Page 20 of Wicked Kilted Highlander

CHAPTEREIGHT

Lara clinged to Darragh’s waist, exhausted. They had been riding for hours after their brief rest in the ravine. Beside her, refreshed by his earlier sleep, Darragh’s eyes constantly scanned their gloomy surroundings, alert for any sign of danger.

“We should make camp soon,” he rumbled in his deep baritone. “The horse is weary again, and night is upon us.”

Lara nodded, too exhausted to do anything but trust his judgment. The day’s flight from their attackers had drained her last reserves of energy. She could barely keep her seat on the horse as they plodded on through the shadows.

At last, Darragh signaled for them to stop in a small glen sheltered by towering pines. Gratefully, Lara slid from her saddle, her legs stiff. Darragh’s strong hands grasped her waist, steadying her.

“Easy, lass,” he murmured. “Ye’ve had quite the ordeal.”

Too tired to be flustered by his touch, Lara simply nodded her thanks. Together they quickly set up camp, getting a small fire going and huddling around it.

The setting sun, though it lacked any warmth, cast a glow across Darragh's face as he secured the horse for the night. Lara watched him discreetly from across the camp, admiring the skillful way his hands worked and the play of muscles beneath his shirt. He truly was magnificent to behold, his fearsome physique and many battle scars belying his gentle nature.

When he finished, he came over to join her by the fire. Their eyes met, and Lara felt a now familiar flutter in her chest. She gave him a shy smile before looking down to stir the pot heating before her on the fire.

"Smells delicious, what did ye find tae cook?" Darragh said, settling close beside her.

"Thank ye. Just some mushrooms and some of our rations. Ach, mushrooms always make me think of me maither, she loved them," she admitted, feeling a pang of nostalgia.

Darragh placed a comforting hand over hers. "Ye miss her, I ken. She must be proud of the brave, kind woman ye've become."

Lara glanced up, suddenly acutely aware of how close he was. It seemed to her that he must be hotter than the fire, the way his proximity was making her whole side burn. She watched, spellbound, as the firelight danced across his handsome features, where his scars were ranged like badges of honor, and her heart began to race. "Ye're too kind," she murmured, hardly able to take her eyes from him.

"I only speak the truth." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and they stayed like that for a moment, the simmering pot the only sound breaking the silence between them.

When the mushrooms had finished cooking, they took spoons and ate straight out of the pot, laughing as they tried not to burn their mouths. Conversation flowed easily between them. "Ye ken once, I thought I could fly," Lara told him.

"Did ye, now?" Darragh laughed. "I'm nae surprised. Ye're a wild one, Lara."

"Nay, it wasnae like that. I wasnae trying to jump off from a tree or something," Lara tried to explain, feeling her cheeks heat up, but chuckling, nonetheless. "I was just a wee girl, and I had dreamt that I could fly like a bird. I woke up, and I was so convinced I could actually fly that I went straight to me bedroom window."

"Och, ye silly wee thing!" Darragh chuckled. "How did ye manage tae nae break yer neck?"

"My brothers had tae talk me down. I think they were scared of me actually doing it." Lara shook her head, remembering the incident. "I was convinced, Darragh. Absolutely convinced."

"Ye're a funny one, lass," Darragh murmured, reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

By the time they had finished eating and the pot and spoons had been washed, dried, and stowed away in the saddlebag, night had fully fallen. A chill descended with the darkness that made Lara shiver. Without a word, Darragh removed his cloak and draped it around her shoulders, his hands lingering for a heartbeat.

"Thank ye," Lara whispered, the weight and warmth of the cloak feeling like an embrace. She was suddenly very aware of how close they were, their faces inches apart.

"Of course, lass."

Darragh's eyes dropped briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze again. Lara's heart hammered against her ribs. She wondered if he could hear it.

Neither of them moved, the moment stretching between them like a tenuous strand of spider’s gossamer. A log crackled loudly in the fire, breaking the spell. They both jumped and then chuckled awkwardly, the tension diffusing but still lingering beneath the surface.

"Ach, ye're injured," Lara cried, frowning as she spied a nasty gash on his arm that he had obviously managed to hide so far. "Why did ye nae tell me? Come here, let me help ye," she said, reaching out for his arm.

"’Tis naething. A scratch. I didnae want tae trouble ye," Darragh insisted, pulling his arm back so she couldn’t look at the wound.

Lara's heart clenched at his refusal, but she would not be deterred. She approached him slowly, carefully, as one might a wounded animal. "Darragh, please, let me help ye. What if ye get an infection? Come, ye cannae dae everything alone." Her voice was soft, yet insistent.

Darragh relented. Using their meagre medical supplies, she boiled some water, let it cool, then washed the wound thoroughly with a clean rag. All she could do then was to bandage his wound. As she did so, she couldn’t help but notice the many scars crisscrossing his soft, warm skin—each one a remnant of battles fought and struggles endured, each scar a story, Lara was sure. She found herself curious to learn more about her enigmatic savior.

To distract him from the pain, Lara began to regale Darragh with tales of her own siblings—the laughter they shared, the bickering they engaged in and the love that bound them together. As she spoke, her words painted vivid images of family life, full of warmth and affection.