Page 51 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)

CHAPTER THREE

T he man, as big as a bear, erupted from the bushes with a vicious and resounding roar. Isolde saw the thick piece of wood in his hand—to her, it looked big enough to be an actual tree trunk.

“Look who ’tis,” said Merrick. “We’re goin’ tae get us a two fer one.”

“Laird Mackintosh will surely reward us handsomely fer bringin’ in nae only his daughter, but his missin’ prisoner too,” said another.

His companions smiled, no doubt imagining the riches they believed would be heaped upon them when they returned with her and her father’s missing prisoner.

“Are ye ready tae go back in chains then, filth?” Merrick taunted.

The stranger’s smile was cold and menacing. “Ye sure ye dinnae want tae call more of yer friends tae help ye?”

The soldier scoffed. “There’s four of us and one of ye. I like our odds.”

“Let’s get on with it then, eh?” the man said, his voice a deep, rumble.

The man leaped into action before the soldiers were ready, swinging that log in his hand with brutal force.

Isolde winced as it connected with the head of the guard immediately in front of her.

Isolde heard the sharp crack, and the man went limp and dropped immediately.

He turned swiftly and drove the end of his lumber into the belly of the soldier to her right and when he doubled over, the man brought the wood up in a vicious arc.

The man’s head snapped backward violently and he tumbled backward, disappearing over the edge of the creek with a garbled cry.

The stranger advanced on the third soldier, blocking the hard slash of his blade with the stick then drove his fist into the soldier’s face.

The soldier staggered backward and dropped to a knee, blood pouring from his nose.

Merrick charged in, the tip of his blade leading the way.

The stranger danced to the side but not quick enough, as the edge of Merrick’s sword slid along his ribs, opening a shallow slice.

He caught Merrick at the base of his skull with a vicious elbow, sending him stumbling forward.

Merrick fell to his hands and knees and quickly rolled to the side just as the stranger brought his thick wooden club down with enough force that it likely would have split Merrick’s skull open.

Instead, it made wet, sucking sound as it splashed into the muddy trail instead.

The soldier with the bloody nose had recovered enough to rejoin the fight and rushed back in, his blade slicing through the air.

The prisoner danced gracefully out of the way and swung his piece of wood in one fluid movement.

The wood cracked against the side of the soldier’s head, felling him instantly where he lay still and unmoving.

Merrick was on his feet and rushing back into the fight.

He feinted to the left and brought his sword back the other way, slicing the stranger across the upper arm.

He grunted but spun out of the way and dropped to a knee as he swung his club.

It caught Merrick on the side of the knee and dropped him.

With catlike reflexes, the stranger was up and brought the wood down on the back of Merrick’s head.

The captain dropped face first into the muck and was still.

Isolde gaped at the man in disbelief. She could not believe she had just watched him cut through her father’s guard like it was nothing more than a thick stick in his hands.

As the stranger walked around plundering the unconscious men for all he could find—daggers, swords, coin purses, and whatever all else—Isolde studied him closer.

He stepped forward and using one of the daggers he’d taken, gently cut the bindings from her wrist. She stared at him, unsure what to say.

Of course, she had heard the chambermaids speaking of how handsome he was, but Isolde had not seen him close up and gazing into his stormy gray eyes, she felt her heart stutter in her breast. His long, dark hair was wet and plastered to his face and neck, framing a face that was sharp and chiseled with a strong jawline and high cheek bones.

The chambermaids had truly undersold just how handsome he was. Her cheeks reddening, she cleared her throat and tried to push those truly inappropriate thoughts away. They had no place and she was appalled at herself for letting them flash through her mind at all.

“Are ye hurt?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Ye’re Struan Cameron, Laird of Clan Cameron.” It was a statement, not a question. “Ye escaped from me faither’s dark cells.”

“And ye’d be Isolde Mackintosh, daughter of Laird Murdoch Mackintosh then,” he replied gruffly. “And now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can part ways. Nay thanks necessary fer pullin’ yer backside out of the fire.”

“I had meself under control.”

“Aye. Looked like it,” he said with a grin.

She huffed as he turned away, chuckling to himself as he continued what he was doing.

The man ignored her and his mocking, gentle though it was, irritated her every bit as much as when her father’s now unconscious guards had done it earlier.

But she did not know Laird Cameron at all.

Why should his opinion of her matter? She continued to stand there and watch him.

After a few moments, he sighed heavily and turned to her.

“Are ye all right?” he asked.

“Aye. I’m fine. I just…”

Her voice trailed off and he stared at her for a moment, his eyes lingering on her form. His gaze set the inside of her stomach burning. It was an uncomfortable feeling that she didn’t welcome.

“Ye just… what?” he asked.

“I… I dinnae ken. I suppose I’m still gatherin’ meself.”

He nodded and his expression softened. “’Tis understandable. ‘Tis nae an easy thing tae get used tae or comfortable with.”

“What is nae?”

“Bein’ hunted and taken prisoner,” he replied. “Especially nae by yer faither’s own men.”

She hesitated a moment then nodded. “Aye. ‘Twas quite a shock. Quite frightenin’, if I’m bein’ totally honest.”

“Well, ye’re free now,” he said. “Ye can go… wherever ‘twas ye were goin’.”

Isolde continued to stand there, confusion wrapping itself around her mind as she tried to figure out where she was, in fact, going. The truth was, she didn’t know.

“Wait,” she said. “I…”

Her voice trailed off and she saw a flash of irritation sweep across his features. He was obviously as anxious to still be near her father’s castles and lands as she was.

“Why did ye help me?”

His face darkened and his eyes grew thoughtful but guarded. It was as if he was searching for the answers inside himself. The man eventually shook his head.

“I dinnae ken,” he replied. “I just saw ye were in trouble and reacted.”

“Well… thank ye,” she replied. “I’m grateful.”

He nodded. “Ye’re welcome.”

He started to turn away again and Isolde felt another tide of panic welling within her. He seemed to be the answer to the question she hadn’t thought to ask before.

“But… I cannae stay here. I cannae return tae Moy Castle,” she said.

“Ye should,” he replied. “All ye’re goin’ tae manage tae dae is get yerself killed and I’m nae goin’ tae be able tae pull yer backside out of the fire again. I’ve got tae go.”

When she didn’t say anything, he gave her a look that made her blush and continued. “Where is it ye were headed, anyway?” he asked, a teasing tone in his voice. “Ye out tae go meet some lad? Havin’ a tryst yer daddy wouldnae approve of, are ye?”

Isolde’s cheeks flushed and she gaped at him, outrage flooding her veins. “I wouldnae ever! I am nae that kind of lass!”

Her voice echoed around the woods, sharp and high, startling a group of birds who noisily took wing and flew away. He chuckled and shook his head then leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, which sent an unexpected chill through her.

“Aye. Yell louder. I dinnae think the rest of yer faither’s men heard ye,” he said with a grin. “That should work out well fer the both of us, eh?”

Isolde tried to suppress her shudder as the memory of his lips brushing her ears and his warm breath on her neck lingered. Her stomach turned over on itself and she had to swallow the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. She coughed into her hand and raised her eyes to him.

“I just… I cannae go back tae Moy Castle,” she admitted.

“Why nae?”

“Because I cannae,” she said, not looking him in the eye.

“’Tis all ye’re goin’ tae tell me?” he asked and she noticed the curiosity in his voice.

“There’s naethin’ more tae say.”

“Nay secret lad, eh?” he teased.

“I said nae. That I wouldnae dae that,” she replied.

“Then what is it that makes ye need tae flee?”

“Me reasons… they’re me own,” she finally looked at him only to face his stormy eyes.

His gray gaze lingered on her for another moment before a grin quirked the corner of his mouth. He shook his head then turned around and stalked away.

“Good luck tae ye then,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve got a clan tae get back tae. Me people need tae see me alive and I need tae dae what I can tae help them after this… debacle. So, I wish ye the best.”

Isolde stood where she was, watching him walk away.

He stopped and finished picking the pockets of the unconscious men on the ground around them.

He snatched a couple more daggers and tucked them into his sheaths on his belt then picked up Merrick’s sword.

Satisfied he’d taken everything he needed, he continued walking.

Her mind spun furiously. She realized she didn’t stand much of a chance out on her own.

Running from her father’s men was one thing.

She hadn’t even stopped to consider the idea of bandits and brigands roaming the woods.

There would be no way she could take on one of those vicious men, let alone three of them.

If she didn’t have help, she would be in very big trouble.

“Laird Cameron, wait…” she called.