Page 11 of Taken By the Heartless Highlander
Noah spun around, astounded to see a young boy and girl only meters away from him. He had not even noticed them.
He had drawn his dirk on instinct and pointed it at the boy, who was watching it carefully. The defiance in his gaze reminded Noah of his new houseguest.
The boy advanced. He had a dirk of his own in his hands and raised it boldy into Noah’s face, the point hovering dangerously close to his chin.
Noah looked down at the lad. The knife was shaking slightly at the tip where he held it. His face was upturned, grim, and angry, but there was fear in his eyes, too.
Clever lad,Noah thought,I could kill him with me eyes closed.
Instead, Noah backed off a little, glancing behind the boy at the girl who was biting her nails, looking anxious. A donkey was grazing behind her, clearly having brought them here. The girl was staring about at the forest as though a bear might come out of the trees and eat her alive.
They were clearly twins, their faces markedly similar. Noah glanced between them briefly—the girl seemed far less confident than her brother.
“What have ye done with her?” the boy demanded again.
Noah sheathed his weapon, not wishing to risk injuring either of them but interested to see what the lad might do. He fixed him with a cold stare.
“Go on then,” he said evenly, watching the boy’s eyes widen a little as Noah remained perfectly still.
Instead of backing down, however, Noah was surprised—not to say astonished—when the boy lunged forward, nicking the tip of the knife against his shoulder and slicing a piece of flesh clean off. The little girl gasped in shock at the movement.
Noah smirked down at him, trying to hide how impressed he was at the boy’s bravery. But having drawn some blood, the lad appeared to be entirely ill-equipped to continue any kind of attack. Noah would wager his life that the lad had never held a dirk before.
“Yer grip is wrong,” he said, unsure why he was now choosing to educate someone who had just sliced a hole through his shirt. “Move yer palm.”
The boy stared at him in amazement as Noah moved his hand to correct the grip. He pushed his fingers closer together so he had more control and then stepped back. The boy’s eager gaze reminded him of his own enthusiasm when he was younger. He too had been desperate to learn to fight to protect those he loved.
“If ye want to inflict real damage, ye need to learn to hold a blade like a warrior, not a milkmaid,” Noah said carefully, hoping that with his newfound grip, the boy wouldn’t try to stab him again.
“Scott!”
They all turned at the voice from behind them, and Noah felt his heart beat a harsh rhythm in his chest as he saw Keira approaching them.
This was not the twig-ridden, mud-covered woman he had seen in the forest. Fresh from her bath, and in a borrowed burgundy dress that showed off her figure to perfection, she was a different woman from the one he had saved only hours before.
The bruise on her head was still a livid purple color, and her face was a little too pale, but she was the most stunning creature he had ever laid eyes on.
Noah shook himself ruefully. He was not seventeen anymore. He should not be reacting to a woman in such a way, and certainly not in front of her brother and sister.
“Is that any way to thank the Laird who saved me life?” Keira thundered, walking toward her brother and nudging him away so that there was space between his body and Noah’s.
Noah examined the wound in his shoulder—if it could be called as much. It was only a nick, but the knife had been plenty sharp. There was a persistent flow of blood running from it. He tried to stop it as he wadded up his léine and pushed it into the wound.
“Yer brother is here to take ye back, lass,” he said, “and I’ll be glad to see ye gone,” he lied.
She turned on him, about to reply when her eyes fell on the blooming stain on his shoulder. She hissed in a breath and put her hands on her hips, looking back at her brother with some irritation.
Noah could not blame her. Clearly, the lad got her into more trouble than he prevented.
“I’ll nae be leavin’ until I’ve tended to that,” she said, pointing a finger at the wound.
“Aye, lass, I’m sure I am at death’s door,” he replied sarcastically.
“Infection can set in from the smallest of wounds, Me laird; I thought ye would have kenned that from all the battles ye say ye have fought.”
Noah stared at her, his mouth hanging open in bewilderment as she reached forward, gripped his arm, and pulled his hand away from the wound with determination.
“Stop fussin’ with it, ye will only make it worse,” she muttered.
