The Highlander's Bride. Michele Sinclair

saw her rise. He had been watching her sleep for most of the night. She had moved very little while she slept, as if any change in position caused pain. It was hard to see what she looked like in her current condition, but he could not deny that something about her captivated him.

      He watched her grab his plaid, drape it around her, and go into the woods barely lit by the sun’s dawning rays. She walked gracefully, with dignity and full of calm. Not at all as if she had narrowly escaped some harrowing experience.

      Conor shook his head for the hundredth time, trying to get control of his wayward thoughts. He had never seen a woman in such a state of physical chaos. But even so, he wanted her on levels he couldn’t explain to anyone—especially himself.

      Conor stood up abruptly. He needed to concentrate on the day’s ride and returning home. Once there, he would find a safe place for her, and then resume his daily routine. He went to gather his guards so they could break camp.

      By the time Laurel returned, the rest of the group was up and preparing to leave. The youngest of the enormous Scots was the first to see her standing on the edge of the clearing watching them. The others, seeing Clyde’s unexpected halt in activity, looked to see what had affected their younger brother so.

      It was a tall, slender female with long gold hair and incredible blue-green eyes. Her arm was badly bruised, her dress was torn, and she was wrapped in a McTiernay plaid.

      Laurel was also transfixed by the sight of the five Scots. They were all highlanders. Their strong rugged features, dress, and weaponry were unmistakable. Some of them were still quite young, but in a few years they would grow to be giants as well. Each had coppery-brown hair ranging from a light auburn to a rich dark shade of brown like their leader’s. All of them had bright blue eyes that sparkled, with the exception of the youngest, whose unusual liquid gray eyes reminded her of the giant who had promised his protection.

      Laurel looked around for their leader or any of the other men she had encountered last night, but none were in sight. A moment of panic invaded her. She needed to leave immediately. Surely, by now someone had seen what she had done and was looking for her.

      One of the men approached. “Lass? Are you all right, lass? You look a mess, begging your pardon.” As he spoke, the others began to surround her, each compelled to help.

      Laurel quickly realized they meant no harm and were only curious. “Umm, you are right. I am a mess. I believe it was a brother of yours who helped me last night.” She paused as she saw the four younger men grin. The oldest of the five, on the other hand, was scowling. She decided to ignore him and directed her attention to those more agreeable. “Do any of you gentlemen know where I could wash my face?”

      All of them started shaking their heads. The youngest one with the gray eyes clarified, “There is only one place near here, miss, but it is a very small creek, and it is back towards Douglass land.” He pointed down to the area she escaped from last night.

      Laurel blanched noticeably.

      “But there is one up north a ways, miss. We’re going there today,” mentioned one of the twins.

      “You could come with us,” offered another.

      Laurel beamed at their youthful enthusiasm. Her smile caused an instant positive reaction in the group. Even Cole—who hated everything English—suddenly wanted to help this maiden who had been attacked so viciously.

      Conor returned to see his brothers ogling Laurel as if she were an angel just arrived from the heavens. It was evident that her bewitching effect was not only limited to him. His guards, Loman and Hamish, had been discussing her when he arrived that morning, and now his brothers were practically gaping at her. Even he had been staring at her all night.

      In the dim firelight, her hair had appeared a burnished yellow, but now, in the morning sunlight, the pale, golden halo could render a man senseless. Her face was heart shaped, with large eyes, high cheekbones, a pert little nose and full, rose-colored lips. It mattered not that her hair was matted and unclean. Men forgot who they were, their skills, and their duty when they saw visions such as this one.

      He scowled at his brothers, narrowing his gaze. Laurel turned to see what had caused the men to jump in response. Then she saw him. Last night, he had given his word that no harm would come to her. Or was his pledge of protection just a dream?

      “Did you mean it?” she whispered as he came near.

      Damn, she had the most hypnotic eyes. Now that she wasn’t angry, they were a much lighter color of blue mixed with an unusual shade of green. Framed by long dark eyelashes and a perfectly shaped eyebrow a few shades darker than her pale hair, they were a little large for her face. Her right cheek was slightly swollen and the bruise on her arm was deepening in color and size. Seeing the evidence of her injuries in daylight, Conor quelled the anger stirring in him and reached out to take the plaid she was handing him.

      The gasp from his brothers was audible. Whoever had beaten her had done so mercilessly. The reason behind her restless sleep was abundantly clear. They all began asking questions at once.

      “What happened to you, lass?”

      “Who did this to you?”

      “Here, lass, sit down.”

      “What’s your name, lass?”

      “Aye, where is your home, pretty lady?”

      “Tell me who did this, and I will seek your revenge,” one of the twins vowed.

      “My brother will save you. He’s a laird,” she heard the youngest one promise.

      Conor motioned for silence with a flicker of his eyes.

      “Who did this?” Conor’s tone was laden with controlled fury. The four guards had returned from their night’s post and joined the group, wondering what had caught their laird’s anger. Then they saw Laurel.

      “Who hurt me does not matter. What’s important is that I don’t give them another opportunity. Please, can I come with you?” she asked anxiously.

      The question made no sense. He had promised her protection, and that made the answer obvious. “You will come with us,” Conor clarified, his voice conveying no emotion. On the other hand, his gaze held hers, and she saw a dangerous storm brewing within the liquid gray pools.

      His answer was comforting, but only if they left in time. She would see no more good men go to their deaths because of her. “Soon? Can we leave right away?”

      It was obvious she thought that whoever did this was looking for her. His eyes slightly narrowed at her request. “Aye lass, we’ll be leaving. But before we reach the end of our travels, I will be knowing who did this,” he stated, pointing to her face and arms. He motioned for the group to decamp. “We leave immediately.”

      Everyone began to mount. As Laurel wondered who she would ride with, Hamish approached. “My lady.” The guard gestured toward his horse. Laurel began walking to his tan-colored horse, wondering why she was disappointed that the dark leader had not offered.

      The highland chief was much more fierce-looking in the morning light. His body was taught and rigid, and the complete control he had over his every move was frighteningly powerful. His dark wavy hair whipped about his face and his ice-gray eyes no longer bore any of the warmth and concern that flickered there in last night’s moonlight. Yet, he was the one to whom she was drawn. With him, she felt safe and protected. Him, she trusted.

      Conor had already mounted his stallion and had intended to put some distance between him and the bewitching maiden by having her ride with one of his men. But when he saw Hamish approach her and her simple acceptance, something inside him went cold. Without conscious thought, he nudged his horse into movement and, with one quick sweep of his arms, settled her across his lap. Hamish looked questioningly at his laird, and then turned to mount his horse. He was not pleased with his laird’s decision, but his loyalty to the McTiernay chieftain would never waver.

      “May I ask your name?”