Page 14 of Bride of Fire
“Nay!” he barked. “I might have a moment ago. But that was ere ye bloodied my nose.”
She twisted in his viselike grasp.
“You came at me with a sword,” she spat, “and you’re crying over a bloody nose?”
“I’m not cryin’,” he growled, “and I wouldn’t have harmed ye.” Then he added, as if she should have known as much, “Bloody hell, ye’re a lass.”
That almost made her laugh. The Highlander had obviously never heard of The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch.
“That’s right,” she cooed. “I’m only a lass.”
Then she drove her fist toward his ballocks.
Chapter 8
What instinct warned Morgan the lass was about to clout him, he didn’t know. But he managed to twist just enough to make the blow land on the inside of his thigh rather than its intended target.
It still hurt like hell. For a wench, she packed a powerful punch. But at least he’d saved himself from debilitating damage. He quickly trapped her lethal arm against his side.
He probably deserved that punch.
First, it was completely against his code of honor to brandish his claymore at a woman, let alone one unclothed and unarmed.
And second, a good clout might have put an end to the unnatural craving he was experiencing, a craving exacerbated by holding a naked, squirming lass against his body.
Now what was he going to do?
He certainly didn’t intend to give her a second opportunity to strike him.
Could he just put her down and let her go? She must realize by now she was no match for him.
On the other hand, she seemed curiously fearless. She didn’t respond to violence. Maybe chivalry and reason would convince her to return to wherever she’d come from.
He was about to offer her the leine off his back, so she could at least be decent for the journey home, when two more lasses suddenly emerged from the trees into the moonlight.
It was an unpleasant surprise. But at least these two were clothed.
“Unhand her!” ordered the tall blonde. She spoke with an authority he’d never heard before in a woman, striding across the field with a regal bearing, as if he should obey her command without question. He didn’t much care for her tone, particularly since she didn’t know whom she was addressing.
A dark-haired lass followed the blonde like a smaller shadow, dressed in black, slipping silently through the grass.
These must be the naked lass’s cohorts.
Great, he thought as his nose began to throb. Now what?
“I’d advise you do as she bids, before ’tis too late,” the shadowy lass chimed in. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
The scoff burst out of him involuntarily. “Hurt…me?” His statement would have been more effective had blood not been dripping from his nose.
“Put me down,” the naked lass muttered. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
That amused him even more. He might not know their names. But it was clear he was dealing with three lasses.Lasses.Aye, he’d been caught off guard with that punch to his nose. But it wouldn’t happen again.
Now, however, there was no way he was going to let them just go on their merry way. He wasn’t about to let them walk away, thinking they’d bested him.
He was new here. He had yet to make a name for himself. A man’s reputation was critical. If they started spreading gossip about how the three of them—threelasses—had subdued the new Laird of Creagor, he’d never live it down.
Perhaps he could call them on their empty threats.
