Page 12 of Wicked Kilted Highlander

"I survived, and that's all that matters now." Lara said, her hands tightening around the remains of her meal.

"Did anyone try tae help ye?" Darragh asked, his voice strained with the effort to remain calm. "Surely, there must have been someone?"

"None that I could trust. There was one guard kind enough tae give me some books tae pass me time." Lara bit her lip, unwilling to reveal too much and lay herself bare before Darragh.

"Then how did ye manage tae survive all this time?" he pressed, his gaze never leaving her face.

"By hoping tae get back home one day," Lara replied, a hint of steel in her voice. "I'll continue tae fight until I'm safely there."

Darragh nodded solemnly, respect shining through the stormy depths of his eyes. "Aye, we'll see ye home, lass," he promised, his tone filled with conviction. "Together, we'll face whatever challenges lie ahead. I have given ye me word."

As the storm raged outside and the lightening and fire cast flickering shadows across the uneven walls of their makeshift shelter, Lara found herself revealing more about her experiences than she had intended. The memories came tumbling forth and she spoke of the loneliness that had clung to her like a second skin.

"Sometimes," she admitted quietly, "I would imagine I was back home, wandering through the meadows, with the wind whispering secrets in my ear." Her voice faltered for a moment, as though the weight of her longing threatened to crush her. "But it was all just a dream—an illusion I clung tae, while the reality of my situation bore down upon me."

Darragh listened intently, his eyes never leaving her face, as though he could somehow absorb the pain of her past and make it his own. He frowned as Lara continued to speak.

"Ye must have been terribly frightened," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Tae be torn from yer home and forced tae endure such… such cruelty."

Lara nodded, swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in her throat. "Aye, I was terrified," she whispered, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her tattered sleeve. "But over time, I learned tae hide me fear—to bury it deep within me until it became nothing more than a distant echo. It was strength I needed, being fearful only made me feel worse."

As she spoke, Darragh's gaze drifted downward, his attention caught by the marks on her wrists—mottled discolorations and raised ridges that bespoke of harsh treatment and probable rope burns. His fists clenched instinctively, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"Those bastards," he growled, his fierce eyes flashing with a protectiveness that surprised her. "They had nae right tae treat a woman so… tae rob ye of yer dignity and freedom."

"None of them except the one had any mercy, yet it was nae as bad as it looks. The guards were nothing in comparison to the times when I had tae face Keir MacNeil’s wrath. He was terrifying," Lara admitted, her gaze steady as she met his.

He reached out tentatively, his rough hand coming to rest gently upon hers as though offering a lifeline amidst the storm-tossed seas of her memories.

"Ye are a brave lass, Lara," he told her softly. "And I swear, on me honor, that I will dae everything in me power tae see ye safely home. Ye dinnae deserve less after such a difficult time."

"Thank ye, Darragh," she whispered, moved by his sincerity, her eyes shining with gratitude as she squeezed his hand in return.

In the dim light, his eyes still lingered on the marks marring Lara's wrists, a mixture of concern and anger written on his scarred features.

"May I?" he asked quietly, gesturing towards her wrists with a hesitancy that belied his usual confidence. His voice was gentle, almost tender, as if he feared that speaking too loudly might somehow cause her further pain.

Lara looked down at her wrists, then back up to meet his gaze, uncertainty flickering on her face. She hesitated for a moment before nodding her assent, extending her arms towards him. Darragh leaned closer, his large, calloused hands cradling her slender wrists as he examined the marks with a furrowed brow.

"Ye should have told me about these," he chided softly, his fingers brushing lightly over the reddened, raw skin. "I could have helped ye."

"I dinnae want tae be a burden, nae more than I already am," Lara replied, her voice barely audible over the howling wind outside. "I-I’m nae such a meek lass, Darragh."

"Ye’re nae a burden. And ye dinnae have tae face things alone anymore."

As he finished speaking, his thumb traced a slow, soothing circle around one of the more prominent bruises on her wrist, a simple gesture that sent an unexpected shiver down Lara's spine. She knew Darragh was a warrior, a man hardened by years of battle, yet in that moment, his underlying tenderness shot through her heart like an arrow. It amazed her how such a strange brew of brutality and gentleness could coexist in this one man.

"That means a lot tae me, Darragh," she whispered, her heart swelling with gratitude even as her mind raced with uncertainty. Though she wished more than anything to confide in him, to share the weight of her secrets and ease the burden on her weary soul, she could not shake the fear that held her back. How much could she truly trust this man?