Chapter 3

"Daenae make me gag ye again," he warned her, his grip on her forearm tightening.

Leo Barclay was not intentionally trying to tighten his grip, but he was almost certain that the moment he loosened it, she would make every attempt to run away from him.

Just who is this woman?

When he had heard of a healer, with a good reputation, this woman was not what he had imagined. He had been expecting someone older, someone less abrasive, someone significantly less bonny.

Despite her disheveled and dirty appearance, there was an undeniable beauty hidden beneath the surface. Her skin was sunkissed, with freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks that reminded him of constellations in the night sky. Her hair, the color of dried wheat, cascaded down her back in messy, chaotic waves.

But it was her eyes that truly caught his attention—they were an enchanting shade of turquoise that shimmered in the dappled light filtering through the trees. In their depths, he saw the clear defiance, a fire that glowed the perfect shade of blue.

His comment had quietened her for a few moments as they continued the way they had come. Leo could not help but steal quick glances at the healer, trying to figure out who she was. Something about her demeanor told him that she was no simple vagrant.

"Ah, ye caught her, then," Hamish said as they emerged.

"Runs like a wee doe through the bush," Robert added.

Leo offered no response, but he could not deny that Robert was quite right. Indeed, she moved with grace and agility that reminded him of some woodland faerie, nimble and elusive. Of course, he had managed to catch her with relative ease, but that did not take away from her agility.

His heart had been racing so hard when he had caught her. Why she had stopped, he still could not be sure, but he was almost certain that she would not tell him.

He had always enjoyed the thrill of a chase. The pursuit was just as rewarding as the capture. But she had been something else entirely. The very thought of her running ahead of him was enough to stir something within him—a want, a need. It was primal, and it was hungry.

"We'd best leave now," Hamish told him, his gaze shifting upward.

The man could sense bad weather, and the look etched on his face suggested just that it would be approaching sooner than later. Leo glanced up at the sky, watching as the clouds rolled overhead quickly. The wind had begun to pick up, and he could hear it whispering between the trees.

Turning to glance down at the healer, he was surprised to find her not fighting him. He wondered if she had given up, but from the determined look in her eyes, he was sure she was simply waiting for the right moment to make her escape.

Leaning in closer to her, his mouth close to her ear, he said, "Daenae make me tie ye up, m'aoigh."

The woman tensed. "I am not yer guest, and we both ken it."

Never had a woman spoken to him in such a way before, so brazenly. He knew she feared him, he was well aware of her trembling body, and yet she did not cower under his touch or at his closeness. If anything, she seemed to challenge him. Leo was tempted to test her limits.

Pulling back from her, he regarded his men with a frown. "Let's go."

Leading her towards his dark brown mare, he could not help but notice the contrast in their strides. His were long, while hers were hurried to keep pace. Leo slowed down just enough to not be dragging her along, and his grip loosened ever so slightly on her forearm.

"If ye run, I will make it so ye cannae any longer," he said flatly.

He was certain she believed him, though he did not truly mean a word—at least this time.

Stopping at the side of his horse, he loosened his grip entirely and waited a moment to watch her reaction. She stayed in place, but it was clear from the expression on her face that she was still considering running. Slowly, he knelt before her, lacing his fingers and holding his hands out, offering a makeshift step.

The healer stared down at his palms and then turned to his horse. For a moment, she looked at the saddle, and then with relative ease—even with her torn, ragged skirts—she climbed up and settled in the saddle.

As he stood up, he watched her carefully. For a second, he was sure she meant to steal his horse, her hands even raised ever so slightly towards the reins, but before she could grip them, he seized them. Holding the leather firmly, he pulled himself onto the saddle directly behind her.

They had ridden for some time in relative silence, aside from the occasional comment from Hamish or Robert, but the healer had not spoken a word since he had taken her.

Despite the lack of conversation, he had been made all too aware of her body so close to his. The healer swayed with the movement of the horse, her back against his chest and her hips rocking against his. He tried to ignore the way his body was reacting to her closeness, but it was beginning to seem almost impossible. She fit against him perfectly.

I daenae ken if I have ever wanted a woman so much.

"Why are ye doin' this?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like a sharp blade.

Leo considered just not offering her an answer, but he knew her cooperation would be needed sooner rather than later. And, he was sure that some words between them might distract him just enough to keep his thoughts from turning wicked.

"Need yer healin' services," he said in a rough voice.

She shifted slightly in the saddle, straightening her back in a way that had her slightly leaning against him. It only lasted a brief moment, but it was enough to tip the scales.

"Ye could've just said so."

Leo frowned but offered no response.

He was surprised when she looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his as she raised her eyebrows. Though he held her gaze, he was tempted to glance down at her full, soft lips. Leo turned his head away, pretending to be interested in something in the distance.

Above them, the sky had darkened, not only due to the sun dipping below the horizon but also the ominous heavy clouds. There was most definitely a storm brewing, and he could already smell the rain in the air.

Looking over his shoulder, he could see Hamish and Robert following close behind. Normally, they would be chatting away, but there was something heavy in the air that weighed them all down. It seemed odd to him that they had been riding for quite some time and had not yet come across any others, but Leo assumed it was due to the foreboding weather.

"Ye dinnae need to be such a brute about it, ye ken? Ye could have asked." Her tone was neutral, but it was clear that there was a hint of frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "Ye havenae even?—"

"Quiet," he said, almost a growl.

The healer looked over her shoulder once more, an incredulous look on her face, but then her expression shifted to one of concern. Slowly, she began to look around them, no doubt hearing it, too.

Horses, several of them.

Cursing under his breath, his grip tightened on the reins as he turned his horse to face his men. From the looks on their faces, they heard it as well, and both were already perched in their saddles, on high alert.

"At least five," Hamish said, his ear turned towards the road. "It's likely?—"

"Aye, I ken." Leo nodded.

Bandits.

He peered down at the woman before him. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of what was happening, but soon realization dawned on her. Leo was certain of one thing: he would not be able to fight with her on his horse.

Leaning in, his mouth against her ear, he spoke in a low voice, but one that did not betray the urgency. "When I call ye, ye had best come running," he warned her, leaving no room for argument.

Without another word, he nudged her out of the saddle a bit more roughly than she perhaps would have preferred. Still, he was careful not to shove her off.

When her feet were on the ground, she looked up at him, confused.

Leo averted his gaze, watching the darkening road. There was no doubt in his mind that she would seize this opportunity to run. He only hoped that when she did, he would be the one to find her and not the men who were approaching them.

"Hide," he said sharply, his voice piercing through the air. "And daenae come out until I call for ye."

Before she could respond, he drew his sword and pressed forward.

* * *

Her heart was pounding like a drum, so loud that she was sure the entire forest could hear it. Crouched behind a fallen tree at the roadside, she watched while holding her breath. A soft rain had begun to fall, and she could hear the promising rumble of thunder in the distance.

I should run.

Nora's eyes were fixed on the tall, broad-shouldered figure. Laird Buckhan moved on his horse with otherworldly grace, slicing through the bandits as if they were made from softened butter. Each movement seemed effortless, each stroke almost choreographed.

A chill carried on the breeze as it tugged at her loose hair and her almost unrecognizable clothing. When a shiver ran through her, she tried to convince herself it was from the sudden cold in the air, but she could not truly be sure.

She leaned forward ever so slightly, just enough to have a slightly better view of the road. There were five bandits, just as Hamish had said, and three had attacked the Laird. Nora watched, wondering if perhaps they would cut him down, and she shuddered.

The wind whipped through the trees, scattering leaves and branches as the rain began to hiss. Within a few moments, she was soaked through, yet despite the chill in the air and the crackling thunder, she kept her eyes fixed on the Laird.

His form seemed to almost dance with something primal, his blade gleaming like a strip of silver as it cut through the darkness. Each movement was fluid and precise, as if the sword was an extension of his arm.

The highwaymen were shadows on top of their horses in the darkened forest, hazy against the sleet. She squinted, taking in their shapes as they came at the Laird all at once. Hollers, cries of pain, and a myriad of curses pierced through the air as they charged.

There is nay chance he will survive this.

Her senses, heightened by the danger, were like several voices screaming at her to flee, to run and run until she found herself back at the village. But she could not be sure where they were now, and they had ridden for hours. She glanced over her shoulder, but she did not move.

Something was holding her back.

The Laird fought with a silent determination. She could tell it was him from his massive frame on the back of his horse. His attacks were a blur of motion, seemingly effortless, and he had somehow managed to unhorse two of the men who had come at him.

Nora's gaze flicked to Hamish and Robert, who were also holding their own. But no matter where her eyes strayed, they returned to him. Drawn like a moth to a flame.

As lightning split the sky, Nora watched the riderless horses take off in a panic. She turned her head, listening to the sound of hooves beating against the wet ground and the fading huffs as the beasts cried out against the rumble of thunder that followed.

Groans came from the ground around her captors and she strained her eyes to take in the shapes of the men who had attacked them as they lay on the ground. Some, she was certain, were already dead, and the others no doubt would follow suit.

"Robert," the Laird said, his voice commanding and clear.

"Aye?" Robert answered through the darkness, breathless.

"Deal with them and then join us up ahead."

She could just barely make out their shapes in the darkness, but she was sure she saw the shorter man dismount his horse without another word. Nora knew well enough what "Deal with them" meant. There were to be no survivors in this ordeal, and she did not wish to be there to witness it.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. Her skirts clung to her legs and were weighing her down. Glancing over her shoulder, she once again assessed her chances of escape, but something kept her rooted to the spot. She was sure that no matter where she ran, whatever she did, he would find her.

"Come, lass." The Laird's voice was firm, final.

Nora did not move from her spot. Her entire body was shaking fiercely, and she wasn't sure she could walk even if she had to. There was a distinct metallic smell in the air, one she knew well, but it was so strong this time.

She heard his horse approach her, and she shuddered.

"I willnae say it again," he warned her.

If she had blinked, she would've missed it. Lightning flashed across the sky overhead, illuminating the woods in a soft bright haze, and she caught a glint of something rushing through the air. Before she could call out, or even make sense of what she had seen, the arrow grazed the Laird, eliciting a growl of pain from deep in his throat.

He had been hit, but she could not see or tell just where. Despite this, he wasted no time to retaliate. In a fluid movement, he turned his horse towards the assailant, who was hidden among the trees, and charged towards him.

A scream pierced the air, shrill and gargling. Then there was nothing but the sound of the rain, the thunder, the wind, and her heart pounding like a drum in her ears. Somehow, they were alive, though the same could not be said of the bandits.

"Nora."

The way he said her name, the way it rolled off his tongue, it made her toes curl. She immediately felt a pang of disgust in her gut. How could she be so completely seduced by something so simple as a man calling her name?

"Ye will come out now, daenae make me find ye."

She took a deep breath and stepped onto the road. Nora realized then that he was no longer on his horse. At some point, he had slipped from the saddle, and now he was standing a few paces from her. Lightning flashed again, illuminating his features and casting flattering shadows on his already handsome face. But it showed more than just that.

"Ye are bleeding," she said as the darkness enveloped them again.

"It is nothing," He peered down at his arm, almost dismissively, as if the wound were nothing more than an insect bite. But Nora knew better, even if the man did not wish to admit it, there was too much blood for it to be nothing.

Nora frowned. "Ye ought to stop the bleedin–"

"There is nay time for such things,"

"Make time," she said firmly.

"Are ye givin' me orders, lass?" his voice was a low growl, much like the thunder that warned overhead. The sound caused a shiver to run down her spine and she raised her shoulders, hoping to stop the sensation but it only seemed to worsen the more he looked down at her.

She was grateful for the darkness, since she could not help but make a sour face at his stubbornness. "Of course nae," she said in a stiff voice, her eyes falling to the tree line. "It was only a suggestion."

One he ought to take before he damn well bleeds out.

He stepped closer to her, close enough now that she could hear his shallow, quick breaths as they clouded the air. Though she struggled to make out his expression, she could feel his gaze on her. A shiver ran through her and settled in the pit of her stomach.

"Ye will tend to it," he said in a rough voice. "And then we leave."