Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Noah Black waited for the crowd to settle down and fall silent before he said another word. There were a number of curious eyes trained on him now, but he was most interested in the pale blue ones watching him with thinly veiled fury.
Ye chase a woman onto me lands; ye better have a damned good reason for it.
Many members of the crowd shuffled their feet as he glared about him, feeling rage light a fire in his veins as he waited to hear what they had to say for themselves. It had been a long while since he had been this angry, but something in the lass’s eyes had triggered a protective response.
“Well?” he roared, happy to see a few men and women flinch at his tone.
The blonde man, who was clearly their leader, took that opportunity to step forward. Noah had encountered a fair number of ruthless and cruel men in his time, learning to recognize them from a young age. This man had the same quality—his expression one of righteous anger, a simmering madness deep in his gaze.
He was clearly a man of God, his long cassock and bonnet indicating his status. Yet he looked out for blood.
Noah’s hackles rose as soon as the man entered his space, a familiar tight pain forming in his chest.
He determined almost instantly that whatever this crowd wanted, they were not going to get it. That woman could not be much older than his sister, Amelia. Whatever she had done, he could not believe she deserved a mob to come after her.
“Me laird,” the priest said evenly, his tone obsequious and sickly sweet. “Ye have me sincere apologies.”
Noah suppressed the urge to use his body to shield the woman from view; several of the crowd were glaring at her as though she were the devil himself.
“Who are ye?” he asked, letting his voice carry over the crowd.
The priest’s eyes narrowed, but he placed a reverent hand over his chest.
“Me name is Lucas MacPhee, me laird, the priest of a village not too far from here.”
“Well, Lucas MacPhee, ye have strayed into the wrong part of the forest today. These are me lands, and I’ll nae have any rabble from any village marchin’ into them with arms drawn for nae reason.”
MacPhee had the audacity to sneer. “We would never have come onto yer lands intentionally, Laird…” he raised his eyebrows in query.
“Laird MacAllen,” Noah replied curtly.
“We have a good reason, Laird MacAllen, I assure ye,” the priest continued, his pale eyes flicking to the girl. “It is lying on the floor behind where ye stand. If ye just let me by, I shall collect what is ours, and we will be on our way.”
At that, the priest raised his hand, and at his signal, all the villagers lowered their torches.
Noah watched MacPhee’s gaze fall on the woman again. Whoever she was, this man desperately wanted her back. His fingers were tapping out a rhythm on his right thigh with nervous agitation.
Noah hooked his thumbs into the belt at the top of his kilt and relaxed his stance. He was in no hurry to provide what this man had asked for, particularly when he did not know what fate awaited her. From the looks of the faces in the crowd, it could be nothing good.
Ordinarily, he would simply let this business play out as needed. He had enough to be dealing with in his lands without picking up the problems of a neighboring laird. Yet the strange lass had shown a strength that drew him in. Her eyes might have been filled with fear, but she was fighting to survive.
He glanced back at her. Her raven hair was scattered haphazardly over the forest floor, a dark bruise forming at the temple where she must have hit her head. He did not like to see her lying there without being attended to.
When he turned back to the priest, the man’s eyes were already trained on him. The priest stared at Noah as though he were an altar boy about to jump to do his bidding—how wrong he was.
MacPhee took a step forward, and Noah moved to stop him on instinct.
“Who is she to ye?” he asked.
“Nae concern of yers, Me Laird, I assure ye.”
“And that isnae what I asked ye,” he stated. “I cannae let ye take her, or let ye go, until ye explain what exactly led to this.”
The man shook his head, a thin smile on his face.
“We need to bring this woman back with us, me laird, that is all. She has fled the village and must be returned for her punishment.”
Noah felt ice flood through his veins. “And what has she been accused of?”
“She’s a witch!” someone shouted from the back of the crowd. Noah’s fist clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. It took all of his strength not to roll his eyes at the idiocy of some people.
“I see,” he said, his voice low. “Which clan do ye hail from?”
“Donaldson, me laird,” the priest said, taking another step forward.
“Donaldson,” Noah repeated. “I shall be sure to remember that.”
“There is nae need for that, Me Laird, we will be gone as soon as we get what we need.”
“Ye will be gone now,” Noah said, folding his arms across his chest and leveling a stare at the other man.
“Nae without the woman,” MacPhee stated.
“Yes, without the woman. I willnae be a part of whatever this has become. What is her punishment to be, priest? Will she be repentin' her sins, is that it?” he asked, watching the man's eyes run over the lass’s body again. “Perhaps in the privacy of the church, just ye and she?”
Those ice-blue eyes flashed fire at that, and the priest’s neck turned a dark shade of red. His gaze flicked back to the crowd and then returned to Noah. Oh yes, this man was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
“Step aside, Me Laird.”
“Nay. I daenae think I will,” Noah said, looking over at the crowd and taking a menacing step forward. “Did yer laird never tell ye nae to wander in the woods? Terrible things could happen to ye,” he said solemnly.
He moved a hand to his back and drew forth the sword slung over his shoulders.
MacPhee clearly hadn’t thought he was armed. Noah watched his throat convulse on a desperate swallow as he finally stepped back toward his band of followers. Noah held the sword straight at his throat.
“If ye daenae get out of me lands this instant, I shall run ye all through and show ye what a real laird does to those who daenae leave when they are told.”
The crowd was now exchanging uneasy glances. MacPhee seemed to realize he had lost their support as he looked back at them.
The majority were older men and women. The torches they held aloft were crude and no more a threat to Noah than their presence. They carried no weapons, they brought no army, just misguided beliefs.
He swept the sword in front of him for good measure, watching as the crowd retreated one after the other in the face of its sharp blade.
Satisfied he would have no more trouble from that quarter, he sheathed it quickly. He knew he would only have so long before the priest rallied them again, and although they were not soldiers, he was outnumbered by a distance.
He walked back to the beautiful woman, who still lay motionless on the ground. He rubbed at the tightness across his torso absently, as he looked at her. Given her hair was as black as pitch, he would have expected her to have pale, almost alabaster skin, but it was bronzed by the sun and spotted with freckles.
He glanced at her fingers, seeing the telltale green smudges under her nails that every healer possessed. She had once cared for these people then, and something she had done had led to them turning against her. her nails that every healer possessed. She had once cared for these people then, and something she had done had led to them turning against her.
More fool them, he thought angrily and bent down, pushing his hands beneath her curvaceous body and lifting her easily into his arms.
As he turned, he found that several of the villagers had come to their senses and had advanced on him, making as though to wrestle the girl from his grip.
He leveled them with a cold stare, and with one look, they cowered back in his wake.
“Ye cannae protect her forever,” the priest spat, real venom in the words as he advanced angrily, ripping a torch from the hand of one of the crowd and holding it aloft.
“And who is going to stop me?” Noah asked, glaring around him, waiting for one of them to be stupid enough to advance.
There was a long moment of stillness. The priest’s hands were twisting and clenching on the torch, but otherwise making no move toward him. Noah turned his back on them, the woman still dangling from his grip.
“If ye set foot on me lands again, ye’ll die,” he shouted back at them as he walked slowly away.
He did not look back. His hearing and instincts were good enough to know that, at least for now, they would not pursue this.
After a few short strides, he reached his horse, Mac, who was tied to one of the trees in the gathering dusk.
He gripped Mac’s reins, finally glancing behind him. He could already see the villagers slowly retreating, the torches receding into the distance even as he watched.
Why do I feel like I havenae seen the end of this matter? He wondered.
Noah gently lifted the woman’s limp body onto the horse’s saddle, brushing the hair from her face—and what a face—he had never seen one quite like it. Her skin was kissed by the sun, her deep black hair shimmering on either side of her berry-red lips.
He ran the back of his hand gently over her cheek, feeling a spark of fire where their skin connected.
“Who are ye? he whispered. “How did ye come to run into me arms?”