Chapter 1 #3
“I have water,” she said. She clutched at the water skin which hung from her belt. Then, she jerked her chin over her shoulder, indicating the spot where she left Star. “I can offer you what’s left in this skin, but there’s more. Over there. With my horse.”
“Go home,” he said brusquely, and the quietness of the order made her heart race unhelpfully.
He moved another step forward, closing the already too-small distance between them, and she took one involuntary step back before she caught herself and stopped.
“Go home, lock yer doors, and forget ye were in this part of the forest.”
“There is blood running into your hand.”
“Aye.” Because they stood so near to each other, Isobel was almost sure she could feel it when he tightened his grip on the dirk.
“And there is a dead man in that stream and another loose in those trees who’ll tell whoever sent him exactly what he saw.
I daenae have the time or the interest in yer charity, and I daenae want it.
” He tilted his head, just slightly, and the gesture was not kind.
“What I want is for ye to get on yer horse and ride until ye cannae see these trees anymore.”
“How can you claim my offer as charity? I’m just trying to help!” Isobel was clearly irritated with this stubborn man now. Who did he think he was? Just because he was handsome, capable, and clearly deadly, did not mean he was above her.
Though, maybe, she should take heed of his words and run out of there. But Isobel was never particularly good at following instructions. And she wasn’t about to begin.
“Ye Lowlanders are all the same,” the man said as a dark look of loathing flashed through his eyes.
His words spurted out coldly, causing Isobel’s blood to chill.
“Ye watch us bleed, and then ye hold out yer hand as though that makes ye somethin’ better than ye are.
It doesnae.” He turned from her then, a dismissal so complete it was almost physical. “Take yer water skin and go.”
“And what do you suggest we are?”
He glanced back at her over his shoulder, and the look was full of venom. “Crows. Ye circle around us, waiting for the perfect moment to take our resources. Just like the English.”
His words . pierced a piece of her heart.
She knew how the Highlanders felt about those from the Lowlands and the English.
She had heard tales of their mistrust and battles throughout all her early years.
But she was not like the others. She was not entirely English or of the Lowlands, either.
The blood of the Highlanders ran within her, through her mother, and Isobel would not allow this warrior to discount her heritage or lump her in with anyone else.
She stared at him and contemplated what she could say that might change something between them, but she held her tongue for a moment before speaking.
I should go. He has told me to go four times, and he is holding a sword. I should absolutely go.
But her pride did not let her. Not when this man, who clearly did not know her at all, had so many thoughts about her and her people.
She knew that the Highlanders were not fond of the lower clans.
She could agree that many Lowland clans had clear alliances with the English, most going against their own people.
But it was all for survival. And this man did not know her, or her clan, personally to accuse them of being crows.
She had never felt so offended to be compared to an animal as she was at the moment.
“You do not know me. And nor do I know you, or care to get to know you. However, I offered help, because you will lose a lot of blood and won’t be able to ride far with this wound. But you’re too prideful and cruel to understand when someone does something out of the goodness of their heart.”
He turned fully back to face her then, and whatever she had been hoping to find in his expression, some crack in it, some acknowledgment that she was trying to help, was not there.
His face was a closed door. “I’ve had worse than this before breakfast and ridden twenty miles after.
Daenae flatter yerself that ye’re savin’ anythin’ by standin’ here.
” He took a step toward her, but she did not cower because the alternative was to show how much she feared him.
“Ye’ve already cost me one man today. Daenae cost me more time on top of it. ”
Isobel swallowed loudly but held his stare.
“Go home, lass.” His voice was stern and unforgiving. “And daenae come back to this part of the forest ever again.”
Isobel meant to stay stock still and face this man, but she could no longer conceal her emotions.
She finally gave into the notion of protecting herself and turned away from him.
She felt the warrior’s eyes on her as she ducked her head and hurried her footsteps toward the spot where she’d left Star waiting, but she did not…
would not glance over her shoulder at him.
She climbed the slope without looking back, released the mare’s reins, and heaved herself into the saddle on legs that wobbled more than she would have liked. She guided the horse toward the path.
As she and Star wove their way through the trees, Isobel glanced to her left and right cautiously, then her eyes locked on the Highlander.
He had already turned away. He was crouching at the stream’s edge, upstream of the body, washing his cut with the brisk efficiency of someone who had never needed help from anyone, and didn’t plan to start seeking aid now.
He did not look up. He did not watch her leave.
She had been dismissed so completely that she was already out of his mind before she had left the forest.
She turned south and rode.
She kept her eyes forward and her hands steady on the reins, telling herself the strange, lodged feeling in her chest was the ordinary aftermath of fear. Which was true. She had been afraid. But she had also experienced something else…something that was new and wholly unexplainable.
She had watched men battle to the death and once the slaying was over, she had spoken to the victor. She had stood toe-to-toe with a warrior and offered him her assistance.
An icy jolt of terror belatedly rushed through Isobel’s veins.
What was I thinking?
She knew now that she had been foolish. That man, that Highlander, could’ve hurt her. He could’ve killed those two men in the stream, then done anything he wanted to her.
She tightened her grip on Star’s reins and urged her horse to move faster.
I must put as much distance between us as possible.
Star responded eagerly to her mistress’ prompting.
As the horse took off at a speedy gallop, Isobel prayed that she’d never have the misfortune to witness battle ever again.
But more than that, above all her other silent murmurings, she hoped that she would never encounter the handsome warrior again.
For she might have the blood of Highlanders thrumming through her body, but she did not know how she might ever be able to confront that man again.