Page 9 of Her Highland Prophecy
Gordain seethed with rage, feeling powerless at not being able to do anything from his position. He needed to get around them and closer before revealing himself; otherwise, they would be able to harm her. Or him.
“I get first crack at her,” the first one said gleefully. Gordain thought he might be the leader of the group. He sniffed derisively at the crude words.
He would never understand the actions of some men. There were plenty of available girls who would be more than willing to bed them, yet they searched out the ones who did not wish for their company.
He moved slowly, silently. He was nearly in position when he heard her scream. He looked up and noticed that the leader had a hand on one of her breasts while she squirmed and screeched in protest.
The scream cut off abruptly as the brigand placed his dirk on her throat. He could see from where he stood frozen a single drop of dark blood roll down her neck from the shallow wound the knife had caused and into the bodice of her shift, staining it.
He saw red. The next thing he knew he was running across the clearing with a fierce battle cry, sword raised high. The men all turned to look at him as the girl crumpled to the ground.
He was on their leader before he could react. The man’s dirk was no match for his sword. He parried it aside, hitting the brigand’s hand with the flat of his sword.
The man shouted in pain, dropping his weapon. Gordain didn’t waste time. He ran the man through the chest with his sword, dropping him to the ground instantly, dead. He pulled back his sword, turning to the other two men, roaring in challenge.
They were backing up slowly, empty hands raised in front of them.
“Please, we didnae ken she was yer woman,” one of them begged. Gordain frowned. He could not attack unarmed men, yet this scum deserved anything he gave them to attack a defenseless woman and cause her fright and pain.
He lowered his sword and leveled each of them with a menacing look. They turned tail and scampered off.
He knew they didn’t have much time. For all he knew, the men were part of a larger group waiting for them nearby and would return to avenge their fallen friend.
He did not want to wait there to be discovered.
He walked to her quickly. As he approached, he noticed that while he had originally thought her hair was pulled back, it was actually cut very short, perhaps just below her ears. Gordain thought it might be shorter than his own.
He knelt in front of her, thinking she might be the most unusual woman he had ever seen.
“Lass, we need to go,” he said gently. He pulled at her arm, but she did not respond. She sat on the ground with unfocused eyes, her breath wheezing through her chest. He sighed.
“Come on. They willnae stay away for long. We need to move,” he tried again. She looked up at him and stared with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
“Do ye no understand me?”
Still, she did not answer. A foreigner then. Or perhaps she was dim.
He sighed. Well, there was no helping it. He scooped her off the ground and over his shoulder, walking briskly to his horse. She yelped, but otherwise made no protest to his manhandling her.
He noticed her shift moved even higher up her leg when he pushed her up on the front of the saddle. Again, he was struck by the need to touch her and resisted. He would be no better than the men he had just left in the clearing if he did.
He jumped into the saddle behind her and set his horse to a brisk gallop. He would need to get on Clan lands as soon as possible. Hopefully, before the brigands caught up with them again and tried something anew.
He felt her shivering against him and cursed inwardly. The morning was cool and she was not dressed well enough to keep out the chill. Unfortunately, it would have to wait. He couldn’t risk stopping yet, but hopefully, the warmth from his own body would help.
“I’m sorry, Lass, but we need to get ye to safety,” he told her, certain that even if she could not understand him, the tone of voice would soothe her.
He continued speaking nonsense to her as they rode along, yet she never once responded.
Perhaps she is simple, after all.
Even if she were a foreigner, she would have tried to communicate with him by that point. Yet she never made a peep. And then there was her strange clothing.
It would make sense if she were simple to be walking around in what was essentially little more than undergarments. She must have escaped the person who had cared for her.
It was nearly an hour later that they reached the boundary line of their lands. He sighed in relief at the sight of the familiar creek. They would still need another day before they reached the Castle, but he felt safe enough to stop and rest for a while.
He drew back the reins gently, pulling his horse to a stop and dismounted. He helped her down from the horse as well.
