Rosaline watched him pace the tree line, peering deeply through the forest, searching for her. He rose high and crouched low, taking his time but scanning methodically—clearly something he had done before. She held her breath and stayed as still as possible.
His voice was enchanting, strong but warm. It was familiar, an accent from not too far away. How had she not encountered this man before?
Probably because she had been locked up in a convent all these years.
He drew closer to her, and her breathing quickened. She could feel her skin prickle and her cheeks grow hot.
He looked like he knew how to scan a horizon, how to spot prey a mile off. He would surely see her if he got any closer. She didn’t want him to hunt her down; she wanted this to be on her own terms. As he’d said, he owed her his thanks.
So, she plucked up her courage and emerged from the trees, holding her breath to let her core take her weight, trying to hide her limp.
She did not want him to see that she was injured, so she stood strong and ensured that her tunic covered her wound. She had to hope that he would not see the pain on her face.
“Finally,” he muttered, a cheeky smirk tugging at his lips.
Rosaline didn’t know what to do with herself.
With no trees or branches to obscure her vision, she could see the aftermath of the battle on him.
Blood had sprayed up his front, painting his armor and shirt collar underneath crimson, turning brown as the sun shone on it and dried it.
He even had blood on his face, vertical crimson lines traveling from his chin, past his thick lips, to just underneath his eyes.
His hair was disheveled, and his clothes were creased and skewed.
He looked like a beast after a feed.
But his beauty was even more astounding, now that he was looking right at her. His eyes were like gemstones, totally enrapturing, and the contrast with his dark hair made him look almost unearthly, glowing from some kind of magical source.
Rosaline drew in a deep breath and tried to cast her mind back to the silence of prayer the nuns had taught her all these years. She tried to clear her mind of the searing pain in her ankle and the attraction she undeniably felt for such a beautiful yet terrifying man.
“Greetings,” she finally managed, holding her chin high.
“Greetings, lass.” He chuckled, slowly walking closer. His eyes were downcast, and his laughter seemed directed at himself. “What is yer name?”
She hesitated. She was on the run—should she be honest? Perhaps her name was something to keep hidden. But how would he know her?
Her first name would do.
“Rosaline.”
“Caelan.”
She ran the name over in her mind. It captured him well. The sharp introduction of the C , strong and biting, with the softer flow over the la and the n , gentle over time.
“I dinnae bite.” He chuckled again.
Rosaline realized that her fear must not have been as hidden on her face as she had thought. She pressed her lips together and squared her shoulders. She had to be strong.
“It was ye who warned me?”
She nodded before pushing herself to be assertive. Now was not the time to be silent. “Aye, it was me.”
“Thank ye. If ye didnae save me life, ye at least saved me from a very painful stab in the back.”
She nodded, unable to summon any further words.
She had helped him, and he was thanking her, yet the power clearly lay in his hands.
He was a strong, armed man, covered in the blood of his opponents, and she was a young woman on the run, with only her blood to show for it.
Still, she was better here with this beast than back at the convent with the evil nuns.
She strained her ears for the sound of any nuns nearby, but there was only silence.
“Why did ye do it?”
Her heart stopped. “Do what?”
He tilted his head in slight confusion, and the right corner of his lips quirked up. “Why did ye call out?”
“Oh,” she murmured. He was not questioning her about her escape. She had to calm herself. “Four men against one. It seemed unfair.”
He chuckled under his breath—something she only spotted thanks to his shaking shoulders and downcast eyes. She had to fight to keep her mouth shut.
“Nae fair, eh?”
She hadn’t meant to offend him. Clearly, the unfairness of the match had been in his favor, as he did not succumb.
Rosaline opened her mouth to retort, to explain that she had only meant unfairness in number rather than in strength, when a distant voice yelled, “Well, she cannae be anywhere else, so we must try!”
The words were faint, but Rosaline could just about make them out because of the familiarity of the voice. Mother Denise had guessed her plan and was heading in her direction. They were coming for her.
She quickly collected herself and began to look for another hiding spot. She had forgotten herself, distracted by the handsome warrior and the tension of the fight.
Rosaline had her own battle to fight today, and she had been foolish to dally for long. She had to move away and stay hidden.
The clearing was altogether too… flat. Other than a few sparse shrubs, there was nothing to conceal her out here. She had to run to the other side of the loch, where thick trees and greenery would conceal her while she continued onwards.
She made a move for the far side of the loch, dodging past Caelan’s large form, when a hand caught her by the waist.
She froze, half from the force of his soft grip, half from shock. Her skin broke out in goosebumps at his touch, and in so intimate a place as the curve of her waist, just where her ribs ended before her hips flared out. His forearm banded across her stomach, and his face was mere inches from hers.
Her breath caught. Another person to harm and control her.
“Let me go,” she hissed, managing to find her voice despite her panic.
She could not let the nuns take her back to the convent. The punishment they would mete out for escaping, and during a mass, would surely kill her. Nothing in the world could be worse than returning there.
She struggled against the warrior, but his grip stayed strong.
“Please, ye have to let me go. Ye dinnae understand,” she pleaded, keeping her voice as calm as she could, holding back her tears.
“Where are ye goin’, bunny?” Caelan asked, his voice gravelly and deep as it dropped.
She felt his breath fan her skin, trickling down her earlobe and neck. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and a sigh escaped her.
“Hurry! She couldnae have gone far!” Mother Denise’s voice was quickly drawing closer.
Rosaline clawed at Caelan’s forearm, trying to pry it off her so she could run, but he was too strong.
“Are they huntin’ ye?” he asked.
She nodded, this time pleading with her eyes, still trying to wrench free.
“Please, I cannae go back there.” She could hear pounding footsteps now as the nuns trampled quickly through the forest in her direction. “Ye have to help me.”
“All right, all right,” Caelan relented, finally loosening his grip a little.
He did not understand the urgency—he couldn’t. He had no idea what she had been through at the convent. He was going to be the reason she had to go back.
“I’ll help ye.”
Rosaline looked up at him, shocked. Her eyes widened as she searched his face for truth. Was he serious? How could he help her?
“Ye will?” she asked.
“Aye. From one Highlander on the run to another. Ye just have to do somethin’ for me in return.”
Here we go .
He probably wanted her to lie with him, or for her to become his servant for the rest of her days. Nonetheless, few things could be worse than life with the nuns.
So, she awaited his proposal.
“Be me bride, and I’ll save ye.”