Page 93 of A Highland Bride Taken
“‘Tis the Beastly Laird, I tell ye,”one of them said, earning a grin from him.
“He is as bloodthirsty as they say,”another one added.
Campbell knew he must have looked a fright, with all the blood on him—most of which wasn’t his—but his primary concern was finding the boys.
While he had hated the moniker in the past, he liked how it helped him avoid one more fight that evening—and possibly death.
“Who is yer man-at-arms?” he asked, looking at them.
They stiffened and exchanged a look before looking back at him with a grimace.
He raised an eyebrow, his hand moving to the sword strapped to his belt.
“It was Timmon,” one of them answered quickly, sparing him the need to threaten anyone.
Was?
Perhaps he had been one of the first to fall.
That was disappointing. Nonetheless, Campbell had to find the boys.
“Ye,” he said, pointing to a random guard who shrank back. “Lead the way.”
Relief visibly flooded the man, and he took the lead.
When Campbell was led into the courtyard, anger filled him as the cold night air hit him.
Just where had they kept the boys? Outside in this cold?
His hand reached for his blade, but stopped when he heard a feminine voice calling to him.
“Me Laird!”
He turned and saw his wife running to him, half of his soldiers in tow.
Just what was happening?
37
“Are ye well, husband?” Mabel asked, running up to him.
Her heart had been pounding since they had crossed into McCormick lands after hearing how Darragh had caused Aidan and sweet Layla’s deaths. But seeing her husband now, relief flooded through her.
Her breath caught in her chest, however, when she laid eyes on him in the moonlight. He looked ethereal. She had thought him handsome before, but now he looked glorious in his ripped shirt and kilt. Blood stained his face and garments, and the metallic tang of it, though it nauseated her, stirred her desire.
Her husband was no gentle laird. He was a battle-ready creature to be feared, and her heart stuttered as she spotted his grandfather’s men quivering behind him. He was so strong and looked as unmovable as a mountain.
It was still hard to believe that she had married such a beautiful man. Her mouth went dry when she saw his lips curl into a soft smile.
She worried her lip as she watched him, his hair messy and matted, but then froze when she saw the red patch on his side. She rushed to him and pressed a hand to the spot, her eyes widening when he winced.
“Husband,” she gasped, lifting her eyes to his. “Ye’re injured.”
“‘Tis only a scratch. Dinnae worry,” he told her. “Why are ye here? ‘Tis too late for ye to be outside the castle and too cold. Why are ye without a cloak? Do ye want to catch yer death?”
Of course, he would worry for her when he was the one who had nearly fought an army and was now bleeding.
His concern for her was one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him, and it amazed her to see that while he was injured, he still worried about her.
