Page 10 of The Laird’s Guardian Angel (Highland Lairds #3)

9

T wilight illuminated the road before them like a mystical path, daring them to move forward. They were only a mile or two from Ramsey castle, less than half an hour at a slow pace before he'd put his knuckles to the door.

"What the devil?" Alistair muttered. Up ahead, in the center of the road, something lay blocking the center.

Well, perhaps not lay…

The crouching figure shifted to stand, and Alistair held up his hand for his men to stop. In the moonlight, he could have sworn the apparition was a woman. The figure spotted them and scurried into the woods—an ambush!

Alistair's gaze darted toward the cover of trees, and he gave the signal to raise their targes, prepared for a hailstorm of arrows or leaping bodies.

"Bloody hell, we're about to be set upon," Duncan groused.

This was the last thing he and his men needed. Had the bloody Sassenach and his men really dropped off a daughter to Ramsey or had they set a trap for the Sinclairs? Alistair was not normally so na?ve, why had he believed the man sight unseen?

"Mind the road," Alistair ordered as he took off at a gallop toward where the figure had run. As he reached the entrance to the woods, he leaped off his horse, following the figure by foot, shoving branches and brambles out of his way.

Ahead of him, footsteps crunched haphazardly and carelessly through the forest in desperation to be away from him. The figure swayed as it tried to decipher which way to turn, jerking left, right, then barreling straight ahead. Alistair started to doubt this was an ambush. Danger still lurked, for the apparition of a woman must have been running from something or someone. And it wasn't just him.

Generally, in a dangerous situation, the hair on his nape prickled, and his blood filled with battle lust, instincts kicking his body into action, but none of that was happening now. And his instincts were always spot on; right now, he did not detect danger.

"Stop!" he shouted into the woods.

The figure did not stop.

Already exhausted from the battle and the journey, Alistair yanked energy from somewhere within him and rushed forward, gaining on the whizzing creature. The closer he got, the more the shape took form. Hair flew out in long waves behind her—in a fight with the wind—and even in the dull light of the moon, he could make out it was golden in color. A slim, curvy figure.

Was he chasing… a woman?

Ramsey's daughter? Had the Englishman been telling the truth? If so, why on earth was she running away from the castle? Now, the hairs on his arms were prickling. Something wasn't right.

Alistair didn't know the lass's name and cursed himself for not asking the Sassenach , but he thought perhaps if he called out to her, she might stop. Worth a try. "Ramsey's daughter!" His bellow caused a scurry from the night animals who'd been hiding from their stampede.

Shockingly, it worked. The lass jerked to a stop, whirling to look at him for a fraction of a second before she yelped and kept on running.

Bloody hell. He'd done the opposite of what he wanted, and instead of gaining her attention to make her quit running, had frightened her even more.

"I am no foe!" he shouted as he gave chase once more, realizing that was exactly what a foe would say. She was probably smart to run. He'd have told his sisters to do the same thing. Run far and fast, and don't look back.

The way she moved about the woods, it was obvious she had no idea where she was going. In fact, she was making a large circle. Perhaps if he stood in one place, she'd simply dash into him at some point.

"I want to help ye," he encouraged, picking up his pace, the pain in his shoulder screaming him to stop moving his arms.

There were only a dozen paces between them now. Ten, eight, seven…

Without warning, she spun around, moonlight glinting off metal. In her hands, she clutched a dagger and pointed toward him.

"Leave me alone." The words tore from her throat in ragged breaths. Her dialect was English, highborn, and oddly sweet despite how he felt about the English and her clear upset. "Do not come any closer."

She waved the dagger rather haphazardly.

"Careful, lass, ye'll take your eye out." Alistair held up his hands to show he meant her no harm, as he'd said before. That he wasn't going to lop her head off or ravage her, whatever she thought. He also kept himself from letting her know the tiny dagger in her hands was not likely to stop him or anyone else who wanted to do her harm. The same warning he'd issued to his sister, make it count. Perhaps later, if there was a later, he'd show her where to put the dagger in order to stall her attacker and give her enough time to run.

A gap in the trees allowed moonlight to shine down on her, illuminating her. The gown she had on was soaked, torn, and muddy on the hem. She wore boots, and from quick observation, Alistair noted they were small, like the footprints they'd noted earlier on the road. There were smears on her face, either of blood or mud he couldn't tell.

There was a wild look in her blue eyes, the same blue as Chief Ramsey, Alistair could see. So, this was Ramsey's daughter. Alas, the Sassenach had not been lying. That would be a first. And yet, why was she out here running around in the middle of the night rather than safe in her bed?

"I promise no' to harm ye, lass. Ye're safe with me." Alistair took a slow, steady step forward, arms still held up in front of him.

The lass waved the dagger, slicing up the air between them. "I swear, I'll…I'll scream."

Alistair looked around them. They stood in the woods, surrounded by trees and lichen and the scurry of forest animals trying to get out of harm's way. Somewhere back on the road, his men kept a lookout for whoever had been chasing her. From the looks of her dress, it might have been an entire army.

Alistair tried to look casual, shrugging. "Ye can scream if it'll make ye feel better. I doubt anyone would hear ye."

She yelped and jumped a foot back, and he realized that was perhaps not the best thing to say at the moment, for it only made him look like he meant to make her scream. And if she tripped, fell backward, and hurt herself, it would be entirely his fault.

Alistair shook his head. "I didna mean to frighten ye, lass. My sister sometimes finds relief in screaming." He pressed his hands to his chest. "I'm Alistair Sinclair, of Dunbais Castle. I mean ye no harm. I only came to verify that Ramsey's daughter was indeed delivered."

She swallowed, eyeing him up and down as thoroughly as if he were cattle on up for auction. "Delivered?"

"Aye. There was an Englishman on the road with a group of men. We stopped them, and he told us he'd been delivering Ramsey's daughter." There was no point in telling her the rest of the conversation or that he thought the man was an idiot.

Her brow wrinkled, and the pink bow of her lips turned into a frown. " Sassenach ? But he was here. I mean there, in the castle."

"Aye," Alistair drawled out. Was the woman daft? That was precisely what he said? Why did she appear confused?

"Do you mean to say it was Edgar who murdered my father?"

Alistair did a double take, even going so far as to take a step back as her words hit him as hard as the dagger might have had she been able to sink it into his chest. "Murdered your father?"

Her arms dropped, and she shuddered, drooping down. Every angle of her body exuded grief. "Aye." The word, so small, so filled with sadness, cut Alistair to the bone.

"Ramsey is dead?" he asked for clarification.

A sound escaped her throat, half-gasp, half-whimper as if she'd only just reminded herself of the fact and suffered a shock all over again. Her head came up, her body stiffening. Gone was the sadness and replaced with a violent anger he'd rarely witnessed in his life from a woman. Once from his sister Iliana when she was bested in the training field by a welp she loathed, and once from the healer he'd thought he'd loved when he told her they could never be.

"He killed him," she seethed.

"The man on the road? Did he also kill your mother?"

"What?" She shook her head. "Not Edgar, Sassenach did it. My father named his killer."

Alistair was finally catching on to what she was saying. "Your father called him Sassenach ?"

"Aye, that's what I said, aren't you listening?" She sounded exasperated, and he couldn't blame her. Poor thing had been through so much in so short a time.

Alistair nodded slowly. " Sassenach is Gaelic for an English person."

Her mouth formed a little shocked O. "It is not a name?"

"Nay, lass."

"An English person," she whispered. "Oh, my God in heaven, help me." She made the sign of a cross over her chest. "There was more than one, the castle is under attack. And they said…" She shook her head. "I can't say what they said. I don't know you."

"I told ye, I'm Alistair Sinclair." He held out his arm, ready for her to grab hold and shake, unsure if that was customary with English women or not.

She stared at his open palm. "Sinclair, my mother said I could trust the Sinclairs."

"Is your mother…?" He didn't want to rub salt into an open wound, but Alistair needed to understand what was happening.

"Well, she didn't exactly say I could trust them." She groaned. "Just that they were handsome and fearsome." She glanced up at him then, as if trying to figure out if what her mother had said was true.

Nothing she was saying made any sense. Alistair briefly considered slapping her to get her attention, but he thought that might not go over very well, especially since he'd promised he meant her no harm. A slap to snap her out of her thoughts would likely be taken as an aggression. And if his sisters knew he was even considering it, they might slap him first. Aye, better to keep his hands to himself in the present moment.

"Lass, snap out of it," he ordered. "Ye're no' making any sense. Tell me what's happened so we can depart these godforsaken woods."

The lass glanced up at him, startled by his demand. But she nodded as if his order had indeed snapped her out of her confusion. "There was an attack on my father's castle. They killed him, and when he lay dying, they confessed to some plans…" Her voice trailed off as if she were reliving that moment again.

"What plans?" he prodded.

She shook her head. "The Ramseys, they need help. Do you have men with you?" She looked over his shoulder. "Only one?"

"Only one?" he muttered, turning to see Broderick standing close. "I told ye to mind the road."

Broderick shrugged. "Duncan's got it, and ye were gone so long we wondered if the wee lass had taken ye down. Couldna let ye get maimed."

"By a wee lass?" Alistair raised a brow.

Broderick chuckled.

The lass in question held up her dagger again, waving it around.

"Och, ye'll take your eye out, lass," Broderick said.

She frowned. "Why do you both keep saying that?"

"Ye'd best put that away," Alistair said softly. "And come with me. We'll help ye."

"They are under attack. I escaped. Oh, the poor people. Bessie and Gregor, we must help them. They've all hidden, I'm sure, as I saw no one when I escaped. We have to get the villains out."

Alistair held out his hand, nodding when she looked at his outstretched palm and then back at his face. "Come along now. We're going to help, but we canna leave ye here in the woods. 'Tis no' safe for a lass to be out here alone."

"I'm not going back there." She shuddered. "The Sassenach will murder me."

Broderick let out a snort, and Alistair shot him a warning glance.

Did she not realize what she was saying? The lass was a Sassenach. But the irony of her fear and statement was lost on her, and Alistair wasn't about to correct her. She was indeed in distress by what she'd seen tonight and, likely having grown up on English soil, had never witnessed any sort of battle since most of the Sassenachs crossed the borders to maim the Scots.

"We'll no' let any harm come to ye. Ye're under our protection now. What is your name?"

She glanced up at him, shuddering as she caught his eyes, and then glancing away. "I'm Chief Ramsey now."

Alistair let that bit of information rest in his mind, for it was likely true. Yet, she still hadn't offered her given name, and if the castle was truly under attack, then they didn't have much time to waste in him trying to coax it out of her.

"We are at your service, Chief Ramsey," he said, playing along with her. There was no confirmation yet if her father was dead or if she'd even made it far enough to be at the castle. They were at least a mile away, and what English woman could travel so far in her state?

Perhaps the man on the road had simply dropped her here, and she'd been running in circles ever since.

"Come now." He stepped closer, holding out his hand once more.

She stared at it and then put her trembling palm against his. He would have carried her, but she might have taken that for an abduction, and she was so skittish he didn't want to frighten her any more than he already had, especially if they were going to get down to the heart of what was happening.

Broderick took up the rear as they went to the road where his men waited. Duncan nodded, raising a brow at the sight of the lass.

"Ramsey's under attack," Alistair said. "I've offered our assistance."

Not one of his men balked, and Alistair was proud of their loyalty and sense of duty.

"Sassenach has killed my father." The lass's statement had every head swiveling toward her.

Alistair was uncertain exactly what he thought of the woman and whether her words were to be trusted, especially in her state. But there was only one way to find out: to take her with them.