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When the man with a dagger took an aggressive step toward Lachlan, she moved, forgetting the feel of dirt beneath her feet and the chill in the air, forgetting anything apart from Lachlan. She barreled forward, a wild scream ripping from her lungs. All three men looked her way, and she lowered her head, rushing straight toward the unarmed man. It was like hitting a wall, and it was only then that she realized she had not hit his body but his fist.

She staggered back, the air knocked from her and pain radiating through her stomach. She retched and gagged and tried to draw herself straight, but the pain was unbearable. However, when she fell to the floor, she caught a glimpse of Lachlan’s face. Her poor attempt at defending him had worked. He was already upon the man with the dagger, knocking the weapon from his hand and shoving him to the ground. The otherman did not take long to react, coming up on Lachlan from behind and trying to tear him from his friend. But it did not work.

Minerva had never seen such fury. The intense darkness of his eyes had turned into something indescribable, something almost inhuman. He lashed out with his fists, hitting anything that he could reach. She continued to drag in painful breaths, a hand clutched around her side while she watched the display. Flesh struck upon flesh, and soon, he had both men crawling upon the ground. He went to strike the man who had hit Minerva, but she lifted a hand. The man was already almost knocked senseless, and blood dripped from his face.

“No…” She wheezed. “Lachlan…”

His gaze met hers. The darkness seemed to vanish. His shoulders dropped, and he thrust a finger at both men, uttering something in Gaelic. Then he hurried to her side, pushing hair from her face and patting his hands across her body.

“Are you injured, lass?” He cursed under his breath. “God dammit. You shouldn’t have been here. You should not have seen that.”

Both men staggered away, slowly vanishing into the darkness. “What were they doing?”

“Trying to steal our horses. Someone must have told them there were visitors here. I woke when I heard the barn door open.”

“They could have killed you. I had to do something.”

Lachlan shook his head vigorously. “You should have stayed inside where it was safe.”

“He had a dagger.”

“Aye, and I could handle it.” He stilled at the sight of blood on his knuckles. Blood that had transferred onto the white of her shift. He dropped onto the ground, releasing her as though she had scalded him. “You should never have seen any of that.”

“If I had not done something, you could have been killed.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Did you not see, lass? I am naught but the barbarian. Once a fighter, always a fighter.” His smile mocked.

“I do not know what you mean by that, Lachlan.”

“You are delirious. It is cold, and you’ve been hurt. Let us get you inside. Soon, you will remember all that has occurred tonight.” His tone was cold and resigned.

She frowned but allowed him to aid her inside. Her stomach hurt, and she had to fight the desire to cough. The man had struck her with little care for the fact she was a woman. And yet…

And yet, she had survived. And it had worked.

Not even two weeks ago, she would never have been able to do such a thing.

When they returned to the room, he threw a blanket over her shoulders. She hardly realized she was shaking until he had done as much. She longed for him to take her in his arms, but he took a step back, pushed a hand through his hair, and faced away from her. Blood marred his knuckles, and his shirt was torn.

“Lachlan…”

He gave her a grim look. “I did not mean to scare you.”

She frowned. “You did not scare me. Those men scared me.”

“What in the devil possessed you to come outside?”

“I saw the knife. I could not stay here and let you get hurt.”

He gave a half-smile that there was no warmth behind. “I wish you had stayed inside, lass. As brave as you are, you should not have seen any of that.”

“I have seen more than I ever thought I would on this journey.” While she had been terrified he might have been hurt, she could not help feel proud of herself. She would have thought he might be too. So, why was he acting so regretfully? “Are you angry with me?”

“God, no.” He made a noise in the back of his throat. “How could I ever be angry with you?” He pushed a hand through his hair again. “I’m angry with myself. Angry that you saw such a thing. Angry that I even behaved in such a manner.”

“You are angry that you defended yourself? I do not—”

“I’m angry about what I did to those men. At least in front of you.” He sighed. “He should never have touched you.” His tone was bitter and angry.