Page 4 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
Probably because she had been locked up in a convent all these years.
He drew closer to her, and her breathing quickened. She could feel her skin prickle and her cheeks grow hot.
He looked like he knew how to scan a horizon, how to spot prey a mile off. He would surely see her if he got any closer. She didn’t want him to hunt her down; she wanted this to be on her own terms. As he’d said, he owed her his thanks.
So, she plucked up her courage and emerged from the trees, holding her breath to let her core take her weight, trying to hide her limp.
She did not want him to see that she was injured, so she stood strong and ensured that her tunic covered her wound. She had to hope that he would not see the pain on her face.
“Finally,” he muttered, a cheeky smirk tugging at his lips.
Rosaline didn’t know what to do with herself.
With no trees or branches to obscure her vision, she could see the aftermath of the battle on him. Blood had sprayed up his front, painting his armor and shirt collar underneath crimson, turning brown as the sun shone on it and dried it. He even had blood on his face, vertical crimson lines traveling from his chin, past his thick lips, to just underneath his eyes. His hair was disheveled, and his clothes were creased and skewed.
He looked like a beast after a feed.
But his beauty was even more astounding, now that he was looking right at her. His eyes were like gemstones, totally enrapturing, and the contrast with his dark hair made him look almost unearthly, glowing from some kind of magical source.
Rosaline drew in a deep breath and tried to cast her mind back to the silence of prayer the nuns had taught her all these years. She tried to clear her mind of the searing pain in her ankle and the attraction she undeniably felt for such a beautiful yet terrifying man.
“Greetings,” she finally managed, holding her chin high.
“Greetings, lass.” He chuckled, slowly walking closer. His eyes were downcast, and his laughter seemed directed at himself. “What is yer name?”
She hesitated. She was on the run—should she be honest? Perhaps her name was something to keep hidden. But how would he know her?
Her first name would do.
“Rosaline.”
“Caelan.”
She ran the name over in her mind. It captured him well. The sharp introduction of theC, strong and biting, with the softer flow over thelaand then, gentle over time.
“I dinnae bite.” He chuckled again.
Rosaline realized that her fear must not have been as hidden on her face as she had thought. She pressed her lips together and squared her shoulders. She had to be strong.
“It was ye who warned me?”
She nodded before pushing herself to be assertive. Now was not the time to be silent. “Aye, it was me.”
“Thank ye. If ye didnae save me life, ye at least saved me from a very painful stab in the back.”
She nodded, unable to summon any further words.
She had helped him, and he was thanking her, yet the power clearly lay in his hands. He was a strong, armed man, covered in the blood of his opponents, and she was a young woman on the run, with only her blood to show for it. Still, she was better here with this beast than back at the convent with the evil nuns. She strained her ears for the sound of any nuns nearby, but there was only silence.
“Why did ye do it?”
Her heart stopped. “Do what?”
He tilted his head in slight confusion, and the right corner of his lips quirked up. “Why did ye call out?”
“Oh,” she murmured. He was not questioning her about her escape. She had to calm herself. “Four men against one. It seemed unfair.”
He chuckled under his breath—something she only spotted thanks to his shaking shoulders and downcast eyes. She had to fight to keep her mouth shut.
