Page 4 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“’Twill keep until I’ve returned home an’ been seen tae by the healer o’ me clan.” The man shook his head once more, brushing aside her offer, and pulled his cloak over the injury. He patted the horse once more, then heaved himself into the saddle with a grunt of effort.
Once he was securely settled into his saddle, he nudged the horse toward Lydia and offered her his hand. Lydia stared at the bloodstained fingers and red-splattered clothing, torn between the safety he offered and her uncertainty about the circumstances she might face if she traveled with him.
The man raised a questioning eyebrow as he looked down at her, as if surprised by her hesitation. “Well, lass, are ye comin’ or nae?”
“I… I was just wondering if I might know the name of my rescuer.” Lydia took a deep breath. “I am Lydia.”
Damn it! I forgot to say my false name!
“Donall Ranald o’ Clan Ranald. I’ll be yer new employer.” His voice was gruff, but his hand was steady and he hadn’t ridden away from her yet.
“I am in your service, my lo-laird.” Lydia took his hand and placed her foot in the stirrup he’d left empty for her. Her side pulsed with a renewed throb of pain, but she bit her lip and gripped Laird Ranald’s hand hard, then hoisted herself awkwardly into the saddle behind him.
The movement hurt, and Lydia knew she must have jostled the man’s injured side, but he said nothing as she got settled. Lydia gripped his shirt to signal her readiness and the laird turned his horse and started back toward the road without another word. Lydia, for her part, did her best to keep her grip light and her arms away from his injured side.
It wasn’t easy. The man’s broad back and shoulders, coupled with the movement of the horse as it cantered along the path, made it difficult to keep her arms from slipping to his belt, and her wounded side only made it harder. Even so, Lydia did what she could to minimize her rescuer’s likely discomfort.
Despite her best efforts, however, she was uncomfortably aware of the warm liquid that slowly seeped through both their clothing as his wound continued to bleed. Lydia took a deep breath and prayed that she was not falling from the frying pan into the fire, and that her rescuer was as strong and sturdy as he seemed to believe he was.
Ewan is goin’ tae kill me. An’ Corvin may well bring the castle down around all our ears when I tell him his workers were waylaid an’ scattered by bandits on the road.
All I wanted was a quiet ride tae think an’ relax, an’ instead I find meself wounded an’ with a strange lass ridin’ behind me!
Donall Ranald sighed to himself, then cursed in his head as his side twinged. He could feel the blood seeping through the cloth of his tunic, and likely into the girl’s clothing as well. He should have stopped to make a bandage for it - or let the girl tend to it when she’d offered - but he hadn’t wanted to risk that any remnants of the raiding party might return with more men, especially since he’d ridden out without guards beside him.
Yes, Ewan was going to be furious when he found out - assuming he hadn’t already. Alexander would probably wait until his wound was bandaged, and then likely give him a good bruise on the jaw to go with the rest of his battle wounds. But it had been quiet for a while, and Donall had assumed he’d be fine going for a short ride on his own. Besides, he’d wanted to see if he couldmeet Corvin’s new hirelings on the road and get a sense of their characters before they arrived at his keep.
Corvin might have a point that Ranald Keep needed new servants and new laborers to help with repairing some of the walls and tending some of the fields, but Donall was of no mind to let just any man or woman into his home. If he was going to hire outsiders - and people from the English borderlands at that - then he wanted to know what kind of people they were.
Apparently, they’re the sort that would leave a defenseless lass alone on the road. Though I suppose, bein’ traders and working men, they’re nae the sort who would fight when attacked by armed men. Even so, I would have thought one o’ them would have at least tried tae follow after the lass.
There was a chance none of them had realized she’d been separated from the group, or perhaps they’d thought she’d been kidnapped and felt unable or unwilling to mount a rescue. Such things were known to happen. Even so, the idea of leaving a helpless lass alone made his gut sour, and that was why Donall had offered to bring the lass to his keep.
Lydia. She hadn’t offered him a last name. And she’d seemed unusually terrified of the men. More to the point - two of them had specifically pursued her, when he’d seen no evidence that any of the other members of the caravan had been targeted. It was an interesting puzzle, and it had caught his interest as very few things did these days.
Then there was the lass herself. English, by her accent, and better spoken than he would have expected - perhaps she’d been a servant in a noble household? But then why leave her situation and undertake such a risky journey to seek work in the Highlands, in the home of a laird she knew nothing about?
Perhaps she’d run into some trouble. She was pretty enough for it - soft, light brown hair like silk and cinnamon, even disordered as it was, and those sky-blue eyes. Pale skinned too - she was delicate-looking enough that a man might mistake her for a lady, rather than a serving lass. If she’d been a lady’s maid whose master, or a guest, had attempted to take too many liberties with… well, there were many ways a lass in such a situation might find herself either out of work, or fleeing from trouble that no serving maid could handle.
Thinking of that, unfortunately, made him all too aware of the lass’s bosom pressed against his back, the slim legs tucked close in behind his knees, and the way her hips pressed against his in the close confines of the saddle. The heat of her breath ghosted along the back of his neck, teasing the fine hair there and sending an uncomfortable tingling sensation through his gut and down to his groin.
Just as well she was riding behind him, or he’d be thinking of the slender curve of her waist, his arm around her midsection and likely brushing the underside of her bosom, her buttocks pressed close against his groin… there’d be no hiding his reaction from her then.
Donall scowled and forced the thoughts away. ‘Tis been too long since I was with a woman.
Idle and wayward imaginings aside, there was something about the lass that intrigued Donall, and very little had intrigued him in a long time. That made rescuing her and giving her employment in his service worth the trouble, to assuage his curiosity, if nothing else.
The horse shifted its weight, and the girl’s arm thumped into the cut on his side once more. Donall winced.
He was losing more blood than he’d expected - the wound must have been deeper than he’d first expected. He grimaced and added his healer Evelyn to the list of people who were likely to lecture him when he returned to Ranald Keep.
Lydia the serving lass. He couldn’t help wondering which she was going to bring more of into his life - surprises… or trouble.
CHAPTER THREE
The ride to Ranald Castle was not long, but it still gave Lydia plenty of time to ponder her situation. Laird Ranald was a taciturn man and said almost nothing during the ride, which meant she was left to her thoughts.
The fact that he had saved her was little short of a miracle, Lydia knew. Had Laird Ranald not come when he did, she would have been captured by the very men she sought to avoid. His need for servants, and his assumption that she was one of the maids he had been expecting was an unlooked for opportunity, and one Lydia had no intention of wasting.
