Page 38 of Awoken
The Outlaw
LEANNA FROZE AGAINST Ross, her arms instinctively tightening around his midriff.
Mother Mary, where did all these men come from?
Ross had obviously heard something, a moment before they’d emerged from the trees, yet it had come too late. They were now surrounded by a band of outlaws. Even if Ross was to draw the claidheamh-mor at his waist and swing for them, he’d be cut down before he ever reached his first victim.
Wisely, Ross did no such thing.
Instead, he sat still and watchful, as yet more men emerged from the thickets of pines that surrounded the banks of the burn. Silent in leather hunting boots, the men approached.
At a glance, Leanna saw they were very different to the men who’d attacked her party on the way to her father’s burial. Those had been a much smaller, ragged band that had possessed an aura of desperation.
The men encircling them now didn’t appear desperate. Most of them looked well fed, and all were dressed in hunting leathers. They wielded longbows, carried dirks, and had swords strapped to their sides.
Leanna’s pulse quickened.Who are they?
At that moment, as if answering her silent question, a tall, broad-shouldered figure emerged from the trees.
Unlike the others, this outlaw didn’t wield a bow. A claidheamh-mor hung by his side, the scabbard knocking against his leg as he walked, yet he didn’t draw it.
Leanna stared at the newcomer. A prickle of recognition flared, and for an instant she stopped breathing, ice settling in the pit of her belly.
Duncan MacKinnon.
But as the man drew closer, she realized that although he bore a striking resemblance to the clan-chief, it was not him.
Even so, the similarity made nausea roil in her belly.
Just like MacKinnon, the man was tall—although he was possibly even bigger, broader, and more muscular than the clan-chief. He had the same ruggedly handsome face, while his rich-brown hair was longer and wilder. But what really set them apart was the thin white scar that slashed vertically from his temple to cheek, only an inch from his left eye.
Leanna swallowed hard as realization dawned. She’d heard about this man—all of Skye had by now. Even the walls of Kilbride couldn’t stop the rumors.
This was ‘Craeg the Bastard’, the outlaw leader who’d spent the last decade living in the territory’s forgotten places—and all the while causing problems for Duncan MacKinnon. He’d drawn the angry and disillusioned to him, and regularly stole from MacKinnon’s coffers, attacking supply wagons and tax collectors.
Leanna stared at the outlaw, fear and fascination warring within her. Meeting her gaze, the man’s sensual mouth curved. “Do ye know me?”
“Aye,” she whispered. “I think I do.”
“Craeg MacKinnon,” Ross murmured, his tone flat. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”
The big man inclined his head, gaze narrowing. “MacKinnon, eh? I suppose it’s a better name than ‘Craeg the Bastard’.”
Ross huffed a laugh at this, although Leanna could feel the coiled tension in his body; his back muscles were taut.
Silence stretched out then, broken only by the whisper of the wind, the chatter of the burn behind them, and a lonely eagle’s screech high above. The bowmen surrounding them didn’t lower their weapons, and Craeg the Bastard’s face didn’t show a hint of friendliness.
When he broke the brittle hush, his voice was hard. “It seems fitting … since ye know my name … that I should know yer identities as well.”
Ross shifted in the saddle, and Leanna wondered if he would lie. Although she had no wish to tell this outlaw who she was, she knew to spin him a tale wouldn’t end well for either of them. There was a sharp intelligence to this man’s looks. He would sniff out a falsehood easily.
“I am Ross Campbell, and my companion is Lady Leanna MacDonald of Sleat,” Ross said after a lengthy pause.
The outlaw leader’s big body tensed. “Campbell … I know that name.” His gaze speared Ross. “Ye are MacKinnon’s right hand.”
“Iwas.”
Craeg’s jaw flexed, before his attention shifted from Leanna to Ross, his gaze narrowing. “Why are ye out here in the wilderness?”
