Page 5 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
The stranger’s smile was cold and menacing. “Ye sure ye dinnae want tae call more of yer friends tae help ye?”
The soldier scoffed. “There’s four of us and one of ye. I like our odds.”
“Let’s get on with it then, eh?” the man said, his voice a deep, rumble.
The man leaped into action before the soldiers were ready, swinging that log in his hand with brutal force. Isolde winced as it connected with the head of the guard immediately in front of her. Isolde heard the sharp crack, and the man went limp and dropped immediately. He turned swiftly and drove the end of his lumber into the belly of the soldier to her right and when he doubled over, the man brought the wood up in a vicious arc.
The man’s head snapped backward violently and he tumbled backward, disappearing over the edge of the creek with a garbled cry. The stranger advanced on the third soldier, blocking the hard slash of his blade with the stick then drove his fist into the soldier’s face. The soldier staggered backward and dropped to a knee, blood pouring from his nose.
Merrick charged in, the tip of his blade leading the way. The stranger danced to the side but not quick enough, as the edge of Merrick’s sword slid along his ribs, opening a shallow slice. He caught Merrick at the base of his skull with a vicious elbow, sending him stumbling forward. Merrick fell to his hands and knees and quickly rolled to the side just as the stranger brought his thick wooden club down with enough force that it likelywould have split Merrick’s skull open. Instead, it made wet, sucking sound as it splashed into the muddy trail instead.
The soldier with the bloody nose had recovered enough to rejoin the fight and rushed back in, his blade slicing through the air. The prisoner danced gracefully out of the way and swung his piece of wood in one fluid movement. The wood cracked against the side of the soldier’s head, felling him instantly where he lay still and unmoving.
Merrick was on his feet and rushing back into the fight. He feinted to the left and brought his sword back the other way, slicing the stranger across the upper arm. He grunted but spun out of the way and dropped to a knee as he swung his club. It caught Merrick on the side of the knee and dropped him. With catlike reflexes, the stranger was up and brought the wood down on the back of Merrick’s head. The captain dropped face first into the muck and was still.
Isolde gaped at the man in disbelief. She could not believe she had just watched him cut through her father’s guard like it was nothing more than a thick stick in his hands. As the stranger walked around plundering the unconscious men for all he could find—daggers, swords, coin purses, and whatever all else—Isolde studied him closer.
He stepped forward and using one of the daggers he’d taken, gently cut the bindings from her wrist. She stared at him, unsure what to say. Of course, she had heard the chambermaids speaking of how handsome he was, but Isolde had not seen him close up and gazing into his stormy gray eyes, she felt her heartstutter in her breast. His long, dark hair was wet and plastered to his face and neck, framing a face that was sharp and chiseled with a strong jawline and high cheek bones.
The chambermaids had truly undersold just how handsome he was. Her cheeks reddening, she cleared her throat and tried to push those truly inappropriate thoughts away. They had no place and she was appalled at herself for letting them flash through her mind at all.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “Ye’re Struan Cameron, Laird of Clan Cameron.” It was a statement, not a question. “Ye escaped from me faither’s dark cells.”
“And ye’d be Isolde Mackintosh, daughter of Laird Murdoch Mackintosh then,” he replied gruffly. “And now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can part ways. Nay thanks necessary fer pullin’ yer backside out of the fire.”
“I had meself under control.”
“Aye. Looked like it,” he said with a grin.
She huffed as he turned away, chuckling to himself as he continued what he was doing. The man ignored her and his mocking, gentle though it was, irritated her every bit as much as when her father’s now unconscious guards had done it earlier. But she did not know Laird Cameron at all. Why should hisopinion of her matter? She continued to stand there and watch him. After a few moments, he sighed heavily and turned to her.
“Are ye all right?” he asked.
“Aye. I’m fine. I just…”
Her voice trailed off and he stared at her for a moment, his eyes lingering on her form. His gaze set the inside of her stomach burning. It was an uncomfortable feeling that she didn’t welcome.
“Ye just… what?” he asked.
“I… I dinnae ken. I suppose I’m still gatherin’ meself.”
He nodded and his expression softened. “’Tis understandable. ‘Tis nae an easy thing tae get used tae or comfortable with.”
“What is nae?”
“Bein’ hunted and taken prisoner,” he replied. “Especially nae by yer faither’s own men.”
She hesitated a moment then nodded. “Aye. ‘Twas quite a shock. Quite frightenin’, if I’m bein’ totally honest.”
“Well, ye’re free now,” he said. “Ye can go… wherever ‘twas ye were goin’.”
Isolde continued to stand there, confusion wrapping itself around her mind as she tried to figure out where she was, in fact, going. The truth was, she didn’t know.
“Wait,” she said. “I…”
Her voice trailed off and she saw a flash of irritation sweep across his features. He was obviously as anxious to still be near her father’s castles and lands as she was.
