Page 54 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

The wind refused to die down. It shrieked between the pine boughs and rattled the leaves in frantic bursts.

Lavina’s cloak clung to her back, soaked through, her legs streaked with mud as she and Maisie stumbled deeper into the forest. They were breathless, terrified, but driven by something stronger than fear: the will to survive.

Lightning forked again in the distance, casting eerie shadows over the glen. The scent of pine, rain, and wet earth clung to the air. Every branch snapped too loudly. Every footstep felt like a herald of doom.

Maisie coughed beside her, her small frame trembling. “Lavina, I cannae—I cannae run much longer.”

“Just a little farther,” Lavina whispered, squeezing her sister’s hand.

Her eyes scanned the undergrowth desperately. There—just off the path, half-hidden behind a thicket of brambles—stood an old tree, massive and ancient. Its trunk was hollowed out from rot or lightning or time itself, forming a dark cavern beneath its twisted roots.

“In there!” She tugged Maisie forward, ignoring the bite of the thorns on her palms.

She pushed her sister into the hollow and crawled in after her. The space was damp and cramped, but there was room enough for both of them to huddle close.

They held their breath.

Moments later, hooves pounded past.

Four—no, five riders. They thundered down the slope, voices raised in curses and commands. Lavina pressed Maisie’s face to her chest and dared not move. Through the gap between the roots, she watched.

The torches cut through the trees, their flickering light illuminating the rain-slick trunks. Then, something shifted.

A voice barked from beyond the trail, deep and commanding. “That’s far enough.”

The riders pulled their mounts to a stop. Lavina squinted through the gap, her heart lurching as she made out the tartan on the newcomers’ shoulders—deep green and black with a sliver of crimson.

Her breath caught.

It was the McGowan tartan.

Her blood ran cold.

If only she hadn’t come so far north. The storm had misdirected her, causing her to misinterpret her surroundings, and now, their lives hung on the edge of a blade.

Panic surged in her chest. This was McGowan land. The very clan that had destroyed her family. Who had sent her father and mother’s souls directly to Hades. Who had burned her brother’s body until it was nothing but ash and bones.

Maisie whimpered.

“Shhh, lass,” Lavina whispered, brushing back her sister’s damp hair. “Dinnae make a sound.”

“We’re trackin’ runaways,” one of Micah’s men barked. “Nay business of yers.”

“Everything that happens on McGowan land is our business,” came the steely reply. “Ye’re nae welcome here. Turn back.”

There was a pause, then the unmistakable sound of steel being unsheathed.

Lavina tightened her hold on Maisie. She couldn’t see the fight, only flickers of torchlight over wet bark, and could only hear the clash of blades and the cries of men. Rain made the soil slick, and horses reared and screamed.

In the end, it didn’t last long. Micah’s men were no match for trained Highland warriors defending their borders. When the fight died down, Lavina dared to take another peek.

Bodies lay on the path. Not all were dead, but all were wounded.

And then a shadow moved closer to the tree.

Lavina’s heart leaped into her throat. She pressed back, but it was too late.

A figure crouched, his eyes scanning the brush. Rain ran down his cheek, mingling with blood at the small cut above his brow. His gaze locked onto the hollow.

He reached forward and peeled back the moss.

“Oi,” he called, his voice sharp but not unkind. “There’s someone in here.”

Lavina squeezed her sister to her side.

The jig was up.

A moment later, they were both gently pulled out of the hollow, blinking into the torchlight. Lavina raised her hands instinctively, shielding Maisie behind her.

Five men surrounded them now—tall, broad-shouldered Highlanders with weather-worn faces and wary eyes. Their swords were slick with rain and blood. Lavina’s gaze shifted to the hilts of their blades, each bearing the same emblem.

McGowan.

It was a slap in the face. She had come full circle. This was where her parents and brother had died. It was destined that this would be where she would draw her last breath as well.

God help us.

“What do we have here?” one of the men muttered, eyeing her up and down. “Nae dressed for travel, are ye, lass?”

Another chuckled. “She looks like she came from a wedding feast, then rolled through a swamp.”

Their laughter was low and unsettling.

Lavina’s cheeks burned with shame. Her dress clung to her in all the wrong places, soaked and mud-streaked, the fabric molded to her every curve. Maisie sniffled behind her, drawing the men’s attention.

One stepped forward, tilting his head. “Pretty little thing. Looks like ye’ve both had a rough night. Maybe we can make it easier.”

He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing her damp hair.

Lavina jerked back. “Dinnae touch me!”

The man grinned. “Feisty. I like that.”

Before he could speak another word, a voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip. “Enough.”

All heads turned.

A tall figure emerged from the trees, his presence commanding. His cloak was black, and his boots were caked in mud. Though no crest marked his tunic, the other men stepped back deferentially.

His face was partially obscured by the shadows, but Lavina could see the line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, and the reflection of the firelight in his stormy gray eyes. He walked slowly toward them, as if assessing.

The man who’d reached for her stepped aside, sheepish. “Me Laird?—”

“Ye’ll nae lay a hand on either of them again,” the Laird ordered, his voice quiet but menacing. “Do I make meself clear?”

The guard bowed his head. “Aye, Laird McGowan.”

Lavina stiffened.

This was the man who had her clan’s blood on his hands? This was the son of the brute who had shattered her world?

The Laird turned his gaze on her, sharp and curious. “Who are ye?”

Lavina raised her chin. “Nae one of import. Only a girl seekin’ shelter from men who would do her harm.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are ye a thief, then? Fleein’ from justice?”

“Do we look like thieves?”

“Ye’d be surprised by how appearances can be deceiving. So, ye’re a runaway?”

She hesitated. “Aye. From me uncle.”

He crossed his arms. “And what’s yer name, runaway?”

She bit her lip. Giving her name felt like handing him a blade to slit her throat. But lying might lead to worse consequences.

“Lavina,” she revealed. “And this is me sister, Maisie.”

“What’s yer clan?”

She hesitated again. “Does that matter? We’ve left it behind us. If ye want us to swear fealty to ye, then we will. Please, we cannae go back.”

Her answer seemed to intrigue him.

The Laird studied her for a moment longer, then turned to his men. “Take them back to the keep. Make sure that the young one is given dry clothes, food, and rest. As for the other, see that she’s brought to me study. There are a few questions I have for her.”

“Let me take a guess as to why ye’ve brought trouble to me lands.” Theo stirred the dying embers of the fire and watched as they danced in the air.

Glancing over his shoulder, he eyed the girl. She had the face of an angel, round and full of life. It was the defiance in her gaze that stunned him the most. She was no doubt a fighter, a kindred spirit of sorts.

She flinched the second his gaze met hers. And why wouldn’t she? He had elicited the same response since he was eight. It was the scars that ran down the side of his face.

“Please,” she mumbled, before letting out an unintelligible series of vowels.

Theo could only assume she was cursing him. For what, though, he wasn’t sure. Propping the iron poker beside the fireplace, he turned around, allowing the flames to dry his soaked back.

“Now, give me a moment. I’m sure I heard yer story before,” he said, wagging a finger at her. His eyes narrowed, and a crooked grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Yer uncle wants to marry ye off to someone ye cannae stand to be with, and ye ran away, as that was the only means of escape.”

He studied her, hoping to catch her tells. He didn’t like the fact that she was so adorable. The way her hair clung to her neck and shoulders stirred his desires. But more so was the way her dress hugged her every curve, leaving more than enough for his imagination.

She lowered her head, her gaze shifting to the fire. “Nae me. Me uncle would never allow me to disgrace our family in that way. Nay. He wanted to marry off me sister to the oldest laird in all of Scotland. I couldnae hear it. She’s barely of age. Nae even a woman, really, and he wants to…”

She paused, refusing to let the words do any further damage.

“We need a place to stay until I can figure out where to go. Please, me sister doesnae have it in her to leave now. She needs to rest. Just give us until she can stand on her feet again.”

Theo straightened. “And why should I allow ye to stay here? What value would ye bring to me clan?”

“Me sister can read, as can I. She’s good with her studies and is a tender hand with livestock. And I can help with the sick. I’ve studied herbs, and I instinctively ken me way around a kitchen.”

“Aye, I’m sure ye do,” Theo said absentmindedly.

She could have been talking about the weather for all he cared. It wouldn’t have mattered one bit what came out of her lips, for she would find a way to bewitch him.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Lavina demanded, tilting her head to the side.

Theo’s chest tightened the second he caught her indignation.

“Nothing,” he answered with a wave of his hand and moved swiftly to his desk. “It’s nae important. What is important is the answer to me next question. Now, I want ye to be open and honest. What would ye say to marriage?”