He reached forward and peeled back the moss.
“Oi,” he called, his voice sharp but not unkind. “There’s someone in here.”
Lavina squeezed her sister to her side.
The jig was up.
A moment later, they were both gently pulled out of the hollow, blinking into the torchlight. Lavina raised her hands instinctively, shielding Maisie behind her.
Five men surrounded them now—tall, broad-shouldered Highlanders with weather-worn faces and wary eyes. Their swords were slick with rain and blood. Lavina’s gaze shifted to the hilts of their blades, each bearing the same emblem.
McGowan.
It was a slap in the face. She had come full circle. This was where her parents and brother had died. It was destined that this would be where she would draw her last breath as well.
God help us.
“What do we have here?” one of the men muttered, eyeing her up and down. “Nae dressed for travel, are ye, lass?”
Another chuckled. “She looks like she came from a wedding feast, then rolled through a swamp.”
Their laughter was low and unsettling.
Lavina’s cheeks burned with shame. Her dress clung to her in all the wrong places, soaked and mud-streaked, the fabric moldedto her every curve. Maisie sniffled behind her, drawing the men’s attention.
One stepped forward, tilting his head. “Pretty little thing. Looks like ye’ve both had a rough night. Maybe we can make it easier.”
He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing her damp hair.
Lavina jerked back. “Dinnae touch me!”
The man grinned. “Feisty. I like that.”
Before he could speak another word, a voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip. “Enough.”
All heads turned.
A tall figure emerged from the trees, his presence commanding. His cloak was black, and his boots were caked in mud. Though no crest marked his tunic, the other men stepped back deferentially.
His face was partially obscured by the shadows, but Lavina could see the line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, and the reflection of the firelight in his stormy gray eyes. He walked slowly toward them, as if assessing.
The man who’d reached for her stepped aside, sheepish. “Me Laird?—”
“Ye’ll nae lay a hand on either of them again,” the Laird ordered, his voice quiet but menacing. “Do I make meself clear?”
The guard bowed his head. “Aye, Laird McGowan.”
Lavina stiffened.
Thiswas the man who had her clan’s blood on his hands? This was the son of the brute who had shattered her world?
The Laird turned his gaze on her, sharp and curious. “Who are ye?”
Lavina raised her chin. “Nae one of import. Only a girl seekin’ shelter from men who would do her harm.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are ye a thief, then? Fleein’ from justice?”
“Do we look like thieves?”
