Page 3 of Bound to a Highland Beast
“Is it so unbelievable?” Tiernan asked, his tone light and teasing, but Isabeau was quick to backtrack, eyes widening.
“Nay!” she said. “I didnae mean that… I only meant?—”
Panic gripped her at the mere thought that she may have offended Tiernan, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He was not the kind of man to get easily offended, and at the same time, he didn’t think a woman like her should be so concerned about offending a man like him, but Isabeau was nothing if not courteous and gentle with everyone around her. Tiernan had seen her in action plenty of times, marveling at the way she could diffuse tense situations with nothing but a few sweet words and a clever distraction.
Once again, the look she gave him was one of annoyance when she realized he was only joking and teasing her. She dragged her gaze back to the daggers quickly, taking in every small detail about them, but never once letting her hands touch them.
“I took some liberties with the design,” he said, just to fill the silence between them. “I thought Alaric may enjoy somethin’ that reminds him o’ nature.”
He had spent much of his life in nature, after all, since he had served as a scout for Clan MacGregor for most of his adult life. Now that he had married Lucia, it had been a while since hehad last gone on a mission, and Tiernan thought he might enjoy having something of the forest with him at all times.
He wondered if Alaric would ever return to those duties or if his life was now in the keep, helping his brother, Laird MacGregor, with the everyday tasks of running a clan. He and Lucia never seemed to him as the type of people to stay in one place for too long—Lucia especially, her life as a member of a band of brigands taking her from place to place. But this life was behind her, as it was for Tiernan. He wasn’t a brigand anymore and he had come to appreciate the simple joys of having a place to stay and an honest, steady profession.
Tiernan reached for the daggers at the same time Isabeau did, their fingers brushing for a single moment before she pulled her hand back abruptly. That one moment, though, was enough to make his skin burn hotter than any flame ever could, a tingle travelling up his arm at the contact. Silence stretched between them, long and heavy in the air around them, and Tiernan held her gaze, idly wondering what she would do next. She, too, stared at him, refusing to look away, but what was at first a simple look soon turned into a glare, her frustration rising to the surface.
He couldn’t blame her; he really did enjoy riling her up like this.
With a frustrated sigh, Isabeau reached for the daggers once more, this time holding them both in her hands. Her fingers curled tightly around the hilts, her knuckles turning white under the pressure, and for a moment, he could have sworn that sheconsidered the possibility of simply stabbing him to death and getting this over with.
It wouldnae be so bad, dyin’ by the hand o’ a bonnie lass.
Tiernan had always thought he would die without spectacle and without a good reason, struck dead by a soldier or taken to the gallows. He had always thought he would meet his end without any dignity and without much fear; that had dissipated a long time ago, ever since he had joined the gang of brigands he had been a part of for years – Ravencloaks. But as a newly honest man, he began to think he would very much like to die peacefully, in his sleep, because of old age.
Being killed by Isabeau would be a close second.
He let out a short, rough laugh at the ridiculousness of the thought. He doubted Isabeau was capable of hurting a spider, let alone a person. She was working hard to become a healer, after all, and that was the exact opposite of hurting people.
At the sound of his laughter, a flash of irritation crossed Isabeau’s gaze and her hands gripped the daggers even tighter, her lips pursing into a thin line. Though she would never directly confront him, since she was not that kind of person, Tiernan could tell he was in for a scathing remark, one that would be as clever as it would be cutting while still somehow remaining polite, and so he gave her an easy grin, taking a few steps back to break the tension between them. It had the intended effect; Isabeau relaxed, even if only just slightly, but the remark came regardless.
“I dae hope ye’re nae havin’ trouble adjustin’ here,” she said with no genuine concern in her voice, though someone who didn’t know her well could mistake her tone for worry. “Dae these knives remind ye too much o’ yer life as a brigand? Perhaps ye would be better suited tae forgin’ shields.”
Tiernan couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound loud and unrefined. “I think I’m alright, Miss MacGregor, but I appreciate the concern,” he said, deciding it was more amusing to play along. “I think I’ve been here long enough tae have adjusted by now.”
“Ye could have fooled me,” said Isabeau, but Tiernan didn’t miss the way her lips curled up into just the barest hint of a smile for a moment. She, too, was enjoying this, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, and that was precisely what was so dangerous about their situation, Tiernan thought.
They could match each other with ease. For every teasing comment he made, Isabeau had a retort prepared and ready to go. Her wit was unmatched, her tongue quick, and her words sweet and deadly at the same time, and Tiernan’s traitorous heart skipped a beat every time she let that side of herself shine through.
Before he could respond, a sudden sound echoed around the room; a thud, loud and jarring, which caught both of their attentions as they turned to face the door. Then there was another thud and another, which soon turned into a cacophony of footsteps that approached the forge.
Instinctively, Tiernan took a few steps towards the door, blocking it from Isabeau’s view. His hand reached for his dagger, which was strapped around his waist, fingers curling securely around it, and though he hoped it was nothing but a few passing soldiers of the MacGregor Clan, he could never be too careful.
When the door to the forge burst open, he knew it wasn’t soldiers. A glance at Isabeau was enough to confirm her fear, the humor having entirely vanished from her gaze, the blood draining from her face to leave her pallid. Three men stood there, and though their faces were obscured by the hoods they wore, he knew they had to be men from his past—perhaps someone he had wronged or someone he had attacked while being with the Ravencloaks. A life of crime and violence was difficult to escape, and even now, after months of working for Laird MacGregor, it had followed him all the way here, to the castle.
Immediately, Tiernan pushed Isabeau behind him, using his body as a shield between her and the men. There was no other means of escape; she could jump through a window, perhaps, but there was no guarantee she would manage to escape those men. Tiernan’s only hope was that they were there for him and would leave Isabeau alone, but he couldn’t count on that. He knew brigands well; he knew that when they saw a pretty girl like Isabeau, there was only one thing on their minds.
He couldn’t let them touch her. He couldn’t let them take away everything that was so pure about her.
As the men stomped inside, the room seemed to close in on Tiernan. He was skilled with a blade, but the odds were stacked against him. These were no ordinary men; they were brigands, too, and they made a living out of harming people. Any skill he had, they had as well.
Tiernan took a deep breath. Behind him, he could feel Isabeau press in close, her entire body shaking, and he reached for her, gently pushing her back so she wouldn’t get caught up in the fight. The men came closer and closer, drawing their weapons, looming ahead like great shadows. Tiernan would only have one chance to kill them all before they could lay their hands on Isabeau, and he was prepared to take it, even if it brought on his own demise.
Blades flashing in the light of the flames, the men attacked, and a battle cry tore itself from Tiernan’s throat as he threw himself at them, ready for whatever may come.
CHAPTER TWO
Isabeau woke with a start, breath catching in her throat. She expected darkness or at least to be in her chambers, warm under the covers and woken by nothing more than an unpleasant dream, but the reality she faced was vastly different. A grey sky peeked through the branches that formed a brilliant green lattice over her head. The ground was hard and bumpy under her and the wind that howled through the trees bit into her skin, leaving her chilled to the bone.
She was not in her chambers; she was not even in Castle MacGregor, and something told her that she was terribly far from it and her entire family.
