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She castone last glance to the keep before beginning her walk. She hoped to emerge from the chapel with more clarity, perhaps even feeling less as if Arran MacLean had shoved a ball of raging fire down her throat.
Hertime in the chapel was brief, owing to the fact that she had no idea what to pray for.
Shewas not one to cry easilybut on her knees before God in precious silence, with rows of benches sprawled out in front of her and nothing but birds chirping over the roof and the distant sound of some farmer or carpenter smacking nail against wood, she couldn't hold back the flood of tears that had been building. So she let them flow;the two streams of tearsrolled down her cheeks and landed on her cleavage.
"Laird, help me," Lorna prayed because she did not know what else to say. "Help me, laird," Lorna muttered under her breath. With her throat cloaked by the onset of emotion, they were the only words she could think to utter, the only words that refused to remain stuck in her throat. Somehow, as she rose to her feet and smoothed down the hem of her dress, and pressed a small kiss to a candle flickering in the dim cold of the church, the words she had mumbled felt like enough.
They would have to be.
As she walked out of the chapel, the sun beat down on her, and in a lighthearted moment, she made a promise to herself to be more patient and understanding. Perhaps Arran would change his mind soon. She wouldn't know if she skipped breakfast, so she quickened her pace along the garden trail. She cinched her coat even tighter around her.
Who knew? Perhaps her fiance was already sitting in the hall beside an empty seat reserved just for her, tapping his foot, waiting for his future wife, a ready apology for his string of dismissive behavior humming on his lips.
Suddenly, as she neared the pathway to the castle, she picked up the sound of strange noises. They lay somewhere in the woods, mere yards away from where she stood on the pathway: a branch snapping in two, receding footsteps, and ragged breathing. What could be going on behind those trees?
Her curiosity got the better of her and so she turned away from the long footpath that led to the castle to investigate the noises further. The image of Arran in the dining hall longing for his future bride would just have to wait.
She inhaled deeply and watched clouds of dragon's breath escape her mouth and dissipate in front of her eyes. The cold weather bit at the tip of her nosebut she couldn't back down now. She'd barely noticed it as she stormed out the door, enraged – so tokeep warm, she rubbed her palms together. The sound of footsteps and hastened breathing grew closer as she approached the woods that surrounded the castle.
Taking a deep breath, she walked with purposeful lightness, more panicked than she would have liked to admit. All of a sudden, she misplaced a step, and she gasped as she fell backward onto the dirt and bramble.
"Holy heavens!" she cried. She had landed on a heap of twigs that had snapped under the weight of her. A sharp bolt of pain shot up Lorna's spine and she groaned. "Ow! Ugh... Oww!" She plucked the pieces of twig from the pleats of her skirt and searched her hair for more.
It was then that shecame face to face with a wild boar as she lifted her face out of the dirt. Blood drooled from the corners of its mouth, where it had most likely been eating breakfast. Lorna screamed as it bared its fangs at her.
She most definitely had not signed up for this!Her curiosity and stubbornness had, as usual, gotten the best of her. Her flaws seemed to be leading her to her death.
The wild beast's growls filled her ears as it drew closer. A fear that was sharp and ice-cold gnawed at her spine, freezing her in place. She dug her bare hands into the dirt, tapping blindly around her, reaching for a twig or the nearest piece of broken tree – anything that could serve as a weapon against the terrible beast before her...but she came up with nothing.
The boar only growled and edged closer.
It was the largest animal Lorna had ever encountered. She had killed things with her bow and arrow in the past: Birds, rats, squirrels. However, none of her prizes had come close to the mammoth and horrible size of this boar.
Drawing sharp, shallow breaths; she heaved herself off the ground onto her feet and started to back away. She had not made it far when she felt strong arms wrap around her waist from behind. They lifted her off her feet, and shoved her to safety.
Lorna squealed in surprise as the man who had saved her raised his bow and fired a few arrows in the direction of the boar, his black curls dancing in the morning breeze.
The boar growled and whined as an arrow was lodged in his side, and it bolted back into the woods.
At last, the man turned around to meet her gaze, and Lorna settled her eyes upon him with a gasp. It was Arran.
He tucked his bow away and leaned forward; trying to wipe away a smudge of wet dirt on her forehead. It was a mere brushing of his hand, nothing more than a simple touch, a courtesy gesture but it burned her skin like a gentle fire. It lasted all of a few seconds and then his hand was gone as if it had never been there. Lorna could not explain it but she felt deflated as he drew away. She wanted him to wipe more bruises and muck from her skin. She wanted him to touch his hand to her forehead again.
She had not been able to get a good look at him earlier that morning while he argued with his father because they had been all the way across the hallway. Lorna lifted her gaze and discovered that he was the most handsome man she had ever seen, with thick brows and green eyes that caught the sun. He had a rich and clean scent, like pine, whiskey, and polished wood.
She wished for him to get closer. She imagined how it would feel to bury her nose in his neck.
Gasping at her train of thought, shetook a cautious step back from the handsome highlander.
She was grateful to be alive, of course. Anything was better than being eaten alive by a wild boar but this was Arran MacLean, the man who was supposed to be gearing up to spend the rest of his life with her but who had instead disregarded her from the moment she had arrived at his castle. She did not know whether to thank him or give him a piece of mind.
Perhaps, she could do both.
Arran gently tucked a hand into his pocket and the gesture was fluid, as if moving was the most natural thing in the world to him. He was a lean, upright man and was most assuredly a man who knew of his effect on her.
"Are ye hurt?" he said,; something melting in Lorna's belly. She wondered if it had been her resilience, or that ball of fury from earlier. Maybe he wasn't such a terrible man after all. He cared if she was hurt; surely that counted for something.
Lorna looked down at her elbows, where a set of small bruises and cuts had formed, from her fall into that heap of twigs. "Nae. I'm alright, thank ye."
"Ye should be more careful out here," he said. "What is yer name?"
Lorna’s mouth fell open and she could only stare at Arran MacLean. What is yer name? She thought.
Then, realization hit her like a hard slap in the face. Of course, he did not know what she looked like. He would have if he had bothered to spare her two minutes of his time since her arrival but he hadn't, and now he did not know what his own future wife looked like.
Lorna swallowed the urge to groan and shake this man’s shoulders to knock some sense into him. The chill air bit at her ears, and she drew the soft fur of her coat over her neck.
"Lorna MacKenzie at yer service," she answered and curtsied sarcastically.
