Page 3 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)
CHAPTER TWO
W ithout a word, Rowena scrambled to her horse, who stood trembling by the water’s edge.
She led her behind the grassy mound and pressed herself and the horse against the damp earth of the rise.
They were concealed just as the first of her step-uncle’s men burst into the clearing.
The two armed riders arrived, their faces grim with fury, their horses snorting and stamping.
From her hiding spot, Rowena watched, breathless, as the man pulled an apple from his satchel. He washed it casually in the loch before taking a crisp, loud bite. His nonchalance appeared almost deathly, an unsettling display of control that sent a shiver down her spine.
“Lost yer way, lads?” His voice was deceptively calm.
Their eyes darted nervously over his exposed skin, their apprehension at encountering a lone man by a remote loch made obvious by the subtle looks that passed between them.
Gregor clearly found the man’s blasé attitude maddening. “Mind yer own business, stranger,” he spat. “We are on the hunt for a runaway lass.” He gestured vaguely towards the loch, then around the clearing, clearly uncertain if she had vanished into the water or the woods.
“Ah.” The man nodded and tilted his head. “A runaway, did ye say?” A clear challenge sparked in his glacial blue eyes, an invitation to dismiss or underestimate him if they dared.
Hamish, standing on his horse beside Gregor, shifted tensely. His hand tightened on his sword hilt. “This is none of yer business, ye savage. Be gone before ye find yersel’ in trouble.”
Sharp eyes roamed over the moor, pausing just long enough to rake over her hiding place with unsettling precision.
Then the man turned, met her gaze from across the distance, and, bold as anything, winked.
A slow, deliberate thing, full of confidence.
Rowena’s breath caught. Heat flared beneath her skin and she ducked her head, mortified that he’d caught her watching.
By the time she dared look again, he’d already shifted his attention back to her uncle’s men.
“Savage? Now ye’ve hurt me feelings,” he said, pressing a hand over his heart.
“And I’m nae the one chasing after a poor lass, am I?
” His tone suddenly lost its amused edge.
His eyes darkened further, almost black now, though she hadn’t thought it possible.
They seemed to absorb the light, stripped of all warmth, all flicker of life.
“As ye can see, there is nay runaway here. Now be on yer way before I make ye.”
“How dare ye speak tae us that way!”
“I see ye’d like me tae repeat meself.” His tone was level as he spoke. “I am nae in the habit of daein’ so, but I am in good spirits and shall make an exception fer ye this morning. I said , nay, runaway lass passed through here. ‘Tis only me and the water. Be. Gone.”
“Ye’re lying!” Gregor snarled, his hand moving to his sword hilt. “This is the only path after the forest breaks. She must have come this way.”
The man’s voice remained steady, almost bored. “I have told ye what I saw. Naethin’ more.”
“Aye, and I say ye’re protecting her.” Hamish’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Tell us where she’s hiding, and we might leave ye breathing.”
“Might?” The man’s tone now carried a subtle edge. “How thoughtful of ye.”
Gregor’s face darkened at the mockery. “Mock me again, and I’ll carve that smirk from yer face. Last chance—where is she?”
“I suppose we have naethin’ more tae discuss, then.” He gestured for them to draw closer. The man’s stance shifted almost imperceptibly. “Come ahead, if ye think ye can manage it.”
Rowena stared, scarcely daring to breathe.
Is the man daft? Standin’ alone and unarmed, challengin’ warriors as though he fears naethin’?
He had no sword, no shield. Nothing but boldness and a strange command about him.
Did he mean tae face them bare-handed? Is he truly so certain he’d prevail?
And yet, for all the madness of it, there was something in the steady way he held himself, that made it impossible not to look away.
Rowena’s breath seized when Gregor drew his blade with a vicious hiss of steel and jabbed it forward. The threatening thrust was aimed directly at the warrior’s chest. But instead of landing on him, the blade struck the apple in his hand with a sickening thwack.
The fruit fell and rolled down the slight incline towards the loch, disappearing with an impossibly loud splash.
It was the only instance that Rowena, watching from her hiding spot, noticed a flicker of annoyance in the man, as though the act was an insult, a waste of his time. The small reaction was more terrifying than any outburst.
Her savior moved like he was one with his sword. The boredom that had formerly tinged his movements vanished, suddenly replaced by a cold focus that alarmed her as much as it thrilled her.
Gregor lunged further, his blade arcing downward in a heavy strike that would have cleaved a lesser man’s skull.
But the stranger wasn’t there—he’d shifted left with fluid grace, letting Gregor’s momentum carry him past. In one seamless motion, he caught Gregor’s wrist with his free hand and twisted sharply.
The crack of bone was audible even from Rowena’s hiding place.
Gregor’s sword fell from nerveless fingers as he screamed.
Before he could recover, the stranger drove his knee into the man’s ribs with savage precision, making Gregor double over, gasping. Then he took the fallen blade and with a quick, surgical thrust it into Gregor’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground.
Saints preserve me, is that precision even human? He hasnae hesitated, nae once. Each blow has landed with cruel exactness, and yet his movements are almost… elegant.
Gregor roared, a guttural sound of pain and shock that sent birds flying out of the trees. Rowena watched him clutch his bleeding shoulder as he writhed on the forest floor.
Serves ye right, ye bastard.
“What kind of devil are ye?” Hamish cried, raising his sword with shaking hands. But fear had made him clumsy, predictable.
The stranger read Hamish’s attack before it began—saw the telltale shift of weight, the slight draw back of his shoulder.
He stepped inside Hamish’s guard as the blade swung down, trapping it against his body.
He just had the time to remove the blade from Gregor, and with deadly efficiency he moved and found a gap between Hamish’s ribs.
Hamish’s eyes widened in shock before he crumpled, unconscious from pain and blood loss.
Both men were neutralized, bleeding profusely but alive.
Yet the entire fight had lasted less than thirty seconds.
The man’s fighting style was unlike any brawl she had witnessed among clan warriors.
He battled with wits, cunning, and unnerving skill.
Every movement was deliberate, calculated.
He fought like a man who had killed before and would kill again without hesitation.
Rowena felt her core tighten, breathless at the display of his sheer power, the potent force of him.
As he made his way to the mound where she was hiding. She noticed blood at his side, and he stumbled slightly, a clear sign he’d taken a hit.
Before she could decide what to do, or even process the complex emotions swirling within her, the man had approached the mound, his voice dry and tinged with a hint of sardonic amusement. “Seems yer chase has come tae an end, lass. Care tae explain what kind o’ trouble ye’ve dragged me intae?”
“Nay trouble, I swear it. The men came on me suddenly in the woods. When I wouldnae yield tae their advances, they gave chase.” The lie tasted like ash on her tongue, but it was the only way to avoid revealing her real identity.
The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Two armed men. Chasing ye like hounds. All fer refusin’ whatever ‘tis they wanted?” His brow lifted in clear disbelief, making her panic. “Seems an awful lot of effort fer a bruised ego.”
Rowena’s heart hammered against her ribs. “It appears they were nae the kind of men who respect being told nay.”
“Aye, but most men dinnae run after a lass for sayin’ nay. And, certainly, those were nae common brigands. They moved like soldiers. Spoke like men takin’ orders.” He leaned back against the mound, arms folding across his chest, his gaze never leaving hers.
His voice dropped low. “So I’ll ask ye again, what are ye really runnin’ from?”
Rowena looked at the man. He was still a stranger—a dangerous one, by the look of it. The ground behind them was littered with the groaning remnants of a fight he’d won with the kind of strength she’d be a fool to misjudge for luck.
Two trained warriors, men who had served her father in battles, who had survived countless skirmishes, reduced to bleeding, broken things in mere moments. And he’d done it with such casual efficiency, as if disarming armed men was no more taxing than swatting flies.
Even now, as he stood calmly beside her, she could sense the leashed ruthlessness that thrummed beneath his composed exterior.
This is nae a man who will be easily crossed, nor one whose protection comes without its perils. And I have landed mesel’ in the center of his attention…
“Nae trouble,” she repeated, even though she didn’t fully believe if herself. “I promise ye.”
“Alright then. If it’ll help ye sleep at night, I’ll pretend tae believe ye, lass. Fer now, that is.”
That man had dealt with the two bloodied, unmoving bodies lying on the ground. The sight sent a ripple through her chest. He’d done that for her. Fought in her defense without so much as asking her name.
Rowena forced herself to meet his piercing and unreadable eyes.
He extended his hand toward her without a word and Rowena took it without hesitation, surprising herself. His hand warmly closed around hers, and calloused skin brushed her knuckles, rough like the hand of a warrior, not a courtly man.