Page 7 of Enchanted

Her brows came together as she stared down at the hole in her dress. He almost thought she did not hear him when she brought her gaze back to his. “I still do not understand what has happened to me, but I believe I am capable of riding.”

With a nod, he set his horse in motion. Hers followed beside him. “Since we are to be acquainted for a while until we figure out how to send you safely home, might I know your name?”

“You’ll send me home?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Of course. The MacLeods have no need of an English prisoner when the country is swarming with English soldiers.”

“If you know where the soldiers are, you could leave me with one of the regiments.”

He raised a brow. “And cause a repeat of what has just happened? I do not think that is wise.”

She hesitated then nodded. “You are probably correct. With you carrying one of their men, and until we know why I was attacked, it is best to stay away.” She frowned. “But how will we avoid the soldiers if they are everywhere?”

Keiran hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should reveal such important information. With no other option available to him, he said, “I have a map of where the English regiments are located.”

She scowled. “Then perhaps you should take it out and read it so that we might travel in relative safety.”

He looked away. “If only I could.”

“What does that mean?” Her irritation turned to curiosity.

He turned back to her with the realisation he had yet to admit his failings to anyone at Dunvegan. Why would he consider doing so to a stranger he did not yet trust? Then again, he had revealed his secret mission to her. “I cannot read. I was never taught how.”

A startled expression crossed her face before she masked it. “Did your parents never teach you?”

“My mother died shortly after I was born, and my father—well, he was not a teacher.”

“Did the MacLeods not have a tutor then?”

“I am certain my brothers did.”

A frown settled between her brows. “Yet no one in your family taught you?”

“’Tis complicated,” he replied, suddenly wishing he’d never told her.

“I’ll teach you,” she said with a warmth in her voice, then started as if surprised she had made such an offer. “My name is Rosalyn,” she said abruptly, as though wishing to change the subject. “Rosalyn de Clare.”

Her smile brought back the warmth he’d experienced earlier at sunrise. “Keiran MacLeod.”

“Would you like me to read the map for you, Keiran?”

Could he trust her? She was English after all, and his brothers had been very clear that the English were not honourable as a people. But could one lone Englishwoman be dependable in a life-or-death situation? Perhaps he would test her first. “Do you know where we are now?”

“My men—” Her throat caught on the word. She looked numb and achingly fragile. “My men said we were just south of Struan.”

“Where were you going, Rosalyn—for you are a long way from England?”

“Only because you saved my life am I trusting you.” Rosalyn dropped her gaze to the reins in her hand. “I was on my way to join my betrothed. He wished to marry me while still in service to the fifty-fifth regiment as its lieutenant.”

“You were to marry an English soldier and yet you were set upon by other English soldiers?” Keiran frowned down at the body before him. “We had best return to Dunvegan before this man dies. I am certain he has an explanation that I would very much like to hear.”

She reined her horse to a stop. “As would I,” she echoed, and held out her hand.

Keiran reached into the folds of his tartan and produced the missive. He brought his horse alongside hers, ready to grab the reins if she decided to bolt with the information he’d been sent to gather. Carefully, she broke the seal and unfolded the message while Keiran leaned over to see the contents. There were no pictures on the page, only handwriting that he would have to trust her to interpret.

“There are three regiments in very close proximity to us.” Her gaze darted into the distance and her body tensed. “One belongs to my betrothed, James Long.”

Keiran reached for the missive with one hand, and her reins with the other. “Do not be a fool, thinking you can ride to him for assistance. Or have you forgotten that one of the regiments, and quite possibly his, sent men here to kill you and your men?”

“James would never,” she said with hesitation in her voice. She reached for her reins, but he pulled them out of her grasp.

“Would you risk your life on that assumption? Because I will not.” He kicked his horse into a gallop, forcing hers to follow. If the two men who had escaped the fray earlier knew where to find the other regiments, then he and Rosalyn had best leave this area, and quickly, before those men could return with reinforcements. “Do not even consider jumping to the ground. At this speed you will be seriously injured.”

She threw him a mutinous glance as she clutched the saddle. “You are a barbarian after all.”

“And you are an ungrateful shrew.”

She looked away, obviously hurt by his words. But he didn’t take them back. Her avoidance would give him a chance to heal the soldier on the saddle before him, because only he could give them the answers they needed.

As quickly as he could, Keiran healed the man but stopped short of a full healing so the Englishman would not cause any trouble as they made their way to Dunvegan.

Rosalyn still did not look at him. Instead, she focused on the scenery. But Keiran noticed her. Since she was riding astride, her bloodstained skirt fell untidily over her knees and the motion of the horses lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal trim and shapely ankles. When a surge of warmth pooled in his loins, he too gazed with rapt attention at the path ahead.

All that mattered at this moment was keeping a clear head and leaving this place of violence and death, though he doubted either he or Rosalyn would ever forget what had happened here.