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“ Faisg air a’ chridhe, faisg air an teanga.” Near the heart, near the tongue.

“Answers!” the stranger demanded.

The thug never made it past the first tree, despite his desperate attempt to evade the imposing figure in a mad dash. His grip tightened around the thug’s shoulders. The stranger intercepted him, slamming the roughly dressed man square against the rough bark with a sickening thud.

The stranger’s elegant, flawless appearance was a stark contrast to the barbaric way he attacked. His clothing was tailored perfectly to his muscular body, emphasizing his domineering stature with each brutal movement.

“Please, I have a family to feed,” the thug stammered, as a hopeless litany of excuses spilled from his lips.

“I am desperate, and I swear I wasn’t going to touch a hair on her head!

Just scare her a lil’ is all. She really shouldn’t have been out here on her own, unsavory folks in these woods.

I know—I have seven children, two of them are so sick they barely?—”

The stranger’s patience snapped like a twig as a whirlwind of controlled rage was unleashed on the thug.

His strong hands made quick work of landing a brutal flurry of punches, first on his sides and then square across the bridge of his nose.

It was then that Catriona took in the sheer size and magnitude of the stranger, looking beyond the threatening display to admire the masculine beauty he had.

Och, those eyes, so deep and mysterious like pools of cool water. His hair is a bit too perfectly coiffed for a man, sittin’ just so… but it suits him just like his neatly trimmed beard. His jawline’s strong as steel, reminds me of a rod that cannae be broken. Aye, what a handsome stranger…

The thug’s cries became desperate as he fell and curled into a fetal position, making his surrender obvious with waves of his dirty hands.

Catriona and the girl shuddered at the groaning sound.

She prayed that the stranger didn’t take it too far, much as the brute deserved every blow he got.

Surely the girl had had enough to fear for a day.

The stranger hauled the man up to his feet by the scruff of his neck. His eyes burned with a cold fury as he took in the face of this thug.

“You ever come near a child again, any child ,” he snarled in a low, menacing promise, “and you’ll regret the day you were born. That’s a promise I do not intend to break. You can trust me on that, you scum.”

He shoved the thug away with both hands, sending him stumbling to find his footing.

Like the coward he was, he scrambled to his feet and fled out of sight, disappearing into the shadows.

The stranger’s head turned, his gaze hardening as he saw Catriona.

He had been so preoccupied with the man that he likely hadn’t had the capacity to remember her.

He took a step forward toward her with his hands open. “Put the gun down,” he commanded, his voice sharp and even. “The game is over.”

“I’m nae sure what kind of sports ye fancy, sir—but I am nae laughin’. Why, I was just tryin’ to suffer through a game of Pall Mall, and now here I am.”

Catriona shook her head from side to side, her deep black curls falling from her chignon.

“Do ye ken this lass?” she asked nervously, her eyes narrowed as she examined him for any faults. “Ye have nae idea the state I found this wee flower in. She was scared right out of her skin! I willnae release her to just anyone.”

“Put the damn gun down,” he pleaded, although his voice was laced with a nervous edge.

Catriona did not back down, despite the palpable strength she felt emanate from the stranger as he stared through her.

Instead, she kept the gun steady in her hand as she continued to point it at him.

Her shoulders squared with resolve as she considered the welfare of the young girl, the weight of that duty heavy in her chest. She knelt down to meet the girl’s gaze, taking her cheek softly in her right hand, looking deep into her blue eyes, looking for a sign.

“I am nae convinced that ye ken this lass. She’s still shiverin’, even now,” Catriona observed, looking up now at the stranger.

Then, the girl silently tugged at Catriona’s skirts and nodded. A silent message passed between them. It felt as if the girl was trying to say, “ It’s all right, I know him.” Catriona’s mind started to spin as she considered her next move.

Aye, she kens this man. But what kind of person could have let this wee flower get in this position in the first place? Aye, all I can see is red in me eyes. I cannae think straight.

As she continued to consider her next move, the girl quietly stepped away from her.

She slowly walked toward the stranger, her head hung low, almost in apology.

She took his hand, and he returned her grasp, her touch a silent declaration of trust. At the sight, Catriona lowered the pistol and carefully slipped it back into the hidden pocket of her dress beneath her shawl.

Who is this man?

Richard’s eyes swept over Lydia now that the pistol had been lowered, and no imminent threats seemed to be looming.

A silent inspection: no bruises, no cuts. Just the crushing knowledge that she had experienced something no little girl should, after she had already seen so much.

It had been such a short time since her parents had suffered their fate. The irony chilled him. The effects of this day would be a worry for another day, though, this could have been so much worse.

Relief washed over him. She was all right. And yet, this was quickly replaced by a wave of anger directed at the Scot.

“What the hell were you thinking, pointing a pistol so close to a child?” he demanded, his voice growling low. “You could have gotten her killed with that thing! A weapon is not a toy. Do you even know how to use it?”

“I was protectin’ her, which is somethin’ ye werenae doin’, m’ lord,” the Scot retorted as she held her chin up high. “And I dinnae miss.”

Richard stepped closer, his eyes burning into hers. Their chestnut depths burned with fury, which only made him angrier.

What right did this Scot have to judge him?

“Do you make a habit of brandishing pistols in public?”

“Only when men deserve it,” she snapped.

“And what if he’d disarmed you, turned that gun on you?” Richard pressed, unwilling to let the brazenness of this act go.

What would have happened if she hadn’t been there to hold off the thug before I came?

He shivered again at the thought, looking at the creature in front of him. Only then did he start to really take her in. With the prospect of seeing his ward in such peril, he had barely registered the Scot in front of him.

She had ebony locks that flowed down her back in long curls, unfussy and natural, hanging around her full breasts. Her chestnut eyes registered honesty and calm, like wet earth after a needed rainstorm.

It had been so long since he allowed himself to stop and actually look at a woman, and this, this was a lot of woman.

She was curvy in all the right places. He dared to let his eyes rove downward. She was so unlike the high-society women who would throw themselves at him, hoping to land themselves a duke.

In another situation, this beauty would be a most welcome diversion.

He was not sure if the exertion of fighting off that lowlife had gotten to him, or the sight of this woman had raised his body temperature.

“I handled the situation just fine, m’ lord. It didnae happen,” the Scot replied, her brown eyes flashing red as her words brought him back down to reality. “You’re the one bleedin’ after all, sir.” She pointed to his knuckles.

“Your sharp tongue will land you in trouble one day,” Richard warned as he took out a handkerchief and began dabbing the blood on his knuckles.

“And yer fists will land ye in jail,” the Scot snapped back.

“Hardly a ladylike response, madam.”

“A real lass can stand up for what’s right, and ye’d do well to remember that. I am more lady than a brute like you could ever understand or dare to handle.”

“Handling you is not something I will ever have to be concerned with, my lady ,” he said, regretting the double entendre as it escaped his lips.

Lydia tugged on Richard’s sleeve, her small face tilted up at him. The tension in Richard’s shoulders eased slightly as he looked down at her and away from the Scot, focusing his energy on her. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave a tight squeeze. She leaned into him comfortably.

“Clearly, ye care for yer daughter,” the Scot observed, her voice softening slightly as she tested out the word to see if it would take root.

“She’s not my daughter,” Richard corrected, “She is my niece.”

Catriona’s gaze shifted to the girl, who nodded in confirmation but didn’t seem in the least affectionate. Did he tend to her out of affection or merely out of duty? she wondered. That he cared for the child was evident, but there was no warmth in it. He was as cold and unmoving as stone.

“We need to get back,” the stranger said, his voice clipped.

He took the girl’s hand, but she slipped away, running towards Catriona.

Then, she offered Catriona a small, shy smile and patted her chest, a silent thank you.

Catriona felt a smile creep up her mouth.

With slow, tentative movements, the little girl pulled a hairpin from her own hair and offered it to Catriona, the shy smile broadening.

“Och, that’s nae necessary,” Catriona said, her voice gentle.

“I was happy to come to yer aid, lassie! And I would do it again, although I surely expect that willnae be necessary. I can see that deep inside that heart of yers is a warrior, just waitin’ to come out. Aye, ye’ll be just like Scáthach.”

“I think we are getting ahead of ourselves here,” the stranger growled.

The little girl pressed the hairpin into her palm again, insisting. Catriona didn’t want to insult the child; clearly, this was a big gesture. She was grateful, and Catriona wanted to honor her appreciation and wisdom. She knew this could have been bad.

Catriona’s eyes softened. “Thank ye,” she whispered as she closed her hand gently around the beautiful hairpin. “I will treasure it, always.”

It was a lovely little thing, the delicate filigree and gold adornment with tiny stones. No wonder it had caught the thief’s eye.

The girl’s uncle watched the exchange. If he had the slightest particle of sense, he’d respect his niece for the gesture, clearly, she knew the position she had been in today.

With a final, lingering glance at Catriona, he took the girl’s hand firmly and led her away. There were no more words to say.

Catriona watched them go, the hairpin clutched in her hand, her gaze lingering on the man’s retreating figure.