Page 59 of A Wife for the Highland Villain
Lily knelt again and dug her fingers into the damp soil, feeling them grow colder with every passing second. For the better half of a minute, she really thought he would hold his tongue, but then he cleared his throat.
“There is something I need to tell ye.”
Her hand stilled, and she looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “What?”
Alasdair opened his mouth, before his eyes flicked past her shoulder, flashing with alarm.
“What is it?” she asked, turning to follow his gaze.
In the next breath, he lunged at her, his body slamming into hers. They both fell to the ground and slid across the damp earth. She cried out, but was then cut off as he shielded her.
A sharp thud split the air, and her eyes snapped up. An arrow buried itself in the tree where her head had been only moments ago.
Lily stared at it, her lips parted, her heart racing. The shaft quivered in the bark, black feathers trembling. Her eyes went wide in shock.
CHAPTER 19
Alasdair shifted,a mild groan escaping his lips at the feel of her pressed against him. But he couldn’t linger; he pushed himself up.
Dirt clung to his palms and trousers, and he brushed it off as quickly as possible. His breath was steady, but his heart thudded against his ribs. He turned to Lily and reached for her arm, exhaling as he pulled her up gently.
“Are ye all right?” His voice was sharp, perhaps a bit sharper than he had meant.
Before she could respond, another sharp whistle cut through the air. A second arrow flew past Alasdair. The tip of the arrow grazed his arm, and he felt heat flare sharply across his flesh. He hissed and clutched the wound as the arrow once again buried itself deep into the bark of a tree behind them.
“Damn it,” he groaned, the pain in his arm sharper than he could have imagined.
Lily’s eyes widened as she scrambled closer. “Yer arm?—”
“Stay down,” he cut her off, his voice firm.
“But—”
“I am nae joking this time, Lily. Stay. Down.”
Blood welled beneath the torn fabric of his sleeve, and the wound continued to burn, but his focus never left the shadows among the trees. His eyes darted between the branches, and then he saw it. A figure crouched low, half-hidden, nocking another arrow.
The man’s movements were steady and confident. Alasdair could tell that whoever this was was no stranger to weapons.
He looked around quickly, trying to find something he could use to stop the archer from shooting another arrow. His eyes settled on a rock that lay just a hair beside Lily’s feet. It was heavy enough to wound but light enough to throw.
“Give me that stone,” he called, pointing toward it.
She blinked at him, stunned. “What are ye?—”
“Nay questions,wife. Hand it to me. Now.”
She grabbed the rock and passed it to him, her hand trembling. He took it, well aware of the fact that her eyes never looked away from his face. He tightened his grip on the rock, weighing it and feeling its edges bite into his palm.
The archer lifted his bow, and Alasdair pulled his arm back with every ounce of strength he had left.
He hurled the rock.
The rock cut through the air with a low whistle and struck hard, slamming straight into the crossbow, knocking it out of the man’s hands. Almost at the same breath, it hit the archer’s cheekbone and sent him staggering backward. The bow dropped into the dirt.
The man’s head jerked up, his eyes wild with alarm. For the first time, he looked straight at Alasdair. Then, he turned and bolted, branches snapping under his feet.
Alasdair’s chest heaved once, then he turned back to Lily, who was still crouched low, pale but unharmed.
