Page 29 of The Highlander's Auctioned Hellion
“Then ye die braver than most,” he murmured darkly, and lunged forward, knocking the knife from the man’s hand andswinging his sword in a wide, purposeful arc as it came down, slicing against the man’s neck.
Blood spurted outward as his opponent made a horrible gurgling sound and sank to his knees, collapsing into the muddy ground, the life draining out of him.
The other man lunged forward, a weapon in each hand, flailing madly and without skill. He landed a sharp strike on Callum’s upper arm, more by luck than judgment, and Callum deflected the other blade, sending it spiraling into the dirt.
Another bolt of lightning accompanied a loud clap of thunder above their heads.
The man’s eyes widened in horror as Callum advanced on him, two feet taller, wearing nothing but his drawers, and still there was no competition between them.
Callum struck out easily, almost lazily, stabbing the man in the gut just deep enough that he was injured but not dead—yet.
“Go back and tell yer Laird that if he wants a war, he can come and declare it himself,” he snarled.
The man ran away clutching at his stomach, and a few seconds later, there was the sound of a horse’s whinny in the distance and the clatter of hooves in flight.
Callum lowered his sword, just as he heard the snap of a twig behind him, and twisted in place, expecting a third man hiding in the shadows.
His shoulders lowered as Alexander stepped out from the darkness.
“I came to help ye, but was clearly nae needed. Ye’re bleedin’,” his man-at-arms stated, his eyes moving to Callum’s wounded shoulder.
“If ye want to be useful, stop statin’ the obvious and get me damned clothes.”
“Who were they?” Alexander said as he bent to pick up his sodden léine and handed it over.
Callum yanked it over his head, his jaw clenched tightly as his arm stung painfully. As he dragged on his clothes, his eyes were fixed on the light in Lydia’s window in the distance.
“Trouble,” he murmured darkly.
CHAPTER 9
Lydia couldn’t sleep.
As she lay in her huge bed, listening to the rain hammering against the glass of her window, it felt like a different world.
The canopy was made from crushed dark blue velvet, and the shimmering lengths of it caught the dim light of the fire, reminding her of the Laird’s dark blue eyes.
“I don’t even know his first name,” she said aloud.
The darkness was almost complete in the room, the embers of the fire throwing faint light across the floor around the hearth.
Lydia pushed the covers back, feeling the weight of sleep behind her eyes but unable to chase it.
Pushing the blankets down to the base of the bed, she rose, shimmying over the edge of the mattress and hopping down onto the hardwood floor as she made her way to the fireside.
The sound of the rain was soothing as she crouched beside the coals, her hands outstretched, feeling the remnants of their warmth heating her flesh.
The fringes of her robe sparkled in the firelight, the thread of the embroidery glimmering with a high shine.
When she had returned to her room, she began to remove the robe to don her nightshirt, but she’d stopped at the last moment. It was almost as if she could still feel his hands on her body.
I never knew it could be that way with a man.
Her life had been conducted in whispers up until tonight, and now it felt like her body was roaring from within.
Lydia might still mourn the love match she had always dreamed of as a young girl, but the Laird offered something unexpected in return.
A chance for pleasure, and to feel more alive than I have ever felt in my life. What my mother would think if she heard my thoughts tonight!
