Page 3 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
There was also a great deal of blood on his clothing. Lydia shivered at the sight, fear pushing aside some of the sense of admiration she felt. She could appreciate that he had protected her, but the evidence of the violence involved made her already uneasy stomach clench.
It also brought her attention to the iron-sweet stench of death that now filled the small clearing. Lydia swallowed hard, wondering how she hadn’t noticed the smell before. There was little for her stomach to bring up, should it choose to rebel, but she had no desire to experience vomiting along with her aching side.
The man stopped a few feet from Lydia and looked down at her, his stare so intense it was as if he could see straight into her heart with his eyes alone. When he did speak, his voice was low and sharp. “Ye’re alive. Well enough. Are ye hurt?”
Lydia nodded, resting one hand on her side in demonstration. When that got no response or reaction, she gathered her courage and spoke. “My ribs. There was a rock…”
“There often are, in the woods.” He brushed the rest of her words away with an impatient gesture, his gaze flicking around the clearing, watchful and wary. “Rocks an’ bandits alike. Or raiders.”
He held out a hand, and Lydia took it cautiously. With one swift, smooth movement, the man pulled her to her feet and steadied her. Lydia staggered at the shockwave of pain from her injured side, gasping as she tried to hold back tears. There was little sympathy in his eyes, but no cruelty either, only a sort of grim practicality. “Can ye walk? Dae ye need me tae carry ye?”
Lydia swallowed her pain, and set one food in front of the other. To her utter mortification, her steps were weak and wavering, and her knees threatened to give out. “I…I am not sure…”
“Come on then. We cannae linger - there’s bound tae be more o’ them an’ I dinnae want tae be here when they come.” The man huffed, and one large hand folded around her upper arm in a firm, demanding grip and pulled her forward, steadying her even as he guided her away from the scene of the battle.
Lydia staggered along, aware that her rescuer was keeping his steps measured to match what she could manage. He wasn’t cruel or unfeeling, it seemed, only impatient and determined to deal with everything as quickly as possible.
Together, the two of them made their way along the narrow track that had been created by her flight and the pursuit of the Cameron soldiers, and back toward the glen where the caravan had been camping. Lydia’s heart felt heavy, wondering how she would explain having run off on her own without a thought for any of the other caravan members.
They arrived at the copse, and Lydia stumbled to a halt, staring at the open space in shocked disbelief.
There was no one there. No wagons. No people. The only signs that the area had ever been occupied were churned earth and the remains of the fire pits that had been roughly extinguished by the hooves of their assailants.
They had left her behind, deserted her there in the Highlands without a second thought. Lydia stared numbly at the empty space, wondering if anyone had even noticed or cared that she wasn’t with them.
They most probably did not, or else they were relieved to see me disappear.
The thought made her feel somewhat ill.
The man who’d rescued her looked around for a few moments. “Appears tae have been quite a number o’ people here at one point, but it seems they’ve left without ye.” His expression tightened in what she thought might be dislike, or perhaps simple irritation at being saddled with her. “What sort o’ folk were ye traveling with?”
“Traders and laborers.” Lydia swallowed hard, fighting back tears of unexpected hurt. She’d not been close to anyone in the caravan, but she had traveled with them for weeks, and the abandonment still stung. “We were…”
The man cut her off with a curt gesture. “I can guess. Me steward was expectin’ a caravan o’ laborers an’ servants tae arrive at me keep taeday or taemorrow. Yer party was heading tae Ranald Castle , aye?”
Dazed and distressed as she was, Lydia still had enough of her wits about her to seize the opportunity before her. “Yes. I was part of a caravan making our way to the service of a lo-laird - the caravan master did not tell me the name. I… did not realize we were so close to the destination.” She hesitated. “You…you are the Lord - forgive me, Laird Ranald?”
“Och, I am. An’ never ye mind about what ye call me. There’s nay disguising tha’ ye’re English bred, so dinnae bother. I dinnae care so much as all that.”
Laird Ranald studied the empty glen once more, and made a noise of exasperation. “I suppose yer comrades fled when they were attacked. There will be nay finding them until they’re certain they’re safe - always assuming they didnae run all the way tae the next laird’s territory.”
Lydia eyed the now-desolate looking glen. “Do you think they will return here?”
“They might. Or they might nae.” Laird Ranald shrugged his broad shoulders. “Even so, ye’ll need tae come with me.”
“Come with you?” Lydia blinked up at him in disbelief. “I…”
Laird Ranald was already turning away. “Och, ye dinnae have tae, but ye’ll be lucky tae get anywhere on foot afore night falls. Tae say naething o’ more o’ those men arriving, which is as likely tae happen as nae. Dae ye want tae tak’ yer chances alone on the road?”
When he put it like that, the choice was an easy one. Lydia wrapped her cloak close about her and hurried after the laird as he returned to his horse.
The horse was still where the laird had left it, though the animal was stamping and shifting uneasily. The laird moved forwardwith quick, confident steps and laid a hand on the restive animal’s nose. “Och, calm yerself, lad. Ye’re nae hurt, an’ we’ll soon be leaving this place.”
He moved quickly to check the horse for injuries, and as he did, Lydia saw a rent in his clothing. The edges of the torn cloth were dyed red, the stain wet and slowly spreading. Lydia stared at the spot in consternation. “You… you are hurt…”
“Naething more than a scratch.” The laird pressed a hand to his wound for a moment, then removed it, studied his red-stained palm and fingers, and shook his head in an uncaring gesture, his hand flicking some of the blood away. “I’ve had worse in training.”
“But… it is still bleeding…” Lydia didn’t know much of healing, but she knew a few things, and she had always been interested in herb lore. “I could…”
