Chapter 7

The soundof the child crying was like a fairie flute, drawing her onward, deeper into the woods. Ailis followed it, stopping here and there to listen and change direction as needed.

It sounded as if the child might be moving away from her, and she found that puzzling. Was the child lost and wandering, or perhaps returning home? She wasn't familiar with this section of the woods—perhaps there was a woodsman's family or a crofter in the area.

She stumbled into a clearing and stopped. There was no child, none that she could see, but there were three men, all with drawn weapons and unpleasant smiles. The smiles turned into lewd leers as they saw her.

"Look at that! ‘Tis a pretty wench!"

The question about the bairn was on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn't sure she should ask it.

Suddenly, Duncan walked up behind her. He caught her arm and dragged her back. "Get behind me."

She didn't dare ignore him, but she couldn't help speaking, "The bairn… I heard a bairn."

"Nay, ye heard one of these blackguards makin' a noise to imitate a bairn. ‘Tis how they lure travelers from the path."

"Ye ken our plans…" One of the men—bandits, she realized with a sense of embarrassment for her gullibility—shook his head in mock sorrow. "We were goin' to rob ye and let ye go, but now ye'll have to die."

She very much doubted they'd ever intended to let them go. From Duncan's snort, she thought he was of the same mind.

"I dinnae ken…" The one on the left licked his lips, his eyes hungry as he stared at her. "We could let the woman live… if she's good enough." His leer widened as he made a crude gesture. "She's small, but she looks good for a few rounds."

"Looks like a lady. Never had a lady," said one of the others. "I'm with Garn. Kill the oaf and take the wench back with us. We can find lots of uses for her."

She shuddered, and Duncan looked down at her, his eyes dark and hot, with something terrifying coming to life in their depths. "Dinnae worry, Ailis. They'll nae lay a hand on ye."

"Ailis… a bonny name. But for me, I like makin' a woman cry until she'd answer to anythin' I call her." The man who hadn't spoken sneered. He seemed to be the leader—Garn, he was called? "I think ye're right."

His voice turned low and soft and ugly. "Kill the man. Capture the wench. We'll have our fun, then take her back to the camp for the rest to have a turn."

"Ye'd do better to run." While the bandit's voice reminded her of the hissing of snakes, Duncan's was cold as winter winds across the top of the crags. "Run and live another day. Otherwise, yer lives end here."

"There's more of us, and ye dinnae look like ye're so skilled."

Before Ailis could fully process what the man had said, the bandits attacked.

Duncan didn't hesitate. He lunged toward the three of them, keeping the fight on the other side of the clearing, well away from her.

She'd thought he looked like a warrior out of her favorite stories. She hadn't been sure, until this moment, whether or not he could fight like one.

Now she knew. Duncan Wallace was a true "Beast" with a blade.

His sword, a longer form of a broadsword that didn't quite reach the length of a bastard sword, was a blur as he engaged with the three men, blocking and striking so fast that she could barely keep track of his movements. Every step, every parry, and every strike was precise and fast.

He was outnumbered three to one and held his own with what looked like effortless ease.

Back and forth the combat wove through the clearing. She thought at one point that she saw a bandit's blade slip past Duncan's guard, but she couldn't be sure. All she knew was when one of the bandits made a fatal mistake and swung too wide, thus burying his blade in a nearby tree.

Duncan lunged at him, and his sword pierced through the man's paltry leather armor and cleaved him nearly in two.

The bandit's dying scream made Ailis feel sick, but it made both his comrades flinch in terror, and the falter in their concentration proved fatal, as Duncan buried his blade deep in one man's heart, then wrenched it free and whipped around to attack the last one.

Silence fell. Ailis stared at the blood-splattered warrior and wondered what she'd invited into her life with her letters.

She also wondered what it said about her, that she found the sight of him equally exciting and terrifying.

* * *

Duncan shook the blood off his blade with a grimace. It had been a while since he'd experienced combat outside the practice yard. He was annoyed that one of the men had managed to cut him, even if it was a fairly minor wound on his arm.

Even with that lucky blow, the men had hardly been a challenge, but it was enough to make his blood sing. And with no more enemies to fight, his mind was going in another direction.

As if a delicate flower like Ailis would look twice at a man like me after watchin' me slaughter these fools.

He turned, mentally prepared for anything, from seeing the girl recoil in disgust to seeing her in a heap on the ground after fainting dead away.

He wasn't prepared to find her staring at him with a mix of unease and what looked like admiration.

"Are ye hurt?"

"Of course nae." She shook her head. "Ye kept me safe."

"'Tis me duty." He sighed. "Next time, listen to me when I try to warn ye nae to be rash, and dinnae run off at the first sound ye hear."

She blushed and nodded. Duncan shifted the sword to his other hand and winced at the sting in his arm. "Come on, let's get back to the horses."

He led the way, and she followed without comment. In fact, she was uncharacteristically silent until they arrived at the place where they'd tied their horses. He was almost startled when her voice sounded, soft and troubled.

"Ye're hurt."

He looked down at his arm. "'Tis nae very much of a wound." He shrugged, then winced as the movement pulled at the scab and broke it.

"It might nae be much, to a warrior like ye, but it still needs to be bandaged. And it's somethin' I can do for ye, little as it is when compared to saving me life."

* * *

Seeing the blood and the slash on his shirt sleeve was far more upsetting than seeing the dead bandits, though she couldn't say why.

Duncan looked as if he was prepared to mount his horse and ride on, never mind that he was wounded.

She reached out and laid a hand on his not-wounded forearm. "Please, let me tend yer injury. I have a good salve Leona helped me make, and it willnae take me long to apply it. The cut will heal better if it's treated."

After a moment, he nodded.

Ailis turned to pull out the salve jar from her bag, as well as a knife to cut some strips from her skirt as a bandage. Then she turned back and yelped, flushing with surprise as she realized he'd removed his sash, vest, and shirt, leaving his arms and torso bare.

"Ye…"

"I dinnae see any point in destroyin' the shirt by slashin' the sleeve, and ye cannae bind the wound with a cloth."

This time, he didn't even bother to try and hide his smirk.

"Ye're right, of course." Ailis focused her gaze on his arm and tried to ignore the bare torso right in front of her.

She was torn between looking away and staring unabashedly, the inexperienced side of her embarrassed to see so much naked male skin on display. But the memory of the scenes in her novels made her want to look, to see how he compared to the heroes in her beloved books.

With an effort, she focused her gaze and her attention on his arm, and the long, somewhat deep cut that ran across his well-defined bicep.

The salve she had was a mettle salve that stung, but if it hurt him, he gave no sign. She coated the cut generously with it, then began to wrap the bandage around his arm. It looked strange, the soft lilac-colored fabric against his tanned skin.

"Ye're a dab hand with that. Did ye train with a healer?"

She shook her head. "Nay. But me friend Leona—I told ye earlier, she's interested in all matters of knowledge. The last time she chose the book we were reading, she picked a herbal with healing techniques in it. We were curious about how well they worked, so we practiced. Leona loved it."

"Ye learned well."

She tried to smile at the compliment, but patching the wound had only reminded her how he'd acquired it. "I'm only sorry that I gave ye a reason to need a demonstration of me abilities."

"Dinnae fret." One large hand gripped her chin and tilted her head up. "'Twas dangerous, runnin' off and nae heedin' me warnin'. But I'll never fault ye for bein' concerned about a child ye thought was lost. ‘Tis a good trait to have, and one I'm well pleased to discover in ye."

That puzzled her, given what he'd said about not wanting an heir. "Why would that be a matter ye'd find pleasin'?"

"Doesnae matter. ‘Tis a fact."

His frank gaze made her blush for a reason that had nothing to do with the heat of his body so close to hers.

She blushed a deeper shade of red and looked away as she stepped back, using the pretense of putting away her medicine to put some distance between them.

"'Tis a natural response, with the way I grew up. Me maither passed away when I was fairly young, and me faither had nay idea what to do with three young daughters. He did his best, but when all is said and done, I was the one who did most of the raisin'."

She made a face at him, attempting to lighten the mood. "'Tis part of why I so foolishly followed the sound. After all these years lookin' after them, ‘tis me instinct to run toward the sound of a bairn in distress. It makes me naive, I suppose, but…"

"Nae naive. A little incautious, mayhap. But I wouldnae call ye naive, only carin'."

Ailis smiled at him. "Well, if ye're nae goin' to try and teach me better, then I suppose I'll continue runnin' into trouble for the sake of possible babes in danger." She smirked. "At least ye're scary enough to keep the evils of the world at bay."

"Is that so?"

The sudden heat and intensity of his voice startled her, as did the way his eyes darkened with something that looked more like hunger than anger or irritation.

He stepped closer, and she found herself backing away, feeling suddenly like a deer caught in the gaze of a hungry wolf. Perhaps it was the slow, steady way he prowled toward her, or the heat of his gaze, which never wavered as it focused on her face.

Step by step he advanced, and she backed away until there was no more room to back away. She felt her back press against a tree trunk, and he was too close to step around or sidestep.

Duncan caged her in, a hungry, sharp, little smile on his face as he leaned in, close enough for her to feel the heat of him and be enveloped in the scent of leather and sweat and masculinity.

His breath was hot as he whispered in her ear, "And do ye find me scary as well, little Ailis?"

She wasn't sure what she felt, right at that moment. But she was sure enough of him to raise her eyes and meet his gaze, in spite of how her face heated with a blush of nerves and excitement.

"Nay."

* * *

She was so brave, the little Highland flower he'd claimed for his own, for the sake of alliances and amusement. He could see Ailis was uncomfortable, and still, she met his gaze with her own.

If she'd said she was afraid, he would have backed away, even if the statement was false. But she shook her head, and her eyes held as much desire as they did apprehension. "I'm nae afraid of ye."

"Good. That's pleasin' to hear."

He bent closer, intending to tease her a little. But his blood was simmering still, and her soft lips called to him, a siren song matched by the emotions that swirled within her sparkling green eyes.

One moment he was staring at her, the next he was lowering his head, capturing her lips with his, one hand on her jaw as he kissed her long and hard.

She gasped as he claimed her lips, the softness and sweetness of her mouth opening beneath his. He slid his tongue across her lips and deepened the kiss, demanding more.

She might have never done more than read about kissing, but she was a generous lass, and she yielded readily to him, her mouth opening to welcome his exploration. Her kiss was like coming inside from the cold, and the heat of her ignited a fire that was far deeper and more pleasurable than the battle fever.

Her slim, petite frame pressed against his, warm and pliant and giving, offering a small taste of heaven if only he was willing to accept it. He could feel her covered chest press against his bare skin, and the sensation sent heat and pleasure straight to his groin.

Every sense was swept up in a wave of desire the likes of which he'd not felt in years. His hand on her jaw moved to tangle in the strands of her hair, long and soft, like sunlight transformed to silk.

Her hair was so soft, like her skin. Softer even than Lily's…

The thought of Lily felt like a bucket of ice water thrown over him. Duncan wrenched himself back, his chest heaving as he fought to get himself under control. He ignored the look of surprised hurt in Ailis's eyes.

Lily. He was responsible for Lily, for her safety and her happiness above all. He was supposed to be marrying to pacify his clan and forge alliances, not find a bed partner.

He couldn't afford to be distracted by desire, no matter how pretty and willing Ailis was. He also didn't need any complications in his life, no matter how tempting they might be.

He turned away and rummaged in his bag for a clean shirt. He dressed quickly, wiped the rest of the blood off his sword, and resheathed it in the saddle sheath. Only when he was done, and sure that his face betrayed nothing of his feelings, did he turn back to Ailis.

"We should continue on if we want to reach me home by nightfall."

He lifted her gently into her saddle, then swung up into his own, and nudged his horse into a soft trot.

For the rest of the trip, neither of them said a word.