Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“God willin’, I will have ye married off by the end of the year,” Bennet Forrest, her father, growled, and Jeane huffed out a breath through her nostrils.
She knew that was what her father wanted—to get her out of his house. He had been trying to marry her off since she turned of age, but she had managed to dissuade any potential suitor.
“Why? I do plenty around the house,” she argued, but her father just scoffed.
“Like what? Ye cannae run a household. Why would anyone marry ye?”
“I can run a household,” she said petulantly, but it came out weak.
She had no interest in running a household.
She had no interest in marrying. She especially had no interest in marrying Laird Fraser, who was known for his womanizing.
He was always wooing three or four women at once, and she doubted his behavior would improve after marriage.
It was not that she did not have dreams as a child of marrying, of wearing a beautiful wedding gown, but the more she grew and the more she dealt with men… She supposed she had become jaded.
She only had her father and his men to compare a potential husband to after all.
Her father shook his head, walking back into the main house, and Jeane stood there, shoulders stiff, for a long moment. She knew her father went down for a nap about this time every day. She had a couple of hours before he would come looking for her.
Maybe… maybe she could get out of here. Get far enough away so that he would write her off.
And if not… well, at least she might catch sight of that doe. Being in the forest with those animals was her only escape after all.
Jeane hurried back into the house, striding up the stairs to her room. She slipped by her father’s room, hearing him already snuffling and snoring. He started drinking the mead as soon as he woke up, and it made him pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow.
She gathered a few supplies in a small bag and draped it over her shoulder. It was not much—a few days’ worth of hard bread and rabbit jerky, a couple of apples in case she did find that doe, and a novel that she had been reading.
She did not dare pack any clothes or toiletries, knowing her father’s maids would report it to him. The staff was kind to her, but they were loyal only to her father, and it was not the first time that Jeane had tried to escape.
Once that was done, she crept past her father’s bedroom again and then descended the stairs, being careful and quiet as she passed the kitchens and then snuck out of the entrance hall. The fresh air and sunlight on her skin made her feel like perhaps she had a chance of getting away.
Two days later, Jeanne was still wandering in the woods, following the tracks of a deer she had been feeding recently. She took every opportunity she could to get away from her father these days.
Where is she? I ken that she’s close, I can see her tracks, Jeane thought, creeping around the forest edge.
The doe she had been following would take an apple right from her hand, and Jeane found herself looking for it daily.
She had never particularly gotten along with her father, and she did not know how to mend things now. She was not sure she wanted to mend things if she was honest with herself.
But she grew bored with all the sewing and knitting lessons her father forced her to take, and she spent most of her time in the woods. Her father accused her of wanting to be a boy, but that was not exactly it.
Jeane was just… restless. She felt she had been born restless, and she did not know how to cure it.
She kept her footsteps light as she tracked the doe, stepping over tree branches bleached white by the sunlight.
She heard hoofbeats in the distance, too heavy to be the light-footed doe.
She had camped in the woods for nearly two days now, having brought her bag full of food and some flint, and she had heard plenty of horses.
It was probably her father, come to find her.
It wasn’t the first time she’d hoped for escape, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.
He’d find her, but at least she could find that doe and get a small reprieve from the awful, boring life she led.
She ignored the horses, just following the tracks the deer had left for her.
“Ye’re teasin’ me,” she whispered, listening to the sounds of the forest as she walked as lightly as she could. There, just before the clearing, the doe stood, her eyes wide and alert, as if she were about to prance away at any moment.
“Come now,” Jeane said. “I brought ye yer favorite.”
She held out a piece of an apple in her hand, and the doe stared at her, as if they were locked in a battle of wills.
The doe slowly approached her, nosing into her hand and taking the apple slice delicately.
Jeane smiled.
Then she heard rustling in the trees, and the doe bolted, nearly knocking Jeane over as she jumped into the deep forest.
Curious, she stepped forward into the clearing and saw a man slumped over on the ground, clearly unconscious, and another man, his tunic torn and bloody, and with his sword drawn, standing above him.
Nay! He’s goin’ to kill him!
Jeane did not think, just acted. She tended to look before she leapt, a trait her father despised, but she could not, in good conscience, allow a defenseless man to be killed.
“What are ye doin’?” she called out, and then her eyes widened as the man turned his dark gaze to hers. Jeane shuddered as she could see in the man’s eyes that he would not hesitate to kill her as well.
Jeane took a step backward and then another, hitting a tree behind her. She stumbled and fell onto one knee. The leaves crackled under her as she scrambled to her feet.
Her attacker growled in the back of his throat, giving chase, and Jeane ran through the forest, jumping over roots and whipping by the bone-bleached branches of the trees.
She held up her skirts with her hands, so she would not trip, and her father would hate that, too, hating her for flashing her thighs, but she could not falter.
The man was just a step behind her. She stumbled over a rabbit hole, and he swung his sword.
It fell just behind her, thudding into the ground.
He grunted as he picked it up, and Jeane took the opportunity to flee in the other direction, toward McKay castle, hoping that someone from her father’s clan would see and help her.
It wasn’t that she wanted to go back, but this man could be even more dangerous than her father.
At least her father wouldn’t kill her outright.
She did not realize she was running in a circle until she saw the unconscious man again. She was far enough ahead of her pursuer that she could not hear his footsteps anymore.
Her breath came fast and hot, and she held her hand over her mouth to quiet it, scooting back behind the tree line.
She pressed her back against the rough bark, breathing out through her nose. She could hear her heartbeat hammering in her ears.
Leave him. This isnae yer concern.
She caught herself biting her lip in worry.
That was not a very nice way to think, but she was being chased by someone who was determined to kill her, and she needed to be careful.
She did not know this man or why he had been attacked.
But at the end of the day, with the healing skills she had, Jeane could not leave him behind.
She glanced through the branches from her hiding spot. He had not moved. Maybe he was dead after all, and this was all moot. But then the man stirred, turning his head, and she got a clear view of his face.
It was not one of her father’s men, which did not surprise her.
She was far from the McKay castle. He was handsome, though, other than a ragged white scar that came down over one eye, stopping just at his sharp cheekbone.
It did not take away his good looks, Jeane admitted to herself.
Others might find it horrifying, but she thought it added to his looks, giving him an edge and a danger that drew her in.
A warrior, then? He had a sword sheathed at his side.
“Where are ye, lass? A pretty one, at that,” a voice taunted, startling Jeane. “Maybe I shouldnae kill ye. Maybe I should keep ye.”
Nay, Jeane thought, even mouthed it. She could not be taken by this man. She knew what happened to lasses kidnapped by bandits. Even though this man’s tunic was cleaner than most bandits’, that had to be what he was. She would rather die than be captured by this man or any other.
“I can hear ye breathin’, lass,” the man said cruelly as he got closer, and Jeane could do nothing but stare as the man approached her. “Ye interfered, and now, ye will die, too.”
Her whole life flashed before her eyes.
How was she to get out of this? Could she pick up the sword? Get to the unconscious man, maybe wake him up?
No. It was too far away, and she was fast but not that fast. The man also seemed to be out cold, so that would not do her any good. She was stuck, and all she could do was hope that he could not really hear her breathing.
She put a hand over her mouth, breathing as slowly as she could through her nostrils. She had to be quiet, or the man chasing her would hear her and find her. She knew the man would either kill her or, worse, use her to his satisfaction and then dispose of her.
Jeane wondered whether her father would be relieved. His scowling face came to mind with lectures about how a proper lady should behave. She had always disappointed him, and she could only imagine her death would benefit him.
The man stepped closer, grinning madly, and as he poked his sword through the bush, it stopped mere inches from her face, and she started to tremble.
“There ye are,” he murmured, but then the unconscious man stirred again. The man after Jeane turned. “Ye arenae dead yet? Ye’re a stubborn bastard, that’s for sure.”
The attacker smirked, as if he had already won. He raised his sword for a final blow.
Jeane was shocked when the unconscious man opened his eyes and struggled to his feet, drawing his sword.
“Aye, I am,” the scarred man said, bringing his sword up over his head and lunging toward the other man, taking advantage of the other’s opening. “Too stubborn to die.”
He swung his sword down, and Jeane screamed, seeing the blood splash across the scarred man’s tunic.
Her attacker was dead, and now, she was at the mercy of the man who killed him.
The blood had also splashed on Jeane’s skirt, and she rubbed at it frantically, only managing to transfer it to her hands.
She rubbed them in the dirt, finally getting it off her, and the scarred man looked down at her with dark brown eyes, his stare so intense that Jeane thought he might see into her soul.
The way his dark hair framed his face made his gaze even sharper.
Jeane shivered—whether from fear or desire, she could not tell.
“Who are ye?” he asked, turning his sword on her.
Jeane let out a little squeak, unable to answer, and the man approached her, his sword inches from her chest.
“Tell me yer name, little mouse,” he ordered. “I am nae fan of killin’ women, but if ye were in league with him—”
“I wasnae in league with him,” she said quickly. “I daenae even ken who he was. I daenae ken who ye are.”
She looked up at him, determined, and the scarred man looked down at her, his eyes blazing.
Jeane did not know if this was her end, but if it were, she would go down fighting. She scrambled to her feet, and the man sighed, sheathing his sword.
“Who are ye?” she asked, and the man just stared at her, as if he would not answer.
She had to admit to herself, at least, that she was intrigued by the handsome, scarred man. She thought maybe she had gone mad. He had just threatened to kill her, but she wanted to know more.
Who was he?
And what did he want with her?