Page 6 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
Ciaran reached out and steadied her, his large hand gentle against her elbow. "Here now," he murmured, guiding her to sit on a nearby fallen log. "Take a moment, lass."
She sank down, her legs finally betraying the strength she'd fought to maintain. In the silvered light, he could see the pallor beneath her flushed cheeks, the way she held herself as though one wrong move might shatter her composure.
"Are ye truly alright?" he asked, crouching before her, his voice softer than he'd intended. This close, he could see the fine tremors running through her, smell the sweet heather scent of her hair beneath the fear and exertion.
"Aye. I'm fine," she answered, lifting her chin. "Thank ye fer yer... intervention."
They sat in silence for a moment, the forest quiet save for the distant hoot of an owl and the drumming of his own heart. The moonlight caught in her hair, turning the loose strands to liquid silver. Despite her torn gown and the smudge of dirt on her cheek, she carried herself with the bearing of nobility.
The memory of her fighting—kicking, clawing, using her small dagger with no practiced skill—flashed through his mind. A small smile turned big until laughter rumbled up from his chest, unexpected and deep.
"Something amuses ye, me laird?" she asked sharply.
His laugh grew louder. "I've never seen a lass fight like that," he managed between breaths. "Three armed men twice yer size, and ye had them howling. I could enlist ye in me ranks tomorrow and make me enemies tremble."
For a moment she stared at him, then her own laughter joined his, a musical sound that lightened the forest darkness. "I wasnae sure me knee found its mark on that big one," she admitted, "but his face told me otherwise."
The shared laughter cleared the battle haze from Ciaran's mind. This woman was no ordinary noble daughter, taught only to embroider and please a future husband. There was steel beneath her fine gown.
"Ye have a name, lass?" he asked when their laughter subsided. "Or should I simply call ye 'the warrior in silk'?"
She turned away, searching the forest floor. "Me horse," she said, ignoring his question.
Ciaran spotted it among the trees and walked over to it, taking its reins. "Allow me tae escort ye home. After what just happened, it would be madness tae let yer travel alone."
"I thank ye fer yer help, Laird MacCraith, but I can manage from here." She moved to step past him.
Ciaran stepped smoothly into her path, his mouth curving into a knowing smile. "Ye called me by name at the ball as well, if I recall. Strange fer a lass who has nay name nor clan."
His eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he studied her masked face. "Were ye there just fer me then? Seeking out the fearsome Laird MacCraith?"
"Dinnae flatter yerself," she retorted, though her cheeks flared with color visible even in the dim light. "Everyone kens who ye are. 'Tis hardly a secret when ye command attention wherever ye go."
Her quick response only deepened his interest. This woman had spirit—first fleeing from him at the ball, now standing defiant despite her ordeal. Whatever game she played, he found himself increasingly unwilling to let her vanish into the night.
Ciaran caught her arm, gentle but firm. "Three men just tried tae carry ye off intae the night, and ye think I'll let ye wander these woods alone?" He searched her masked face, trying to place her features among the daughters of nearby clans. "Who are ye, and why willnae ye tell me where yer home is?"
She stiffened beneath his touch. "Release me, sir."
"Nae until I ken ye're safe."
"I am safe! I was handling meself fine, just as I was before ye came tae me at the ball," she retorted, pulling free.
Ciaran raised an eyebrow. "Handling yerself fine? As I recall, ye were almost on the floor before I caught ye. And after that, ye seemed willing enough when me arm was around yer waist."
Color rose in her cheeks, visible even in the dim light. "That was... I was..."
"Yes?" He couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips.
Her eyes flashed. "Ye're insufferable."
"And ye're injured, lost, and stubborn as a mule." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, loosened from its tie during the fight. "Look, I dinnae ken who ye are or why ye're hiding it, but those men will return, likely with more. These woods arenae safe."
She took a step back. "I ken these paths better than ye think."
"Aye, and so dae they, it seems." Ciaran gestured to the forest around them. "They kent exactly where tae wait fer ye."
Her confidence wavered, eyes darting to the shadows between trees. Ciaran pressed his advantage.
