Ride away and let the bad guys chase her down? Not freaking likely. Dani shook her head but said nothing; Malcolm’s attention was already focused on the little figures in the distance. No, she’d feel safer staying right here with him and taking her chances.
Malcolm pushed back the fur he wore, allowing it to pool on the saddle behind him, revealing a sword and scabbard strapped to his back. His hand briefly caressed the hilt, a move Dani would bet was more instinct than conscious movement. He looked back at her and held out a knife he’d pulled from the belt he wore at his waist.
“Take this.”
Dani accepted his offer, grateful to have something to concentrate on other than the approaching men. The knife was small, but it looked wickedly sharp. Sharp enough to do some real damage.
She only hoped she didn’t have to test that theory.
As Malcolm had instructed, Dani dropped back behind him, but tried to keep no more than a horse-length between them. Everything she’d ever known about fighting said you didn’t get separated from your partner. You closed ranks. Kept your backs together. Of course, all she knew came from books and movies. Scripted and well choreographed.
This, on the other hand, was real.
Tension knotted in her stomach as they continued forward, each step on their path carrying them directly toward confrontation with the mounted figures.
Only when the riders drew close enough to see their faces did Malcolm seem to relax his guard. Patrick led out in front, followed by a younger man Dani hadn’t seen before.
“Thank Freya!” Patrick pulled his animal to a stop in front of them. “What happened to you? Even the Elf was worried when you dinna return.”
“Faerie,” Dani muttered under her breath, completely ignored by both men.
“We delayed too long at the circle and lost our light. Spent the night in one of the high country shepherds’ huts. Any word of Eric?”
Patrick opened his mouth to answer but stilled as the younger man arrived.
“Where have you been, Colm? The whole castle was in a tizzy last night. And who’s this?” The new arrival jerked his head toward her, his face riddled with curiosity.
“This is our guest, Lady Danielle. She’ll be staying with us for a time, under my protection. Lady Danielle?” He turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable. “This is my brother Dermid.”
Another brother. This one she never would have guessed belonged to the same family. While Patrick and Malcolm were obviously related, this young man looked nothing like either of them. Somewhere in his late teens, he was the exact opposite of his brothers. A soft, fair-haired cherub bookended by two hard, dark-haired devils.
Genetics in action.
Their parents must have been an interesting match, a pairing of light and dark, much as she and Malcolm would be.
Not thatthatwas ever going to happen.
Suddenly uncomfortable, she straightened in her saddle to find three sets of eyes turned on her.
With all three staring her direction, she discovered the one feature that betrayed the blood connection between them—their eyes. Each a blue so oddly deep in hue that if she were in her own time, she’d have sworn they all wore the same colored contact lenses.
“Is that where you’ve been, then? Off to collect her?” Dermid’s head swiveled between Malcolm and Patrick. “Why dinna you tell me that was the case, Paddy? You ken I was worried, did you no?”
Patrick shrugged, his face returning to its usual emotionless mask. “It’s Colm’s place to tell you what he will of his own personal business, no mine.”
“Personal, is it?” Dermid looked past Patrick, fixing his gaze on her again. “Am I to be the last to learn yer bringing home the woman who’s to be our new sister?”
Sister? Surely he didn’t think that she and Malcolm . . .
“Hold on there a minute.”
“Mind yer manners, lad!” Malcolm snapped, cutting off anything else she might have said. “The good lady is to be a guest in my home. I expect you to treat her as such, no to badger her with yer blether. Is that clear?”
“But . . .” Dermid’s face hardened into a stubborn frown, as if he intended to pursue the discussion in spite of Malcolm’s rebuke.
“Best you ride on ahead, lad,” Patrick intervened, likely preventing an argument. “Carry word to those who wait at the castle that we’ve found our laird.”
“But I’ve no had a chance to speak with Colm for any length since I arrived.” Dermid’s expression quickly flickered from stubborn frown to innocent distress. “And I’ve certainly no had a chance to acquaint myself with her.”
