Page 11 of A Bride for the Kilted Beast

Diarmaid was dreaming of a girl he thought he recognized but whose name he could not bring to mind. She resembled a beautiful little doll, one which his sister Maddison might have played with as child. She had a slender waist and curvy figure, long, blonde hair that curled loosely down her back, and a pale, perfect complexion. But there the resemblance ended, for she was chiding him for something, a torrent of insults flowing from her small, petal-colored lips, her eyes flashing blue fire as she wagged her finger at him.

Strangely enough, it was a very pleasant dream. Until the beautiful lass opened her mouth and let out a piercing, terrified shriek that shattered his comfortable slumber and sent him instantly to his feet, sword in hand.

Lennox! He’s come fer the lass!

Now alert, he frantically cast about his surroundings, wielding his sword in expectation of an attack. But none came, and all he saw was his brother, sitting up groggily from his blanket by the fire, rubbing his eyes, and the peaceful campsite, lit by the orange embers of the fire. With the scream ringing in his ears, he realized something was missing. Or someone.

“She’s gone!” he groaned, looking down at the empty blanket where the girl should have been lying. “Why was I such a fool as to trust her, the little witch!” Nevertheless, relief washed through him that it was not Lennox ambushing them.

“What was that scream?” Ciarán croaked, still befuddled by sleep.

“I dinnae ken, but get up. The lass has run, and we have tae find her,” Diarmaid replied urgently, prodding his brother with his foot.

“Aye, all right,” Ciarán agreed, getting to his feet, yawning and stretching until his bones cracked.

“Hurry! If that was her screaming, she must be in trouble,” Diarmaid urged him.

“D’ye think Lennox has kidnapped her?”

“I dinnae ken, but if I was gonna run, I’d run tae the forest. Let’s go!”

Together, they quickly crossed the distance to the tree line, where the forest began.

“By the Wee Man, ’tis dark under here,” Ciarán grumbled as they plunged beneath the canopy.

“Stop!” Diarmaid held up a hand, and they halted. His ears strained to hear the faint sounds he thought he might be imagining. “Is that shouting?”

“Aye, either that or ’tis a ghost, fer there’s nae wind,” his brother answered, peering through the dimly lit tree trunks.

“’Tis her. I ken it. Come on, this way.” Diarmaid forged ahead through the trees, ducking and diving to avoid the branches that assaulted them like clubs and whips as they tried to hurry. “It’s getting louder. It’s coming from over there.” Diarmaid said.

Just then, they emerged into a large, grassy clearing. “On the other side.” He pointed ahead along a faint game trail illuminated by the half-moon.

“Help! I’m trapped down here!” came a frantic, female cry in a voice he immediately recognized.

“It’s her all right. What trouble has she gotten herself intae now?” he grumbled, simultaneously feeling foolish for having trusted her yet relieved she was clearly alive and had not been stolen by Lennox.

“Help! I’m stuck! I’m caught in a trap!”

Diarmaid and Ciarán came to the edge of a gaping, dark hole in the ground and stopped.

“A boar pit,” Diarmaid muttered, disbelieving. He and Ciarán stood looking down into the pit. Diarmaid made out a small figure at the bottom amid the gloom, a pale face shining up at them in the moonlight.

“Well, ye took yer time,” she said, her hands on her hips. “I thought ye meant tae leave me here tae starve.”

“If ye wanted to relieve yerself, ye neednae have gone to these lengths. Ye could have just gone behind a tree!” Ciarán said, starting to laugh uncontrollably.

“I’m glad ye find it so amusing,” she said drily. “Now, are ye going tae get me out of here or nae?”

Diarmaid stifled his own laughter, affecting annoyance as he glared down at her.

“I’m just thinkin’ about it,” he told her. “Nay. I dinnae think ye deserve tae get out of there, since ye abused me trust in ye.”

“All right, ye beast!” she shrieked. “Leave me then. I’d rather die down here than be the wife of a man who’s prepared to buy a living person at an auction as if they were… a thing!”

The exchange sent Ciarán into fresh paroxysms of laughter, until he was clutching his sides and shaking. Diarmaid frowned at him. He did not want the lass to see him as a figure of fun. She should, by rights, fear him. “If ye cannae stop yer noise, will ye away back to the campsite, Braither? Go on. Away with ye,” he said sternly.

“All right, I’m goin’, but ye must admit, she’s a comical sight,” Ciarán managed between his guffawing. “I’ll see ye back there. But dinnae fall in yersel’, Braither. She might attack ye!” Still laughing helplessly, he made his way back across the clearing and disappeared among the trees.