Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Elaina’s breath came shallow and fast as the men closed in. The alley was shrinking until there seemed no space left for choice. Stone pressed at her back, damp and unyielding, while the night was thick with the scent of refuse and rain. The glint of steel moved closer.
This is it, she thought, with a clarity so sharp it almost steadied her. Run or fight. There is naething else.
One of them stepped forward. Another shifted to her left, cutting off the last illusion of escape. She raised her hands, not in surrender, but in balance. Her every sense was honed, and her every muscle taut.
Then a cry split the air.
It was sharp and sudden. It was the sound of pain torn loose rather than given. A dagger clattered to the ground as one of the men staggered back, his hand flying to his arm. He collapsed heavily to his knees, swearing, while blood was slowly darkening his sleeve.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Elaina stared, stunned and uncertain what had happened. She couldn’t hear anything from her own pulse roaring in her ears.
Then, she saw him… a figure standing behind them, half-shadowed by the alley’s mouth.
The man from the tavern.
He regarded the scene with an expression so calm it bordered on disinterest, as though he had merely interrupted an inconvenience.
“Ye ken,” he said mildly, “three men against one woman says a great deal about yer character and none of it flattering.”
One of the remaining men spun around with his blade raised and surprise flashing across his face. The other reacted faster. A rough arm locked around Elaina’s shoulders, yanking her back against a solid chest. Cold steel kissed her throat.
Her breath caught, pain flaring where the edge pressed just hard enough to warn.
“Another step,” the man snarled, “and she bleeds.”
Her savior stopped at once. The air seemed to tighten around him. Gone was the easy humor and the careless charm. His gaze fixed on the man holding her. His green-hazel eyes were sharp now, as hard as tempered steel.
“Let her go,” he ordered.
The man laughed. She could feel his breath against her ear as he spoke. “Or what?”
The man from the tavern exhaled slowly, almost wearily. “Or this becomes unpleasant.”
Elaina’s heart hammered so violently she was certain they could all hear it.
She forced herself not to struggle, not to give the man any excuse to draw the blade tighter.
She locked her gaze with her savior’s. In them she saw something that frightened her nearly as much as the knife at her throat.
It was not fear, but certainty that bordered on foolishness. For he, too, was one man against two.
The grip around her body tightened menacingly. “Ye should have minded yer own business.”
The man from the tavern inhaled deeply. “I tried that earlier taenight with that very lass standing next tae ye… I have tae say, it didnae suit me, nor daes this.”
The moment stretched, fragile as glass. Then, he moved.
The motion was so swift Elaina scarcely registered it as such.
The man from the tavern caught the wrist mid-strike with a precision that suggested long habit.
There was a sharp twist, a wet crack of bone, and the dagger fell uselessly to the stones.
Before the attacker could even cry out, he drove an elbow into his throat and sent him crashing backward into the wall.
He slid down it bonelessly, unconscious before he reached the ground.
It was over. He didn’t even look at him again.
Elaina stared, stunned, her mind struggling to catch up with what her eyes had seen. There had been no wasted motion, no fury… only control, as though the man had never been a threat at all.
The one holding her swore and dragged her tighter against him, the dagger biting enough to draw a thin line of fire along her skin.
“Stay back!” he shouted, panic finally cracking his voice.
He turned his full attention to them, moving slowly toward them, one step at a time. He did not look like a man in the midst of violence. He looked like a man dealing with an inconvenience he had already solved.
“Ye’re shaking,” he observed calmly, with his eyes on the man’s hand, not Elaina’s face. “That makes ye dangerous. And mistakes tend tae follow.”
“Dinnae come any closer!” the man barked.
Elaina’s heart pounded so fiercely she thought she might faint, yet she could not tear her gaze from him. This was not the charming stranger from the tavern. This was something far colder and far more capable.
“Let her go,” he said again, softly now. “Ye still have a chance tae walk away.”
The man laughed, but it sounded shrill and desperate. “Ye think I fear ye?”
His mouth curved not in humor, but in something infinitely worse.
“Nay,” he said. “But I think ye should.”
The enemy hesitated. That was all it took.
He struck the man’s wrist with brutal precision, disarming him in a blur of motion and freeing Elaina.
The dagger flew from the enemy’s grasp as her savior twisted, hooked an arm around his neck, and wrenched him backward.
Elaina stumbled free just as he drove the man face-first into the stone wall.
Elaina stood frozen, her pulse roaring in her ears, staring at the three men sprawled helplessly at their feet. He turned to her at last.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked quietly.
She swallowed hard, acutely aware that her legs were trembling and that she could not quite remember how to speak.
“Nay,” she managed. “I… nae.”
His gaze flicked briefly to her throat, to the faint line where the blade had pressed, and something dark flashed through his eyes, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
“Good,” he said.
Only then did Elaina fully grasp what unsettled her most. He had not broken a sweat. And she knew that if there had been ten men instead of three, the outcome would have been exactly the same.
Then, he caught her by the arm in a firm and unyielding grip, pulling her away from the alley before she could do so much as draw a full breath. Elaina stumbled after him, feeling the world tilting as the narrow passage fell away behind them.
“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “Where are ye taking me?”
“Somewhere with fewer knives,” he replied without slowing.
“And tae whom,” she demanded, struggling to keep pace, “dae I owe me life?”
He glanced back at her then, a corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, infuriating smirk. “Mostly tae me curiosity.”
She yanked her arm slightly, though she did not pull free. “That is nae an answer.”
“It is the most honest one I have,” he said simply. “I am taking ye tae the inn where I am staying. Ye may decide what tae dae after that.”
They turned onto a broader street, lantern light spilling over the stones. Only then did he loosen his grip, though he did not release her entirely.
“Me name is Duncan Grant,” he added, as though mentioning the weather.
The name struck her with the force of a blow.
Grant. Laird Duncan Grant.
Her steps faltered.
He noticed at once. “Ye recognize it.”
“Aye,” she said quietly.
How could she not? The Grants and the MacKenzies had been enemies for years, their clashes spoken of in hushed tones and sharp warnings. Men were raised on those stories, while women learned to fear them.
That was the moment when hope stirred. It was small and dangerous, yet irresistibly present.
If she were with him, if she disappeared into Grant lands, her fiancé Lachlan MacKenzie would never think to look there.
Pride alone would blind him. Besides, he would never assume that she had gone with the enemy… not in a million years.
She lifted her gaze to Duncan, studying him anew. That ease with which he had fought, that confidence, that control… and then, she noticed everything else.
He was infuriatingly handsome. There was a roughness to him that only made his features more striking now. His coat hung open, revealing the breadth of his shoulders and the solid strength of his muscular frame. She noticed a small scar by his left temple, hidden by a handful of dark curls.
Elaina felt a traitorous warmth stir in her chest. She scowled at herself. She had nearly been dragged back to a life she would rather die than endure, and yet here she was, cataloguing the breadth of a stranger’s shoulders and the steadiness of his hands.
It was absurd. Reckless. Dangerous.
Worse still, it unsettled her how safe she felt walking beside him.
Realizing then that he was still holding her, she shifted slightly, reaching up to adjust her cloak, which a thin pretext but enough to satisfy her pride. As she pulled away, his hand loosened and Duncan made a low sound, which was sharp and involuntary.
He faltered half a step.
Elaina froze. “Ye’re hurt.”
“It’s naething,” he said at once, waving it off and straightening.
She turned on him so quickly he stopped short. “Ye dinnae ken that.”
His brow lifted, faintly amused despite the pallor she now noticed beneath the lantern light. “I beg yer pardon?”
“Ye groaned,” she pointed out. “Men who are unharmed dinnae dae that.”
She reached for him without thinking, as her fingers closed around his sleeve. The contact sent a jolt through her in an amalgamation of awareness, heat and something dangerously close to familiarity.
Duncan looked down at her hand, then back to her face, his mouth curving. “And here I thought I was the one rescuing ye.”
“Ye are bleeding,” she said, pretending to unimpressed by him and what he had done.
“Only a little.”
“Enough,” she replied, “tae warrant attention.”
She stepped closer, her focus narrowing as it always did when someone was injured. The world fell away as her eyes tracked the dark stain spreading beneath his coat.
“Let me see,” she insisted.
He studied her for a moment, as though weighing resistance purely out of principle. Then he sighed. “Very well. But if ye intend tae scold me, be brief.”
She ignored the remark and tugged his coat aside just enough to confirm what she had suspected. The wound was not deep, but it was still a bad cut, likely earned when the second man fell.
Duncan watched her with open curiosity now. “Ye handle injuries like someone accustomed tae them,” he murmured. “Should I assume ye are also a healer, in addition tae being a woman who picks dangerous alleys?”
Elaina’s heart skipped at the chance. She did not hesitate.
“Aye,” she confirmed. “I am.”
The word settled easily on her tongue. She silently thanked her mother for the lessons, for the long evenings bent over herbs and poultices and for insisting knowledge was a woman’s sharpest weapon.
Duncan appeared intrigued. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
He tilted his head. “Then I suppose I should be grateful. Still,” he added, his gaze holding hers, “I believe I deserve tae ken at least the name of the woman I risked me life fer.”
She hesitated only a moment. “Elaina,” she said, offering the truth pared down to its safest shape.
“Only Elaina?”
“Aye.”
“And the men?” he inquired.
She kept her hands steady and her voice carefully light. “I didnae ken who they were and I am grateful I never found out.”
Duncan studied her, clearly unconvinced, but he did not press. Instead, his mouth curved into a faint, knowing smile.
“Mysterious and dangerous. And apparently capable of patching me up.”
Her fingers brushed his skin as she withdrew, sending a spark through them both.
“Dinnae mistake necessity fer mystery,” she replied with a pout she could not control.
His eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. “I wouldnae dare, but I dae wonder if this is yer way of thanking me fer saving yer life.”
She glanced at him, with one brow lifting. “Daes it disappoint ye?”
“Immensely,” he replied. “I had imagined something far more memorable.”
Elaina’s lips curved despite herself. “What could be more memorable than this?” she asked lightly. “Ye ken, I’ve learned that moments tend tae linger when a healer is the reason a man walks away breathing.”
She was aware of the fact that she was pressing. She was pushing him harder than was wise, but this was no idle exchange. If she meant to reach Grant lands alive, she had to convince him to take her with him.
He stopped. The sudden halt brought her up short as well, and now, her breath caught at the abrupt closeness. The lantern light fell between them, darkening his eyes.
“Are ye any good?” he asked in a tone that was less teasing now and more intent.
“Aye,” she answered without hesitation.
He searched her face, as though testing the truth of it. “That is a bold claim.”
“I wouldnae make it if I couldnae support it,” she assured him. “Let me prove it by properly tending tae that wound of yers.”
For a moment he merely studied her, then huffed a quiet laugh. “Very well. Perhaps ye can be useful after all.”
He turned and gestured down the street. “Come with me. I am staying at an inn nae far from here, but me destination lies beyond it. Clan Grant is in need of a capable healer.”
Her heart skipped with sudden, dangerous hope.
Grant lands. Enemy lands.
The opportunity unfolded before her with startling clarity. She would have protection, distance and purpose; a life shaped by skill rather than obedience. It would be the life her mother had wanted for her.
She forced herself to slow and to think. Duncan Grant was dangerous in more ways than one. Trusting him too much would undo her carefully constructed lie before it had a chance to hold.
She met his gaze steadily, measuring him as she had measured so many risks before.
I will keep me distance, she told herself silently. I must.
Then she nodded. “I accept.”
His eyes warmed and darkened at the same time. “Good. I had hoped ye would.”
As they set off together, Elaina drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, feeling for the first time since she’d fled her father’s house, that her future might belong to her.