Chapter Five

Avoiding someone in close quarters was an uncomfortable task.

Kaid tried to keep his gaze from drifting toward Elizabeth on their journey to the nearest village for food.

But it was almost impossible to keep from letting his stare trail up the point of her chin to where a sliver of sunlight glowed against her smooth cheek. Just above the delicate freckle beside her mouth.

He wanted to apologize.

He should apologize.

Staring wouldn’t make it better, though.

He pulled his gaze toward the window of the coach. Several trees blocked the view of the nearby village where Donnan had ventured to purchase more food. Kaid had waited with the women on the outskirts to avoid being seen, but was now regretting the decision.

The coach was too damn small.

Leasa sewed beside Elizabeth, and the quiet pop of her needle going in and out of the fabric scraped over his raw nerves.

While Elizabeth had maintained her polite civility in addressing him, he knew her memory of the previous night would not fade quickly.

And, damn it, he hadn’t even remembered doing any of it.

Donnan had pulled him aside that morning and told him how he’d found Delilah wide-eyed and stiff in Kaid’s arms. Apparently he’d had a nightmare, and the lass had tried to help.

He’d rewarded her by holding her captive in his bed.

He clenched his jaw until it felt as though it would seize up.

While he didn’t remember having done it, he did remember the dream he’d had, and then the comfort he’d felt.

It made him even more ashamed of his actions, but he could no sooner pull them from his mind than he could pull his heart from his chest.

He could recall the dream with far too much ease—the floral scent of her curling around him like a summer breeze, the softness of her words, a whispered strength in his ear. She was there with him, a beautiful warrior parrying the stab of painful memories.

His gaze drifted back toward her once more.

He wanted to sketch her.

The careful line of her cheekbones, the curve of her lips, those long, velvety lashes.

If only there were a bit of charcoal in his hand and a square of parchment in front of him. He rubbed his thumb over his fingertips to assuage the growing desire. He would draw later, while she slept. Before the contents of the vial worked their magic over his restless mind.

It was then he realized she was staring directly at him, her gaze unflinching. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“Is there something you wish to say?” she asked.

There was—he wanted to apologize to her for having trapped her at his side when she’d meant only to help, and thank her for what she’d done. He wanted to see how much he might have said in his valerian-induced haze.

He hated that he didn’t remember.

He glanced toward Leasa whose head was bent over her needlework. Speaking of the compromised position in which he’d placed Elizabeth would hardly be prudent in front of her maid.

“Outside.” He indicated the door.

Elizabeth gave a quick nod and leapt up with an eagerness she didn’t bother to mask. Perhaps she too was tired of being confined within the coach. After only two days, he felt as though it were squeezing him in a box of stale air. He couldn’t imagine having endured it as long as she.

Once outside, they both took a grateful moment to draw in the fresh air. The forest around them was thick and left the breeze heavy with the sharp scent of pine.

“I want to talk about last night,” he said.

Dappled sunlight and shadows from the trees above played over her bonny face. “I do too.”

“I dinna mean to—”

“I know.” Her cheeks flushed red, and she glanced away in a way that could only be described as demure. This woman who had so sharp a tongue, who readily stood up for herself and always had something to say, actually appeared shy.

“You had a nightmare,” she said.

She stepped closer and gazed up at him. Light fell over her, showing the depth of rich brown of her eyes, which appeared almost black in the shadows of the coach.

A slight sprinkling of freckles showed across the bridge of her nose, so faint he’d not seen them until now when he was close enough to touch her. They would be so easily accomplished on the page with the barest of touches from his charcoal.

The scent of her floral perfume nudged at the recesses of his mind, and for one fleeting moment, he had the ghost of a memory of her in his arms—warm and sweet, the skin of her neck like silk beneath the brush of his lips.

“What’s happened to you?” She grazed his forearm with her fingertips. Her touch was delicate, and the heat of her palm seeped through the linen of his leine. “I think…” She paused and pursed her lips. “I think your dream has something to do with why you’re doing this.”

He swallowed.

There was so much to tell, so many years of anguish from MacKenzie. And then the idea of giving voice to what he’d seen the day of the massacre. It was too agonizing.

“It isna so easy, my lady.” Before he could stop himself, he brushed the pad of his thumb down her cheek, taking care to swipe over the freckle just beside her mouth. Her flushed skin was almost hot beneath his touch.

Elizabeth stepped back abruptly, putting a modest amount of space between them, and darted a glance toward the coach.

Leasa’s face jerked back from the window, and the coach gave a little sway.

“I assume what happened last night will not be repeated.” Elizabeth’s voice took on its usual haughtiness.

Though everything in him wanted to close the distance between them again, to repeat that gentle stroke on her cheek, Kaid held his ground. “Of course, my lady. Forgive me for my indiscretion.”

A hearty rustle came from the woods, capturing both their attention. Kaid touched the hilt of his blade and turned toward the sound in time to see two men emerge from the trees.

They were filthy, as though they’d been traveling for some time. Both wore kilts darted through with red and brown wool tartan, and their hair hung lank around their faces.

Kaid cast a quick glance toward Elizabeth. He never should have let her out of the coach. One word from her and these men would know she had been abducted.

Her face belied none of this.

“Good day,” Kaid said to the newcomers with a nod.

The taller of the two men nodded back in kind. “Ye having trouble with yer coach?”

Kaid kept his gaze fixed on the two men and hoped Elizabeth wouldn’t speak. “Just taking a rest.”

The shorter man made a show of looking around the forest. “Where are yer guards?”

The men gave each other a suspicious glance, and Kaid’s heart knocked into his ribs.

The taller one stepped forward. “I’ll take yer silence to mean it’s just the two of ye.”

The shorter man followed suit. “The lady is mighty fine for the likes of ye.”

Elizabeth edged toward the coach, and Kaid slid his blade from its sheath. The hissing glide of steel was loud in the silence and pulled both of the men’s attention toward him.

The taller one swept an axe from his belt and lunged at Kaid, who easily dodged the blow.

Behind them, the shorter man reached out to Elizabeth, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and snapped her toward him.

No.

Kaid’s mind swam and his palms went sweaty with anticipation. He would not lose this battle. He could not.

He swung downward, and his blade sliced through the air, glancing off the man’s arm.

Brilliant red blossomed against the man’s filthy leine, and a coppery scent overwhelmed Kaid’s senses.

Blood.

A rush of saliva filled his mouth. He swallowed hard, but the world around him blurred and spun.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade.

He needed to concentrate.

His body acted on instinct, blocking the blow aimed at his head.

He needed to win.

To save Elizabeth.

But the blood. Wet and vivid and violent.

On his blade. Not his hands.

His blade.

A scream rent the air and burst through his narrowing thoughts.

Elizabeth.

• • •

Delilah screamed because it was expected. Her throat ached from the ferocity of the act.

Still the man did not let go of her hair, fool that he was.

Who pulled hair?

She wanted to grab his arm and throw him to the dirt so she could plunge her blade into his throat while he was still in a state of surprise.

But she had to act like a lady. Frustration niggled at her thoughts. She shoved it away and focused on her situation instead.

Kaid had only one man on him. If he’d so easily taken down her six guards previously and not managed to kill a single one, she knew he could take on the one man and save her when he was done.

Her attacker gave a savage wrench on her hair and sent a fresh wave of pain burning across her scalp. “Where’s yer jewelry?” he asked in a grating voice. “And yer coin?”

The grunts and clangs of the battle Kaid fought sounded nearby. They were preoccupied enough that she could allow herself some offense. After all, the hair pulling was getting ridiculous.

Delilah lifted her leg and let her foot come down hard atop his. Surely a lady would have no qualms with stomping on an attacker’s toes. The man released her hair long enough for her to stand upright.

“Leave me,” she said in a hard voice.

The man snarled at her, revealing a missing front tooth. “I’ll take that necklace ye’re wearing.”

Before she could back away, his clammy fingers caught at the large paste jewel at her neck. One hard jerk and the simple clasp snapped free.

Her hand darted out, and she slapped him, not with the delicate touch of an offended lady, but with all the strength she possessed.

The power of it turned his head and left an angry handprint emblazoned on his cheek. When he turned back to her, his expression burned with rage.

“Ye foolish chit.” He pulled a dirk from the top of his boot.

“If you kill me, you won’t know where my coin is.” She spoke in an arrogant tone she was sure would enrage him.

“I’m sure I’ll find it.” He jerked forward.

She stepped back in time to avoid the slash of the blade.

Strong arms came around her shoulders, locking her in place. “Get the man,” a gruff voice shouted against her ear. The man squeezed her against him. “I’ll take care of this pretty alone.” The sickly sweet odor of rotting teeth swept over her.

Delilah swallowed against the rise of disgust in her throat. This man had obviously been hiding in the woods in wait for this perfect opportunity. And she’d given it to him.

The odds were no longer as carefully balanced as she’d initially assumed.

The man in front of Delilah ran to join the one already fighting Kaid. The tall man was covered in blood, and the swing of his axe was weak.

He would not survive much longer.

Obviously the man holding her knew this.

“While they’re busy…” He said in her ear, and the weight of her skirts was shoved upward.

Summer air bathed her legs and buttocks, and a gasp tore from her throat.

It was one thing to delicately thwart an attack. It was quite another to allow herself to be exposed and possibly raped.

“Get off of me,” Delilah growled through clenched teeth.

The rough hair of the man’s legs rasped against her naked calves, and he laughed in her ear. “Ye may like it.”

She brought her elbow back as hard as could and connected with his ribs. Her skirts fell back into place, and he gave a hard grunt.

She burst from his embrace and spun around, bringing her knee up as she did so, landing it directly into his groin. He pitched forward to the ground.

Delilah put a step of distance between them and cast a quick glance at Kaid. The taller man lay in the mud at his feet while his battle with the shorter one continued.

Their attackers were better fighters than most. Obviously this was not their first raid, and obviously they were usually successful.

How many men had they killed? How many women had they raped?

Delilah’s stomach churned.

She stared at the writhing man on the ground. Perhaps she ought to pull the dagger from her pocket.

But ladies did not slit men’s throats.

Her attacker cupped his nether region and groaned. He was not going to get up any time soon.

She took another step back to wait for Kaid when the man gripped the back of her heel and pulled. The world swirled around her and she landed hard on her back.

The man moved with the nimbleness of a cat and leapt on top of her. “Ye may be a powerful bitch, but ye missed.” He gave a great, huffing laugh and bathed her face with his rotting sweet breath so thick and awful, it clogged in her chest.

He shoved a blade against her throat. “But I find I dinna want to have ye anymore. I want to kill ye.”

Her right arm was pinned in place. There was no way she could reach her pocket for her dagger.

She brought her shoulder up hard and shoved him back. It was only an inch, but it was enough time to get her left hand to her busk to grab the hilt of her hidden blade there.

Except it was empty.

Shock.

Confusion.

Horror.

All of it washed over her in rapid succession.

Then she remembered: she’d given it to Leasa to offer her a feeling of protection.

Her act of generosity would be her death.

Delilah wriggled in earnest to free herself, but the man was too heavy, his grasp on her too tight.

He gripped a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, leaving her throat exposed. A metallic taste filled Delilah’s mouth and ice ran through her body.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was truly afraid.

The man’s hand jerked back to strike, a blade gripped in his fist.

She was going to die.

The man’s chest punched outward, and he threw his head back in a yowl of agony. He whirled around and brought the dagger with him.

Away from her.

Leasa stood behind him, her face white and her eyes round with horror. The man leapt off Delilah, revealing her busk blade jutting from his back.

He lunged at Leasa before Delilah had time to stand. Her skirts were too voluminous, her bodice too tight.

Leasa screamed.

No.

Delilah floundered against her clothing in her attempt to rise in haste.

Not Leasa.