Page 19 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

S truan’s eyes fluttered then opened. His head throbbed and his back still felt like it was on fire, but he was alive and had been left where they had been attacked.

He wasn’t sure how or why he’d been left alive, but he sat up, thankful for it all the same.

He groaned as he got to his feet, his stomach roiling and his throat burning with bile.

On wobbly legs, he walked to the river and took a long swallow, taking a moment to clear his head.

Once he’d wiped away most of the cobwebs, he looked around.

Isolde was gone and he recalled that she had plunged into the bushes after he’d screamed at her to run.

But she had not circled back. A yawning chasm opened in his heart and the pit of his stomach.

If she hadn’t come back, it meant she was either still on the run or had been taken.

That was probably why he’d been left alive.

The MacPherson soldier who’d put him down didn’t have time and had to go after Isolde.

She had been the target. He had merely been an inconvenience to them, which also suggested they hadn’t known he was traveling with her.

Struan started off in the direction he’d seen Isolde run and hoped he hadn’t been out long.

He scanned the trees and ground as he walked, searching for any sign of her.

And after about five minutes, he found his first one.

The branches on a bush to his left had been freshly broken and a few drops of blood dotted the leaves.

Seeing the crimson spots made his stomach clench and sent a bright flash of fear and anger through him but Struan swallowed it down. They would not hurt her. They’d been sent to capture her and drag her back to MacPherson so she could be forced to wed him then breed an heir.

The lass is nae yer responsibility…

That silent voice inside of him reminded Struan that Isolde was the daughter of the man that had murdered his older sister in cold blood.

He was never meant to protect her. He was never meant to be with her.

Isolde’s family was his sworn and forever enemy and he would not be pleased until the Mackintosh name had been erased from the world for what Murdoch had done.

Nobody would blame him for walking away. For going back to Achnacarry alone. He could turn and leave, go back home and get his clan in order. He could start preparing his people to get Finlay back. And it would be perfectly understandable.

But as the thoughts flowed through his mind, he shook his head as twin waves of guilt and shame washed over him.

He had given Isolde his word that he would protect her.

The thought of something happening to her at the hands of that bastard MacPherson nearly drove him to his knees.

He stared in the direction she’d gone and gritted his teeth.

I cannae, I just cannae leave her.

Struan followed the path of broken branches and crimson droplets. His heart pounded in his ears and fear flowed through his veins like liquid fire as he followed the trail, terrified of what he might find at the end of it.

He picked up his pace, his walk turning to a trot, which turned to a run. Every moment that passed was a moment she seemed further away from him and the fear he would never see Isolde again drove him forward.

He pushed on and soon after, the echo of a scream filled the woods.

He listened carefully, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound.

He knew it had been Isolde. He’d recognized the sound of her voice, and it made his heart swell with hope.

Grimacing through the pain that gripped him like an iron fist, he pushed himself forward, running as quietly as he could in the direction of the sound.

His legs were weak, and his head spun from the pain that racked him, but Struan finally found her.

He stood behind a thick bush, peering through the branches.

Just on the other side, he saw that Isolde had been tied to a tree and the soldier who’d taken her was kneeling beside the river, washing his face and tending to his own wounds.

Isolde looked a little battered and would likely come away with a few bruises, but she was alive.

Closing his eyes, Struan took a deep breath and quietly exhaled, calming his mind and body, and pushing through the pain.

When he felt grounded, he burst from his cover and charged forward.

The soldier, alerted by the sound of Struan coming, stood up and reached for the sword on his belt, but it was too late.

Struan’s blade pierced the man’s chest and punched through his back.

His eyes were wide, and his face had paled, a thick red bubble rose from his mouth with a gurgling gasp.

Struan yanked the blade free and pushed the man forward.

He plunged into the river with a loud splash, turning the water around him red.

Standing on the bank, Struan watched the soldier float away with the current.

Once he was gone, he turned and dashed back to where Isolde was tethered to the tree.

She stared at him with disbelief and relief warring upon her face at the same time.

“I thought ye were dead,” she gasped.

“Wantin’ tae get rid of me already lass?” he asked with a crooked grin.

Struan sheathed his blade then pulled a dagger from his belt and quickly cut through her bonds.

He took her face in his hands, inspecting her closely, then searched her body.

Other than some scrapes and bruises, she had no other visible wounds, which sent a wave of relief washing through him.

He turned away though, unable to meet her eyes.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I… I told ye I’d protect ye and I failed.”

“Ye didnae fail. I’m here. I’m safe,” she said. “And that’s because of ye.”

He appreciated her words but still felt the sharp twinge of shame that for a moment, he had failed to keep her safe. And that for another moment, he had considered leaving her behind.

He lowered his head, unable to look her in the eye, feeling unworthy of her grace. But she put a gentle hand, warm and smooth, on his cheek and raised his head and was immediately jolted by a punch of emotion so powerful, it drove the breath from his lungs.

It was in that moment that Struan realized the growing depth of feelings he had for her.

He had never intended to let himself feel anything for her.

He’d made a bargain with her. And that was supposed to be it.

But as he stared into the depths of her blue eyes, he felt like he was drowning in a pool of emotions.

“I’m all right, Struan. Ye saved me life,” she said. “Again.”

“Ye all right?” he asked.

“Aye. I’m fine.”

He raised his eyes, and their gazes met.

Struan’s heart thundered in his chest and as he stared into her eyes, the pain that had gripped him faded.

In that moment, he felt nothing but gratitude that Isolde was alive, unhurt, and now back with him.

Overcome by emotion, he pulled her to him and kissed her.

Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that was so desperate and raw, it stole the breath from his lungs.

Isolde leaned into him, gripping his tunic as their tongues lashed one another, feeding each other’s need and desperation.

Struan’s head spun and his body lit up. A powerful heat roared through his veins, filling him with a profound desire he’d never felt for anybody before.

And the way she kissed him back, it seemed that she felt the same.

Slowly, they parted, left breathless by the power of their kiss.

Isolde pressed her forehead to his chest, still gripping his tunic in a death grip, as if she was afraid of letting go of him.

He gently stroked her hair, needing to feel her, needing to know she was really there with him.

Her blue eyes glittered in the fading daylight as she turned her face up to him.

They both remained silent, neither of them seeming to know what to say.

“Are ye sure ye’re all right?” Struan spoke first.

“Aye. I’m fine,” she said as a tremor passed through her body. “But I saw ye get injured. I was afraid?—”

She bit off her words and Struan laid a gentle hand on her cheek. “I’m fine.”

As her hand grazed the wound in his back, he winced, a low groan passing his lips. With the adrenaline from the fight fading, the pain came flooding back in and she stared at him, worry etched into her features.

“Ye’re nae fine,” she said.

“I’m—”

“If ye say ye’re fine again, I’ll box yer bleedin’ ears,” she said.

A crooked grin crossed his lips. She gnawed on her lower lip as she stared into his eyes.

“Now, come on,” Isolde said. “Let’s see tae yer wounds.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“That ‘tis more like it.”