Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“Iasked ye a question. I expect ye to answer, lass.”
But she did not speak a word, quiet like the little mouse she seemed to be.
Fergus looked down at the lass, trying to keep his gaze hard. He had sheathed his sword because she clearly had nothing to do with his attacker. It did not help matters that she might be the most beautiful lass Fergus had ever laid eyes on.
Her hair was so blonde, it was nearly white, and it had come loose from its braid, curls trailing down her back. Her wide brown eyes, a doe’s eyes, looked up at him. There was more fire in them than fear.
She did not recoil from him as other women did, and for that, Fergus was grateful.
He did not have the patience to deal with a trembling little lass, too scared to answer his questions while he was bleeding out.
But he was also intrigued. What made her so different? He wanted to know more about her.
“Who are ye? What are ye doing in me woods?”
“I didnae ken they were yer woods!” she exclaimed, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “I was followin’ a doe. I’m just a healer, and I stumbled across ye, unconscious. I didnae want to leave ye to die. Maybe I should have.”
Fergus snorted out a derisive laugh at that. “Aye, maybe,” he murmured, stepping closer to her. He looked down to see that blood had seeped through his tunic.
Her hands spread out to touch his chest, clearly ready to push him away, and Fergus drew in a sharp breath at the unexpected touch.
Her hands were warm even through the fabric of his tunic.
The pressure of those delicate fingers made him hiss—not only from the unbidden desire that surged through him but also from the sudden pain her touch triggered.
“Ye’re hurt,” she said, her voice soft.
“Aye, but it’s nae so bad.”
“I think I will be the judge of that.”
“Ye said ye are a healer?”
Jeane did not answer. She lifted his tunic, hissing in a breath when she saw the gash across his stomach.
“It’s deep,” she said and leaned down to rip a piece of her dress off, flashing a tantalizing glimpse of pale knees. “If I had supplies—”
“There are supplies back at the castle.”
She bit her bottom lip, and Fergus wanted to thumb it from between her teeth. She wrapped the makeshift bandage around his waist, tying off with a grunt.
“That will stop the bleedin’. Now that I see ye are all right, I should get back to me father,” the woman said, turning to leave, but something in Fergus made his hand shoot out to grab her wrist.
He pulled her against him, hard, and her ample chest brushed against his, making his manhood twitch in his kilt. She was small, but the curves of her hips and breasts were ample, making Fergus’ hands ache to touch her.
“Ye’re nae goin’ anywhere. Nae until I ken who ye are and what ye are doing here,” he murmured, close enough that he could smell the scent of roses coming from her white-blonde hair.
The pain brought him back to reality and broke him out of his lustful thoughts, white-hot pain seeming to radiate from the wound as she struggled against him.
He stood firm, his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist but not hard enough to bruise. He would not let her escape so easily.
“Ye daenae need to worry about yer father. I need a healer.”
“Aye, but I need to get back. Me father—”
“I will deal with yer father,” he said dismissively, keeping her flush against him. He could simply lean down and kiss her if he wanted to, claim her right here, but he held back. “I need ye.”
The lass looked up at him with bewilderment on her face.
“If ye need a healer, perhaps I can help, but right now, I need to get back.”
Fergus shook his head.
He didn’t know where this girl came from, but she could be a trap. She could be one of the Leary clan, come for revenge. She might be there to kill him for all Fergus knew.
But there was another part of him, something primal and deep in his chest, that didn’t want to let her go for other reasons.
If he let her go, she would flee, and he would never see her again.
The very thought made his stomach clench and made his throat feel tight.
He needed to know more about this lass, and God knew he already wanted her.
And he wanted her not just for selfish reasons.
He needed a healer, both for Lottie and for Aiden’s younger brother.
“Me sister is ill,” he explained. “And the castle is short a healer. Ye’re comin’ with me.”
“I’m nae,” the lass said, struggling against his hold, but he was much stronger.
“I will throw ye over me shoulder like a sack of potatoes, lass. Daenae test me.”
She wilted in his grasp.
He led her over to his horse which was tied to a tree nearby.
She tried to sit sidesaddle, but Fergus snorted.
“There’s nay need for that fancy ridin’,” he told her. “Sit properly. I will get on behind ye.”
“But me dress—” she started, and he gave her a stern glare. She narrowed her doe-brown eyes at him but did not protest.
She mounted the horse, bunching her skirts up slightly, and Fergus was granted with a flash of long, pale legs that made heat rise in his blood.
Her legs were thick, muscled instead of shapely, like she might run about in the woods more than she let on.
He wondered what those legs would feel like wrapped around his waist. He tried to ignore those tantalizing thoughts and moved to get on the horse.
He grunted in pain as he mounted the horse behind her, putting his arms around her and taking the reins. She stiffened, trying to resist, wiggling to and fro, and he settled back against her, his chest against her back. She wiggled back against him again, and his manhood stirred.
“Careful, lass. Ye’ll get more than ye bargained for if ye keep doin’ that,” he teased.
“Crude,” she accused, and he barked out a dark chuckle.
He urged the horse forward.
“Are ye goin’ to tell me yer name, lass?”
“Nay,” she said stubbornly, and Fergus’ mouth twisted in a smile.
“Suit yerself, lass,” he said idly, kicking the horse to make it gallop. He wanted to make it to the castle main by daylight, and it was a bit of a ride.
It was a few hours before the lass opened her mouth again.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” she asked, her voice strained.
“Me castle,” he said simply.
She huffed out a breath. “Which is yer castle?”
“I will tell ye if ye give me yer name.”
“Me father’s maid used to tell me nae to give out me name so easily,” she said stiffly.
“Was she afraid of the faeries, then?” he asked, chuckling, finding the lass’ anger cute. His own sister, Lottie, was afraid of the faeries. She put out sugar water and flowers for them outside her window every morning.
“Aye,” the lass said, turning to look at him. The line of her jaw and nose was pleasing to him as the failing sunlight passed over her features. “Isnae everyone?”
“I’m nae,” he said simply.
“I suppose ye arenae afraid of anythin’.”
“I’m nae afraid of little lasses, even when they look at me like they want to bite,” he said, and the lass huffed out another frustrated breath.
“I bite harder than ye think,” the lass shot back, and Fergus had to fight not to smile.
It felt strange, stretching those muscles. The lass hadn’t said word one about his scars, hadn’t looked at him with horror or pity. Other than Aiden and Lottie, Fergus hadn’t had someone look at him like he was a man in years.
Maybe that was why he was so fascinated by this girl.
“Tell me yer name,” he said again, and the lass shut her mouth with a click.
She did not respond.
“If ye arenae goin’ to give me yer name, what shall I call ye? Lass? Little mouse? Sweetheart?”
“Ye call me sweetheart, and I will have yer bollocks,” she spat at him.
“Careful, little mouse. Threats from the likes of ye daenae frighten me; they excite me. Ye’re feisty. I like that in a lass.”
She closed her mouth, her lips thinning.
“Ye’re really nae going to talk to me for this whole long ride? It’ll take us until tomorrow mornin’ to get to the castle.”
She stiffened, her shoulders straightening. “Who are ye to just take me like this?”
“Laird McCloud, at yer service,” Fergus answered with a smirk. “But ye can call me Fergus. All me friends do.”
The world tilted beneath her feet.
A laird.
Power clung to him heavier than the sword in his hand. There would be no running now—only obedience or consequence.
She turned to face him, visibly paling, but she did not respond.
“I’m nae yer friend.”
“Nae yet. Ye daenae ken me well enough. Besides, I plan to pay ye well, lass; daenae ye worry about that.”
Fergus was almost positive the lass wasn’t with the Leary clan. She didn’t have the telltale glare that that clan usually had, and if she were part of them, why would the man also try to kill her? She was just a girl caught up at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“This isnae about gold,” the lass responded.
“What’s it about, then?” he asked.
“The fact that ye just kidnapped me!” she exclaimed, and Fergus burst out laughing, finding her dramatic but adorable, all the same.
“Ye arenae being kidnapped. It’s fate that we met, is it nae?”
“Fate?”
“Me sister needs a healer. I need one, and ye just happened upon me. Sounds like the work of fate to me.”
“It isnae fate,” she said stubbornly.
“Give me yer name,” he insisted, riding harder.
She did not answer, and Fergus let out a long breath through his nostrils.
This was going to be a long ride.
She had fled one powerful man. And walked straight into the grasp of another.