Page 3 of Taken By the Heartless Highlander
Wonderful, she thought bitterly as pain seared through her head;not only are ye goin’ to be burned at the stake, ye have cracked yer skull open for good measure.
She opened her eyes blearily, a hazy light all around her looking across the clearing, squinting as best she could at the dark shapes of the stranger and Lucas’s willowy figure.
The stranger was watching Keira, looking particularly unimpressed with her behavior but the concern on his face faded as he saw her eyes were open. He turned back to the assembled crowd.
“What are ye doin’ on me lands?” he demanded, his voice booming out over the silent woods.
The images in front of her began to fade, tendrils of black spreading across her vision.
As her mind gave up the fight, she only had one thought in her head.
Who is that man, and why did he say these were ‘his’ lands?
CHAPTER2
Noah Black waitedfor the crowd to settle down and fall silent before he said another word. There were a number of curious eyes trained on him now, but he was most interested in the pale blue ones watching him with thinly veiled fury.
Ye chase a woman onto me lands; ye better have a damned good reason for it.
Many members of the crowd shuffled their feet as he glared about him, feeling rage light a fire in his veins as he waited to hear what they had to say for themselves. It had been a long while since he had been this angry, but something in the lass’s eyes had triggered a protective response.
“Well?” he roared, happy to see a few men and women flinch at his tone.
The blonde man, who was clearly their leader, took that opportunity to step forward. Noah had encountered a fair number of ruthless and cruel men in his time, learning to recognize them from a young age. This man had the same quality—his expression one of righteous anger, a simmering madness deep in his gaze.
He was clearly a man of God, his long cassock and bonnet indicating his status. Yet he looked out for blood.
Noah’s hackles rose as soon as the man entered his space, a familiar tight pain forming in his chest.
He determined almost instantly that whatever this crowd wanted, they were not going to get it. That woman could not be much older than his sister, Amelia. Whatever she had done, he could not believe she deserved a mob to come after her.
“Me laird,” the priest said evenly, his tone obsequious and sickly sweet. “Ye have me sincere apologies.”
Noah suppressed the urge to use his body to shield the woman from view; several of the crowd were glaring at her as though she were the devil himself.
“Who are ye?” he asked, letting his voice carry over the crowd.
The priest’s eyes narrowed, but he placed a reverent hand over his chest.
“Me name is Lucas MacPhee, me laird, the priest of a village not too far from here.”
“Well, Lucas MacPhee, ye have strayed into the wrong part of the forest today. These are me lands, and I’ll nae have any rabble from any village marchin’ into them with arms drawn for nae reason.”
MacPhee had the audacity to sneer. “We would never have come onto yer lands intentionally, Laird…” he raised his eyebrows in query.
“Laird MacAllen,” Noah replied curtly.
“We have a good reason, Laird MacAllen, I assure ye,” the priest continued, his pale eyes flicking to the girl. “It is lying on the floor behind where ye stand. If ye just let me by, I shall collect what is ours, and we will be on our way.”
At that, the priest raised his hand, and at his signal, all the villagers lowered their torches.
Noah watched MacPhee’s gaze fall on the woman again. Whoever she was, this man desperately wanted her back. His fingers were tapping out a rhythm on his right thigh with nervous agitation.
Noah hooked his thumbs into the belt at the top of his kilt and relaxed his stance. He was in no hurry to provide what this man had asked for, particularly when he did not know what fate awaited her. From the looks of the faces in the crowd, it could be nothing good.
Ordinarily, he would simply let this business play out as needed. He had enough to be dealing with in his lands without picking up the problems of a neighboring laird. Yet the strange lass had shown a strength that drew him in. Her eyes might have been filled with fear, but she was fighting to survive.
He glanced back at her. Her raven hair was scattered haphazardly over the forest floor, a dark bruise forming at the temple where she must have hit her head. He did not like to see her lying there without being attended to.
