Several hours later, she'd tromped through so many clumps of purple she grew tired of the color. She examined her mud-soaked slippers, wishing Bowen could've come with her. The bitter winds cut through her silk gown, and her feet ached. Beyond weary, but determined to find Lachlan as quickly as possible, she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm and continued on.
When she came to a stand of trees, she took comfort in the somewhat familiar landscape. Birds, smaller and less colorful than the ones from the Enchanted Isles, flitted through the branches overhead. Their sweet song was music to her ears, and for the first time that day, she smiled. Perhaps all would be well.
Something swooshed past, lifting her hair to strike the tree at her back. She swallowed, and glanced over her shoulder.
An arrow.
She froze in place, her heart drumming in her ears. Had someone seen her come through the stones and now hunted her?
An animal, she recognized as a deer from her perusal of the book of Mortals, darted out from behind the tree. Her fear turned to anger. They didn't hunt her, they hunted this poor defenseless creature! The deer looked to be on its own and Syrena was searching for its family when another arrow whizzed past her head.
“This way,” she called. The doe turned terrified brown eyes upon her. Something crashed through the trees and she ran back to pat the animal's flank. “Come, I'll protect you.” Sensing she'd gained the doe's trust, Syrena sprinted deeper into the woods where the trees were thick and the foliage full.
“Overâ” Syrena turned to cajole the deer just as another arrow whistled past. Its legs buckled and it crumpled in a heap on the ground.
“No,” she cried and rushed to the animal's side. An arrow protruded from the thick muscle of its hindquarters, blood leeching from the wound. She stroked the soft, reddish-brown coat and attempted a calming spell. As she uttered the last word of the incantation, she wrapped her hands around the shaft and tugged.
The animal bucked and its hoof slammed into her knee. Pain exploded inside her leg and she gritted her teeth. Why couldn't her magick work, just once, she fumed. She glared at the arrow and flung it to the ground, outraged someone would seek to harm the helpless creature. Her hand shook as she tore the hem of her gown then wadded the fabric against the wound.
Branches crackled beneath heavy footfalls as someone approached from the woods behind her. She flung herself on top of the animal, intent on protecting it from the beast out to deprive it of its life.
“Bloody hell,” a deep voice cursed.
She refused to be afraid. She was power . . . well . . . she had her magick.
Oh, Hades!
Then she remembered, he was merely a Mortal. What harm could he do her?
“Lass, are ye hurt?”
She peeked through the thick curtain of her hair. A pair of very large, dirt-encrusted black boots filled her vision.
He crouched at her side, and a big hand as gentle as his voice brushed the hair from her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat. Silvery-gray eyes framed with long, black lashes locked on to hers. She couldn't tear her gaze from his, ensnared not only by their brilliance, but by the concern she saw there. Men did not look at her in that way. In their eyes she'd seen lust, anger, and frustration, but never concern.
The idea he worried over her well-being caused a flutter in her belly, a warmth that chased the chill from her limbs. She barely resisted the urge to bury her face in his palm and let his masculine scent of wind, leather, and sunshine comfort her.
“I saw ye blink so I ken ye're no' dead. Mayhap ye'd give me an answer now.” He looked at her from beneath hooded eyes as he scanned her length.
She heard the hint of amusement in the low rumble of his voice and her gaze dropped to his mouth. His full lips curved to reveal straight, white teeth and a tiny indent in his cheek.
He patted her face. “Come on, my wee beauty, snap out of it.”
The admiration in his gaze was unmistakable. She'd misread his concern. He was no different than the Fae. Her eyes darted to the animal squirming beneath her, and she shook off the man's mesmerizing effect. He was a beast. He'd shot a defenseless creature.
Rolling onto her back, she spread her arms wide. No matter what the consequences were, she would protect her deer.
The man stood to tower over her and Syrena's eyes widened. He was huge. She did not expect Mortals to be as big as the Fae. His shoulders were as broad as Lord Bana's. And the fabric of his white shirt did little to conceal the powerful muscles beneath. A heated flush rose to her face at the form-fitting material that encased his narrow hips, his thick thighs and . . . She snapped her eyes shut.
He snorted a laugh and a warm hand enveloped hers. “Up ye come. I've mouths to feed and that deer ye're lyin' on is our dinner.”
She gasped, and her eyes shot open. “Eat her? You mean to eat her?” Outraged, she struggled to free herself. “You most certainly will not. She's mine.”
Brow arched, he tugged her to her feet.
Her weight landed on the leg the deer had kicked and she groaned. Being Fae, by morning there would be no sign of the injury, but it did nothing to alleviate her pain at the moment.
He frowned. “Ye're injured. Why didna ye say so when I asked?” He pulled her closer as though to offer support.
She placed a palm on his broad chest to keep some distance between them, but it didn't have the desired effect. Not when she could feel the heat of his skin beneath her fingers, the hard, well-honed muscles. His heartbeat was strong and steady, unlike the rapid, staccato beat of hers. His warm breath caressed her cheek, and she jerked away, overcome by a strange, tingly sensation.
She met his gaze full on and her step faltered. Her mouth went dry. The man was beautiful. Not the classic, refined beauty of the Fae, his was rugged and intimidating. Hair the color of a moonless night fell in loose waves to his shoulders, and a dark shadow lined his firm jaw. A dent in his chin matched the one in his cheek. Sun-bronzed skin stretched over high, chiseled cheekbones, and a slightly crooked nose.
“I'm not hurt. I'm fine,” she croaked. What was wrong with her that this Mortal had such an effect on her?
At the rustle of leaves, she turned to see the deer struggling to get up. The man moved away and Syrena looked back at him. Her mouth dropped as he removed an arrow from his quiver.
“No,” she cried, throwing herself at him.
He stumbled and shot her an irritated look. “Are ye daft, lass? What do ye think ye're doin'?”
She rubbed her forehead where she'd knocked it against his shoulder and scowled at him. “I will not allow you to harm her.”
“I'm puttin' her out of her misery is what I'm doin',” he growled, raising his bow.
She reached out and snagged the string. Yanking the bow from his grasp, she flung it to the ground and stomped on it for good measure. “She's not miserable. Now go away and leave us be,” she commanded, dropping down beside the deer.
“I'm no' leavin' without our dinner.”
She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her chin. “Yes, you are, because I will not let you have her.”
Hands on his hips, he narrowed his stormy gaze on her. “And how do ye plan on stoppin' me?”
If she had Nuie, she would know how, but she didn't, so Syrena did the only thing she could think of. She wrapped her arms around the animal's neck, and said, “Go away.”
“Ye're daft, do ye ken that? Makin' a pet of a wee beastie,” he grumbled, a note of disgust in his tone. He threw up his hands and turned to walk away, muttering something about her stealing food from children.
Her eyes widened, astonished by his response. A Fae man would take what he wanted, and the woman who stood up to him would pay the price. She fought back a surge of admiration for the Mortal, watching as he strode toward the big, black steed that appeared when he whistled.
Good, he's leaving.
Her pet would be safe, and so would she.
Although he had not harmed her, he'd stirred something unfamiliar within her. And it was not something she wanted stirred. The feelings he aroused were dangerous. They had to be. What other than danger would cause her knees to go weak, or the wild fluttering in her belly when he looked at her, touched her?
“Aidan.” A man's voice called from the edge of the woods. “MacLeod, where did ye get to?”
She started at the name.
“Oh, no,” she groaned.
The beast is related to my brother.
She had to call him back.
Chapter 3
Of all the fool things Aidan had ever witnessed, this day trumped them all. Imagine, a wee lass protecting a beastie and him being the idiot who allowed it.
He shook his head in disgust. “I'm comin',” he shouted over his shoulder as he swiped his battered bow from the forest floor, refusing to give in to the temptation to look at her.
The image of the bonny lass lying on her back taunted him. Her arms spread wide, hair the color of burnished gold tumbling over the tops of full creamy breasts encased in a rich green fabric.
The place where she'd torn her gown revealed the delicate turn of her ankle, a tantalizing glimpse that had caused his trews to tighten, as had the innocent flush that pinked her bonny face when her topaz gaze traveled his length.
Aidan's grin turned to a frown. Bloody hell, what was he thinking? He couldn't leave her alone in the woods, injured and unprotected. He pivoted on his heel, his forward motion brought to an abrupt halt by her wide-eyed gaze. Her luscious pink lips parted as though she meant to call him back.
He focused on the tree above her head before his trews grew any tighter. He cleared his throat, but the words came out on a low rasp. “I canna leave ye here, lass. I'll take ye to yer kin.”
She peeked at him through the long, thick fringe of her lashes. “No, I can't go back, not withoutâ” She caught her full bottom lip between pearly white teeth before offering him a tentative smile. “But I will go home with you.”
He arched a brow. Many a lass had offered to go home with him, but not in the quiet, beseeching way she did. He'd been prepared for her to protest since only moments ago, in no uncertain terms, she'd sent him on his way.
Warily, he approached and crouched at her side. “I doona think yer family would approve. Now where is it ye hail from?”
With a defiant tilt of her chin, she folded her arms over her chest. “It doesn't matter. I'm coming home with you.”
“Ye are, are ye?” His cock twitched, responding to her bold statement. Aye, a part of him was more than ready to take the lush, wee beauty home with him, to feel her beneath him. But despite what her words implied, he was certain she was an innocent. He should know; he'd had enough experience with women who weren't. And that's how he meant to keep it. Women like this one were meant to be admired from a distance, like the Minch in a storm.
The stubborn chit gave a jerky nod.
Getting his thoughts back to where they belonged, he rose to his feet. “All right then, but ye'll tell me who yer kin are before the day is out. 'Tis no' right leavin' them to worry over ye.”
“They won't,” she assured him, placing a dainty hand in his.
He pulled her to her feet and swept her into his arms before she could put any weight on her injured leg.
“What . . . what do you think you're doing?” she sputtered.
Ignoring her, he strode to where Fin waited and placed her on the stallion's back.
“Oh.” She smoothed her skirts into place, averting her gaze from his.
With one foot already in the stirrup, he was about to swing his other leg over when she gave him a hard shove. If he hadn't had a good grip on the saddle, he would've landed on his arse. “Bloody hell, what was that for?”
“You forgot my deer. I'm not leaving without her.” She rolled onto her belly in an attempt to slide off Fin.
“Stay put.” His hand grazed her rounded behind as he grasped her narrow waist and placed her firmly upright. He didn't miss her startled gasp, and if she happened to look down, he doubted she'd miss what that innocent touch had done to him.
Leaves scattered beneath his angry strides.
Fool
, that's what he was for catering to her daft notions. He bent down and lifted the struggling animal into his arms, turning in time to see his men, Donald and Gavin, come crashing through the underbrush on horseback. Aidan scowled at their amused expressions, about to tell them what they could do with the comments they were bound to make. But they were too busy ogling the lass sitting astride Fin to bother with him.
He fought back a wave of possessiveness, the urge to plant his fist in their ugly mugs. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a fine pair of antlers sticking out from behind Gavin and winced.
“Donald.” He tried to gain the other man's attention, intent on sending them on their way before the lass spotted the big buck strapped across the horse's back. Never comfortable dealing with emotional women, he had every intention of avoiding a scene. With her head bowed, her fingers twisting in Fin's mane, she'd yet to notice.
“Are ye no' goin' to introduce us to yer bonny wee
friend?”
Donald's green eyes glinted with mischief.
“Later. Here, take her.” He placed the deer in front of Donald.
“Have ye lost yer mind? In case ye havena noticed, Aidan, she's still alive, and,” he cried out, “kickin'.”
At a feminine cry, Aidan turned in time to see the lass scramble off Fin.
“I will not have her ride with those . . . those murderers.” Her furious gaze locked on the buck, she limped to his side.
He sighed and placed his hands firmly upon her shoulders. “No harm will come to yer pet. Ye have my word on it.”
He thought a man could be burned from the fiery glint in the topaz eyes she raised to his. “But they . . . he . . .”
“Provided food for our clan, somethin' ye denied me the satisfaction of doin'.” He brought his face within inches of hers. “Somethin' ye'd best no' be remindin' me of if ye ken what's good fer ye.”
“Ye canna be serious, Aidan? I thought ye merely wished us to kill the beastie when we were out of the lass's sight,” Donald protested as he struggled to keep the deer on his lap.
The lass let out an ear-piercing screech and lunged at Donald. Aidan grabbed her. With an arm around her waist, he anchored her to his chest.
“Let me go you . . . you, big ogre.” She stomped on his foot then yelped.
“Fiery wee thing, isna she?” Gavin observed.
“Aye,” Aidan muttered, waving them off. “Head fer home. I'll be there shortly. Enough,” he growled in the delicate shell of her ear as she struggled to get away from him, the movement of her behind against his groin nearly more than he could bear.
Gavin caught his eye, his smirk letting Aidan know he saw he struggled with more than the lass. “Mayhap I should take her, and ye the buck. She doesna' appear to like ye verra much.” He chuckled at the dark look Aidan shot him. “We're leavin', but doona take long or we'll come back fer ye.”
Aidan swung her under his arm and stomped to his horse. “Mind where ye're hittin'.” He grunted when her wee fists pounding on his thighs came too close for comfort.
None-too-gently, he set her on top of Fin. As he attempted to mount, the lass swung her foot, hitting the stallion instead of her intended targetâhim. Fin reared with an angry whinny, sending Aidan on his arse. Muttering his opinion of the troublesome wench under his breath, he stood to brush himself off. He glared at the termagant, but she was too busy comforting his horse to notice. Burying her face in Fin's mane, she stroked his shiny black coat, murmuring her apology.
He raised a brow, surprised to see his temperamental mount respond to her gentle touch. Settling himself on top of Fin, he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her toward him. “No more of yer kickin',” he muttered against her ear.
She stiffened in his embrace then straightened as though to put some space between them. Tapping his heel to Fin's flank, the horse took off at a gallop.
“Oh,” she gasped when the movement pressed her body tight to his.
The wind whipped her long, golden locks against Aidan's face. He transferred the reins to the hand that held her in place while he brushed her hair away with the other. He tucked the tresses between them, unable to resist winding the silken strands around his fingers.
“What are you . . . ouch,” she cried when she turned to look at him. Putting a hand to the back of her head, she glared at him. “That hurt.”
Her warm breath caressed his cheek. Sweet with a tantalizing hint of honey, it reminded him of the cakes Cook made for him and he fought the urge to taste her soft pink lipsâexplore the temptation of her bonny mouth. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as though she sensed the direction of his thoughts. She whipped her head around and tried to angle her body away from his.
Aidan chuckled and tugged her back into his protective embrace. “Ye're cold, ye need my warmth.” He ran his hand down her arm, his roughened palm catching on her sleeve. He frowned, rubbing the rich material between his thumb and forefinger. Both the cut of the gown and the quality of its fabric bespoke wealth.
“Who are ye, lass, and where are ye from?”
“Pr . . . Syrena. My name is Syrena. Who are you?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Syrena,” he murmured, finding her name as beautiful as she was. “I'm Aidan MacLeod.” Losing himself in the shimmering depths of her enchanting eyes, he nearly forgot the intent of his questions. He cleared his throat. “I ken I havena' seen ye in these parts. I would've remembered.” It was the truth. She was not someone he'd easily forget. “Where is it ye're from?” he repeated his question.
Nibbling on her bottom lip, she looked out over the moors as though she were lost. “I don't know.”
He frowned. Cupping her cheek in his palm, he forced her to look at him. “What do ye mean, ye doona ken? Did ye hit yer head earlier?”
She lifted her shoulder, eyes downcast. “Maybe.”
He ran his fingers through her hair and over her scalp, but found no bumps, no sign of injury. Growing suspicious, he asked, “Ye're no' a Lowlander, are ye?”
The Lowlanders were his sworn enemies, ravaging scavengers who bled his people dry at King James VI's behest. If she was one of them, he'd have no choice but to hold her for ransom. His coffers were nearly empty, and coin for her safe return would go a long way in replenishing them. But he didn't want to think she had anything in common with that rabble, or that she shared the Lowlander's contempt for him and his people.
“What is a Lowlander?”
“A bunch of lowlife from the borders.”
“No, I'm certainly not one of them.” She gave a firm shake of her head.
His lips twitched. “Well, I canna think ye're from around these parts. Like I said, I would remember ye, and the way ye speak 'tis str . . . unusual.”
“Is it? And here I thought your speech str . . . unusual.” Her lips curved in a smile that took his breath away, and right then and there Aidan decided he didn't care who she was, she was his.
Now where the bloody hell had that come from?
The last thing Aidan wanted was to saddle himself with a woman, especially a woman of means who would expect marriage. His circumstances were too badly compromised to consider making such an offer. What with the constant fighting and raiding of the Lowlanders over the last few years, his coin was depleted, and the keep barely fit to live in.
But that was beside the point. He'd witnessed how destructive marriage could be. Women were not to be trusted, which was why he never stayed long enough with one to get attached.
After what his mother's betrayal had done to his father, you'd think he would have learned his lesson, but nay, he had to find out the hard way. And find out he did. Lady Davina Scott, the one woman he thought he could trust, a woman he gave his heart to, had betrayed him with another.
Syrena rubbed her arms, and shivered. He gathered her to his chest and this time she didn't protest. Instead, she turned toward him and snuggled close, folding her hands beneath her cheek. With a soft contented sigh, her eyes fluttered closed. The quiet sound caused Aidan to harden in his trews, and his mind turned to another way he'd like to keep her warm. The soft cries she'd make when he had her naked beneath him, when he was deep inside her.
Enough. This is madness.
He'd been too long without a woman was all. And he planned to rectify the matter as soon as he delivered the lass safely to her kin. Someone would claim her. As beautiful as she was, who would not? He ignored the tightening in his chest at the thought she belonged to another. He dug his heels into Fin's flanks and urged the stallion to quicken his pace, determined to seek out the Widow Blackmore as soon as he saw the lass settled.
Fin trotted into the courtyard and Aidan viewed the overgrown grounds and ramshackle dwellings with a familiar surge of frustration. Their troubles with the Lowlanders were lessening, and he would soon have the time to begin the repairs required to set Lewes to rights. Aye, he knew he needed coin to do so, but somehow he'd find a way to deal with that as well. Turning his attention to the sleeping lass in his arms, he tried to wake her. The gentle shake to her shoulder failed to rouse her, and he shook her a little harder.