Page 8 of Jack (Highland Outlaws #1)

T he sudden rush of light caused Isabella to flinch.

Having been deprived of sight for so long, the brightness hurt her eyes.

Huddled on the ground, she couldn’t see who had freed her from the blindfold, only that the person wore tall black boots.

Scrambling back, she squinted, her gaze traveling from the boot, passed thickly muscled thighs, which strained against the owner’s fitted hose, then further still, beyond an impossibly broad chest to the hooded black mask concealing his face.

She wanted to make a run for it, but when he suddenly crouched in front of her, all she could do was scream.

“Och, sorry! I forgot.” He reached for the top of his head and pulled off the mask.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. She had never been so surprised as she stared up into the smiling, blue eyes of a young man no older than she.

He had a square jaw, high cheekbones, a wide grin, and long, flaming red hair that fell below his chest. She had expected someone menacing, toothless, monstrous even. ..not a lad.

“Ian, get away from her.”

She looked past Ian to one of three masked men standing in front of her. The one who had spoken belonged to the man with whom she had ridden. From listening closely to their conversations, she was certain his name was Jack and was their leader.

Ian winked at her. “I’m going to pay for this one.” He stood up and backed away.

“Now that she has seen our camp and Ian’s face, our choices are dwindling.” It was the masked man on her right who spoke. Judging by his voice, she guessed he was the one named Quinn.

“What’s the bleeding point of these now?” Jack cursed before he reached out and yanked the masks off both men flanking him.

The man on her left flashed her a smile that might have made her knees weak if received at court, but in a primitive camp full of bandits, it made her heart race all the harder.

He was mayhap the most gorgeous man she had ever seen, with black hair in careless waves to his shoulders and stunning blue eyes.

She felt her face warm as his tongue wet his full, sensual lips before he spoke.

“My name is Rory, my lady,” he said, his voice husky.

He drew closer, and her heart pounded harder still.

His beauty was hypnotizing; long dark lashes outlined eyes that penetrated her soul when they looked into hers.

His broad shoulders tapered down to a trim waist. He moved with easy confidence.

“I am at yer service.” His mouth curved in a sideways smile that made her breath catch.

She swallowed hard and tore her gaze away to look at the other unmasked man.

“Quinn, my lady,” he said with a bow.

Quinn appeared older than both Ian and Rory, although only by a few years.

His looks weren’t as striking as Rory’s, but he was still undeniably handsome with his strong, square jaw and deep black hair that gleamed in the sun.

He canted his head to the side as he studied her with dark eyes that shone with intelligence and warmth.

Whereas Rory had stirred emotions inside her that only managed to unsettle her further, Quinn, on the other hand, emanated protective strength, which calmed her racing heart.

Suddenly feeling a little less afraid, she took a deep breath and met the gaze of the man in the middle. He was taller than both Rory and Quinn, with a large build, and his face was still hidden behind his mask.

“Princess,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.

“Jack,” she shot back, demonstrating that she’d been paying attention.

Both Quinn and Rory smiled at her boldness, which fueled her courage still.

Standing tall, she once more met Jack’s gaze.

“Follow me,” he said brusquely before turning and walking toward a thatched hut that stood beneath the shade of a wide oak.

Her feet felt rooted to the ground. She had no intention of following the broadly built, masked stranger into the tiny hut where they would be alone, away from Ian, Rory, and Quinn—all with whom she felt safer in that moment.

“Are ye coming?” Jack asked when she did not follow. His dark eyes bore into hers, as if challenging her to deny him.

Despite her heart thundering in her ears, she held her ground and shook her head, refusing his request.

“As ye wish, my lady,” Jack growled and stormed toward her.

It was now or never!

Lifting her skirts far too high for decorum, she bolted across the small clearing.

For three blissful seconds, she thought she might have a chance at escape; that is until an unforgiving hand clamped down on her upper arm.

And before she knew what was happening, she was hanging upside down over Jack’s shoulder while he marched toward the hut.

Twisting her neck, she managed to glimpse the three men still standing in the glade.

“Please,” she called out to them. Yet they stood there motionless, not stopping Jack from carrying her away, leaving her with no doubt that, despite their kindness, Quinn, Rory, and Ian’s loyalty was to Jack and each other and not to her.

Once inside, Jack set her on her feet. The room was as poor and rustic as the thatched exterior.

She glanced at the pallet and table with two rough-hewn chairs, her gaze lingering on something in the center of the table that was covered with cloth.

Her hungry stomach hoped it was food, not that she planned to accept his hospitality should it be offered.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face her captor.

He still wore his menacing mask. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

He stepped toward her, causing her breath to catch.

She backed up several steps, never taking her eyes off him.

He pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit.”

She eyed the chair, but then shook her head. She wanted to stay poised to flee or to ward off an attack.

“Suit yourself,” he breathed out, collapsing in one of the chairs with a heavy sigh.

His hand reached over his head and pulled the mask off.

Then he laid his head back against the thatched wall, closing his eyes.

His features were as fine as Rory’s, but more rugged.

Confused by his dismissive air, she did not know what to do or say.

Eying the doorway, she wondered if he would notice if she slipped out.

Her gaze returned to his upturned face. His black hair hung in tangled waves.

Long, thick black lashes rested on his bronzed cheeks as he continued to close his eyes.

She shifted her gaze from his face to the door and took one step in that direction, but his hand shot out, grabbing her forearm.

“Ye’re not going anywhere, Princess,” he drawled, his voice low.

She yanked her hand free and pressed her back against the wall.

They locked eyes. His dark, deep-set gaze was wary yet not unkind.

To her surprise, a smile, seemingly sad and pensive, tugged at one corner of his mouth before he looked away from her once more.

It was clear he was not ready to deal with her, or mayhap he did not know how.

His fatigue was apparent, but she sensed there was more to his meditation.

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Then he stared transfixed at the wall, and his features relaxed as if he gazed at peaceful beauty.

She imagined he stared beyond the thatched wall at a conjured meadow or steady sea.

And for a moment, she felt connected to him, for she knew that look—It was the look of a quiet soul in the midst of a world on fire.

The serenity of the moment was broken when he suddenly reached over his head and tore off his tunic.

Her breath hitched at the sight of his bare torso.

His wide chest was sprinkled with black hair that thinned into a line down the hard ridges of his stomach, only to disappear beneath the narrow waist of his hose.

He stood up, and she gasped. His hose hung low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination.

Her mouth ran dry, and her heart pounded.

Never had she glimpsed the masculine physique so closely.

In two strides, he crossed the room and opened the lid to a wooden chest, turning his back to her.

Her hand involuntarily covered her mouth at the sight of the curve of his buttocks peeking out from the top of his clinging hose.

After donning a fresh linen tunic, he turned around and fixed her with an unyielding stare.

Instantly, heat rushed to her cheeks, but he did not acknowledge her embarrassment.

Settling back into his seat at the table, he pulled the cloth off a loaf of bread and ripped off a hunk.

The sight made her stomach growl, betraying her need.

Hunched low over his meal with both elbows on the table, he took another bite and gestured with the bread to the empty chair across from him. “Ye’re welcome to join me, Princess.”

She shook her head. She wanted to eat but dared not go any closer.

“Sit,” he snapped. “Eat!” His black eyes flashed with anger. The quiet soul had given way to the thief. Her heart began to race. She felt like a mouse cornered by a hungry wolf.

Swallowing hard, she tried to think of an escape plan; perhaps she could request a change in guardsman. She would much prefer the company of Quinn, Rory, or Ian. But then she thought better of it, for there was one man in their number whom she feared even more than Jack.

The brother she had yet to meet.

The one who gave Jack the blindfold and suggested they stick her in the hole, whatever that was. She didn’t want to risk having him keeping watch over her, and so she knew she had to do her best to deal with Jack. Summoning her courage, she stood tall and met Jack’s gaze.