Another shriek rang out.
God’s blade! He whirled his destrier toward the sound, kicked himinto a gallop.
Through the break in the trees ahead, a burly man stood over a slender woman garbed in a torn, pale-green gown. At his side leered a man with a scraggly beard, as shabbily dressedas the other.
Fury exploded in Cailin’s mind as memories of a woman he’d cared for deeply, had sought his protection after she’d been badly beaten. As he’d held her bruised and bloody body in his arms, prayed for her to live, she’d drawn her last breath. From that moment he’d sworn that never again would he allow a man to harm a lass.
Jaw clenched, he leaned low and urged hishorse faster.
The attacker hauled her up, drawing his fist back to landanother blow.
Cailin jumped his steed over a fallen log and into the clearing, drew his broadsword. “Release her!” he roared.
Her attacker whirled. Outraged eyes shifted to fear as they locked on his weapon. “You bloody want her,” he snarled, “here!” He shoved the lass down the steep incline, nodded to his partner. “Run!”
Brush snapped as both men bolted to their horses.
Instinct urged Cailin to give chase as they galloped away but lost against his need to protect. He kicked his mount to the edge.
Like a broken doll, her fingers splayed against the snow-covered ground, the woman lay at the bottom of the hill.
An icy burst of wind howled past as he dismounted, then hurried down the slope.
Half-frozen rocks loosened, clatteredahead of him.
With a curse, he shifted to the right to avoid any falling debris hitting the unconscious woman.
Once he reached the bottom, he knelt by her side. Chestnut-brown hair dusted with the fall of snow framed her angelic face. A gash creased her right brow, and a bruise darkened her cheek, both in stark contrast toher pale skin.
Praying she was alive, Cailin gently touched her shoulder. Once,twice. “Lass.”
Eyes the color of water-drenched moss flickered open, focused on him. Their depth, intensity stole his breath.
She gasped, rolled and stumbled to her feet. Favoring her right ankle, she backed away.
Cailin slowly stood. “Dinna be afraid,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “I am here to help you.”
A shiver racked her body, then another. Her mouth tightened in pain as she tugged her cape together, then glanced toward the knoll where one of the attackers had seized her moments before. Her gaze narrowed on him. “W—who are you?”
“Sir Cailin.” Though years had passed since he’d ridden on Dalkirk land, he couldn’t risk her recognizing his surname and warning his uncle, let alone the rest of the earl’s reprobates, of his return. “And your name?”
The beautiful woman hesitated, her eyes dark with distrust. “Kenzie.”
By her proper speech and the quality of her torn green gown, he suspected she was a woman of noble birth. The lass’s reason for keeping her nobility a secret could be endless and as worthy as his own. Nor would heseek an answer.
“Are you from around here?” he asked.
Wary eyes heldhis. “Are you?”
Blast it. Did her family live within Dalkirk, or had they given the earl their fealty?
“You know the men who attacked me?” she asked, suspicion raw in her words.
He shook his head. The combination of her physical struggle and swelling jaw made his gut twist. By God, he’d catch the scoundrels. He gestured to her leg. “’Twas a nasty fall. You are injured.”
Face taut, she shrugged. “Bruised is all.”
He grunted. “That I doubt. I will carry you. From how you are favoring your ankle, you canna climb back up on your own.”
