’d seen the look in his eye. He’d brandished his knife at her, flashed it with a crazed expression that she’d accepted would beher last. If Laird McGowan hadn’t shown up, Flora didn’t think that she’d still be breathing.
“Let go of me, ye bastard,” Aaron demanded, spittle flying from his lips. His feet dug into the dirt, his body winding up as he prepared another attempt to break himself free, the pain in his wrist not enough to stop him. “This is nay yer fight. Ye’re stickin’ yer nose where it doesnae belong. This is me fight. That is me, lass.”
Laird McGowan’s eyes flashed like lightning cracking across a stormy sky. Slowly, in a dark and measured tone, he said, “She belongs to nay one that she doesnae want to belong to. And even if she allowed herself to be claimed by ye, I wouldnae let ye to continue on in the way ye are. Nay one deserves to be treated in the way ye’re treatin’ her. Especially nay a woman.”
That statement seemed to be unacceptable to Aaron, reigniting the fight with a sharp snap of urgency. He yanked himself free, twisting his wrist in a way that must be painful with the injury that Laird McGowan had undoubtedly given him. With a quickness that surprised Flora, he darted down and scooped up his blade.
