then who are you?”
“I am a warrior, and not to be underestimated.”
“Aye,” he growled. “And nearly a dead warrior for your foolishness.”
“So ‘tis true,” she scoffed. “You would be me champion?”
His scowl deepened. “Mayhap.”
Tension sparked between them. “Have you any idea how long I have been protecting meself, champion?”
For a long moment he said nothing at all. Instead, he remained perfectly motionless as he watched her, as if any movement might distract him from his thoughts. “Nay.” His voice had dropped and his eyes were narrowed. They were solemn and dark, nearly the same hue as his sable hair, held back from his face with a single strip of untanned hide. “Tell me how long you have been on your own, lass.”
For a moment there seemed to be no air in the room and for that same length of time she almost longed to tell him of her life, of being left with an old man who did not want a lass, of her futile struggle to become what he wanted her to be. But she knew better than to air the truth. She forced a laugh. “‘Tis none of your concern. Indeed-”
“But I am curious,” he said. “How long has it been?”
“Long enough so that I do not need your assistance, of that you can be certain.”
”That did not seem to be the case a few short hours ago.”
She was silent for a moment, remembering. Aye, it had been a tight spot, but she had been in tight spots before and lived to tell of it. She needed no one. Not the family that had forsaken her, not the baron who had betrayed her, and certainly not this man. She had proved as much before and she would do so again. “Leave me be,
MacGowan,” she said. “If you wish it I will agree that you saved me life. You can return to sipping ale before the fire in lofty Evermyst and tell the lads how you saved the warrior from sure death. Perhaps if you tell it well the maids will sigh and swoon at your bravery. I’ll not call you a liar.”
“Aye,” he said, “and do not forget that you stole me steed.”
She had almost forgotten. Indeed, he had run a goodly way to catch her. What the devil was he made of? “Next time I will ride faster,” she vowed.
He raised a brow at her. “So you delayed, did you?
Were you waiting for me, lass?”
She laughed, and he canted his head at her.
“What are you so afeared of that you would endanger your life to avoid me?”
“Afeared? Me?”
“Aye. You. Who are you really?”
“I am Hunter, the warrior.”
For a moment neither spoke. His gaze was as sharp as shattered glass.
“Aye,” he said and nodded slowly. ”The warrior. And so you must disrobe so I may see to your wound, for ‘tis obvious, there is no difference between us.”
Chapter 4
Lachlan watched her as he waited for her reaction. She wore no hat this night. Neither did her chain ventral hide her face, though her cheeks were smudged with dried blood and dirt. Her hair was but a little longer than his, reaching a hand’s length or so past her shoulders, but where his was dark and bedeviled with waves, hers was smooth and straight and as bright as barleycorn just brought into the bam. Her cheekbones were high, her jaw strong, and her mouth full, but it was her eyes that fascinated him, for they reminded him of something, though he couldn’t say exactly what. Silver blue, they were, and as bright as the even stars.
“Why do you stare?” Her voice was low.
He shrugged, trying to look casual. “No reason. Take off your cloak. I’ll see to your wound.”
”As I have already told you-”
“Aye. Skewering and all that,” he said, and set his fingers to the clasp at her throat. She knocked his hand away with her arm, and though her knife never touched him, he scowled at her.
”Tell me, then, do you call yourself a liar?” “What’s that?”
“‘Twas you who said there was little difference between us. If such is true you have me most solemn vow that I will have no interest in
“I am a warrior, and not to be underestimated.”
“Aye,” he growled. “And nearly a dead warrior for your foolishness.”
“So ‘tis true,” she scoffed. “You would be me champion?”
His scowl deepened. “Mayhap.”
Tension sparked between them. “Have you any idea how long I have been protecting meself, champion?”
For a long moment he said nothing at all. Instead, he remained perfectly motionless as he watched her, as if any movement might distract him from his thoughts. “Nay.” His voice had dropped and his eyes were narrowed. They were solemn and dark, nearly the same hue as his sable hair, held back from his face with a single strip of untanned hide. “Tell me how long you have been on your own, lass.”
For a moment there seemed to be no air in the room and for that same length of time she almost longed to tell him of her life, of being left with an old man who did not want a lass, of her futile struggle to become what he wanted her to be. But she knew better than to air the truth. She forced a laugh. “‘Tis none of your concern. Indeed-”
“But I am curious,” he said. “How long has it been?”
“Long enough so that I do not need your assistance, of that you can be certain.”
”That did not seem to be the case a few short hours ago.”
She was silent for a moment, remembering. Aye, it had been a tight spot, but she had been in tight spots before and lived to tell of it. She needed no one. Not the family that had forsaken her, not the baron who had betrayed her, and certainly not this man. She had proved as much before and she would do so again. “Leave me be,
MacGowan,” she said. “If you wish it I will agree that you saved me life. You can return to sipping ale before the fire in lofty Evermyst and tell the lads how you saved the warrior from sure death. Perhaps if you tell it well the maids will sigh and swoon at your bravery. I’ll not call you a liar.”
“Aye,” he said, “and do not forget that you stole me steed.”
She had almost forgotten. Indeed, he had run a goodly way to catch her. What the devil was he made of? “Next time I will ride faster,” she vowed.
He raised a brow at her. “So you delayed, did you?
Were you waiting for me, lass?”
She laughed, and he canted his head at her.
“What are you so afeared of that you would endanger your life to avoid me?”
“Afeared? Me?”
“Aye. You. Who are you really?”
“I am Hunter, the warrior.”
For a moment neither spoke. His gaze was as sharp as shattered glass.
“Aye,” he said and nodded slowly. ”The warrior. And so you must disrobe so I may see to your wound, for ‘tis obvious, there is no difference between us.”
Chapter 4
Lachlan watched her as he waited for her reaction. She wore no hat this night. Neither did her chain ventral hide her face, though her cheeks were smudged with dried blood and dirt. Her hair was but a little longer than his, reaching a hand’s length or so past her shoulders, but where his was dark and bedeviled with waves, hers was smooth and straight and as bright as barleycorn just brought into the bam. Her cheekbones were high, her jaw strong, and her mouth full, but it was her eyes that fascinated him, for they reminded him of something, though he couldn’t say exactly what. Silver blue, they were, and as bright as the even stars.
“Why do you stare?” Her voice was low.
He shrugged, trying to look casual. “No reason. Take off your cloak. I’ll see to your wound.”
”As I have already told you-”
“Aye. Skewering and all that,” he said, and set his fingers to the clasp at her throat. She knocked his hand away with her arm, and though her knife never touched him, he scowled at her.
”Tell me, then, do you call yourself a liar?” “What’s that?”
“‘Twas you who said there was little difference between us. If such is true you have me most solemn vow that I will have no interest in
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