Page 3 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

She tried to speed up. They sped up, too. The ground turned from rough, trodden-down dirt to grass. Trees waved in the darkness ahead.

I’ve gone the wrong way. They’re going to catch me. I could scream, aye, but will anybody hear? Will they ken where to find me? Will⁠—

A dark shape stepped out of the trees ahead of her. She skidded to a halt, swallowing back a squeak of alarm.

The shape resolved itself into a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, face wreathed in shadow. She heard the men behind her slow down, but they didn’t stop.

“Ye have a wee following,” he remarked, jerking his chin towards the men behind her.

“I’m trying to lose them,” she managed.

He eyed her for a long moment, then stepped around her, casually facing the men.

“Ye heard her,” he murmured evenly. “Piss off. Or else.”

The men stopped altogether. They stared at him, their faces unreadable in the dark. And then they dropped their heads, scurrying away.

Daphne blinked, taken aback. Four men, and they ran off at the first sight of this stranger? Who was he?

She eyed him, squinting in the dark.

“They’ll leave ye alone,” he said shortly.

The moon sailed out from behind a cloud, and she got a better look at his face. He had strong features: a nose with a kink in the bridge and heavy eyebrows with a permanent furrow between them. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes. Blue, she thought, clashing with thick, dark hair.

A handsome man. That face, with his size and strength, would make people look twice.

She realized with a jolt that he was staring at her, too.

Well, of course he was. She’d started the staring, after all.

What did he see when he looked at her? Nothing special, probably. A round-faced young woman, with dark hair fighting its way out of elaborate braids. Crisp green eyes that would look flat in the moonlight. A full chest, plump hips, nothing delicate or waiflike about her.

Feeling a rush of embarrassment, Daphne cleared her throat and half-turned away. She scanned the dark undergrowth, holding her breath, half-expecting to see the men lurking there. They’d run away, but how far had they really gone? Was she really safe here?

“I had better…”

“Want me to kill them for ye?” He jerked his chin in the direction the men had gone. “They havenae got much of a head start. I could catch them easily.”

Was he joking?

Daphne blinked at him, her eyes widening. “I… nay, thank ye.”

“Are ye sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He grunted. “Shame. I felt like hunting. Fancy a drink?”

She glanced up to find him still staring at her, except this time he was holding out a bottle. She took the bottle hesitantly and sniffed it.

“Whisky?”

“Aye. Good stuff, too, although it’s wasted on me right now. I’ve had a wee bit too much whisky already.”

She gave a wry smile. “I’m the same.”

“Fancy a nip? I’m in no hurry to get home.”