Lucy Monroe: Moon Awakening

"Leave her alone," Cait yelled.

Emily's gaze skittered to her friend. Her redheaded captor had a more effective hold on her now and Cait's arms were pinned to her sides much the same as Emily's had been.

Her own captor's hands squeezed her shoulders in a demand for her whole attention. "Tell the laird we are keeping his sister and the babe in her. 'Tis fitting retribution for Susannah."

She stared at him in horror. "You can't mean that. Please, you mustn't take her away."

He didn't bother to reply and she hadn't expected him to. After all, why should he care for her pleas? The man's mind was obviously made up to do this heinous deed.

Still, her mouth opened to argue further, but he squeezed her shoulders again, this time his thumbs brushing along her collarbone. She gasped, no words making it past her suddenly tied tongue. She couldn't think. Not with him touching her in that inappropriate manner. She wanted to tell him to stop, but something about him mesmerized her.

He had not hurt her.

It was a puzzle, but even more so was the question of why he stood staring down at her, saying nothing.

He was frowning, but he didn't look particularly angry.

Didn't the men in the Highlands ever smile? What a foolish thought. Was he waiting for her to agree to be his messenger? If so, he would be waiting a long time.

"You cannot mean to take Cait on an arduous journey on horseback. Surely you have noticed she is with child."

He said nothing, giving her a glare meant to intimidate and it worked.

He was the most daunting man she'd come across in her life. He was also the most appealing one. The blue paint on his face could not disguise the masculine beauty of his features. Hair like shining obsidian hung past his massive shoulders and even the intricate tattoo around his bicep added to his appeal. It looked like a blue armband and none of the other soldiers had one.

Not that she would have seen any such thing on the Sinclair warriors. They had the decency to cover their upper torsos with saffron shirts under their plaids. Not so with these barbarians. His chest and one shoulder were bare. She could see a purplish bruise forming where she'd bit him as well as a smear of blood.

She winced, pained that she'd done that to another person.

His face held an impassive stare, yet she felt as if he were reading her every thought. She did not know how she was going to stop him from taking her friend, but stop him she must.

She pulled a handkerchief from where she had it tucked in her kirtle and wiped gently at the blood on his chest, not completely aware of what she was doing because her mind was spinning so furiously. She had to protect Cait.

"The journey could hurt the babe," she pointed out.

"Balmorals do not hurt women. Drustan is keeping her, but she and the bairn will not be harmed."

Emily pressed the cloth over the small wound she had inflicted. "Would not taking the laird's wife give you more revenge?" she asked, a desperate plan forming in her mind.

The warrior's eyes narrowed. "He is not married."

"Well, that was true a few days ago, but it isn't anymore."

At her friend's quick intake of breath at her lie, Emily silenced her with a look.

"Where is this wife then?" asked the warrior, in spite of himself.

He did not know why he hesitated and was actually listening to the Englishwoman. She was lovely, but he had never been swayed by a beautiful woman before. Perhaps it was her courage, or the way she tended the wound she had inflicted. The contradictory behavior intrigued him.

As did she. Her obvious concern for Talorc's sister confused ton. He would have expected no less from another member of the Sinclair clan, but this woman was not a Sinclair. She was English. Unmistakably so from the way she was dressed and spoke their tongue with the accent of their southern foe.

English or not, he liked watching her. She tried so hard to hide her fear from him, but her trembling gave her away. Despite her nervousness, purple eyes shot fire at him and this amused him. She looked ready to go to battle. Against him.

And she was not even a femwolf.

Amazing.

Where had the Sinclairs found a jewel such as this?

"I am his wife."

The words hung in the air, slicing through his pleasure in her company. This jewel belonged to the Sinclair? He would not believe it.

He shook his head.

She nodded emphatically.

He turned to the Sinclair woman. "Your brother chose an English mate?"

"No."

Lachlan tilted the woman's chin up so she had to meet his gaze. "I do not like being lied to."

"I-I'm not lying."

"You say your friend is a liar?" he asked in a voice that had sent grown warriors running.

"No, of course not. Talorc did not choose me. Your king did it for him."

"You won't convince me that he married an Englander." The other man's hatred of the English was too strong. He'd lost a father and a brother to a greedy English baron and his cohort, the English woman who betrayed the Sinclair clan.

"Talorc hates the English more than he hates the MacDonalds," Drustan said, echoing Lachlan's thoughts.

"I know Talorc hates the English and it has not been a happy relationship." There was too much truth in her tone for Lachlan to continue to dismiss her claim. "But I am his wife. Your king and my king ordered it and my dowry was substantial."

He did not think Talorc would be moved by any amount of money, but he could not guess at the workings of the other clan chief's mind.

"Why aren't you wearing his plaid?" he asked, while his mind latched on to the ease with which his revenge could be enhanced in this fortuitous circumstance.

"His willingness to marry did not extend to having an Englishwoman wearing his plaid. He is not entirely reconciled to this marriage."

Lachlan had no trouble believing that. Looking at the all-too-innocent expression in the woman's eyes, he could not help wondering if that lack of reconciliation meant the marriage had not yet been consummated.

"If you are his wife, he would only thank the Balmorals for ridding himself of you," Ulf said from behind them.

Hurt flared briefly in her eyes and then she shielded them with her lashes, shrugging. "His pride would not like it, even if his emotions found only relief."

Curiously, her hurt feelings moved Lachlan and he turned, glaring his brother into silence.

Ulf's eyes widened, but he said nothing, merely frowned.

Lachlan did not understand the fury coursing through him or the profound disappointment on finding that this unique and lovely woman was the wife of his enemy. However, he did understand that it would be cruel indeed to leave her to face Talorc's wrath when he learned of his sister's capture.

He focused on the woman. She had regained her composure and was speaking again.

"Even if I am English," Emily added under her breath, inexplicably hurt by the Balmoral soldier's cruel words.

She should not care what any of these barbarians thought.

Her captor heard her and smiled. Her heart almost stopped. An enemy's smile should not look so heavenly, particularly in a face painted for war.

Without another word, he grabbed her and swung up on his horse again, dropping her in the same embarrassing perch she'd been before. Her legs straddled the horse and her backside sat against his hard thighs. She gave a gasp of surprise, but otherwise tried to hide her fear now that her plan had worked.

She turned to her friend and said, "You must not concern yourself for me, Cait. I shall be fine. You can see that these warriors are kind and honorable."

Cait simply shook her head, apparently struck dumb.

Emily tried to smile, but didn't quite make it. "Goodbye, Cait."

At that moment the horses started moving, but the warrior her captor had called Drustan did not release Cait.