“No!” screamed the woman from the shadows, but Joshua didn’t slow. A part of him realized she ran toward them, but he focused on his enemy. The thrower’s size broke through Joshua’s fury. Round eyes. Thin frame. Pale, shocked face. It was a boy, a young boy. Just like…
At the last second, Joshua diverted the thrust of his sword, swinging it down along the lad’s side, and skidded to a halt. Breathing hard, he loomed over the boy. The promise of death surfaced on his face, one that would hopefully stick in the lad’s nightmares so he wouldn’t fight someone three times his size again. “Ye bloodied me.”
“Stop!” yelled the woman, grabbing Joshua’s injured arm.
Before the frightened lad could respond, the young thief, who Joshua had tripped, yanked the boy around, yelling at him in their local dialect. The two of them ran off into the growing darkness, their arms pumping. The woman dropped her hold on him and clenched her hands together. Her chest rose and fell. The other two men remained unconscious where they had fallen, and Fuil stepped over their prone bodies as he came up to Joshua. The horse nosed him as if asking where his treat had ended up.
“Fuil,” he mumbled, letting the chill in the wind calm his anger. “Your blasted stomach gets us into such bloody trouble.”
Joshua watched the worry mix with anger on the woman’s fine features, and she finally turned away from the lads who faded into the shadows. She murmured something in her ancient language and grabbed his arm to inspect the wound.
“Do ye know them?” he asked.
“This needs to be cleaned, but no stitches are warranted.” She squatted to catch together a small pile of fresh snow, standing to wipe the blood from the cut.
He caught her chin to bring her gaze up to his, her eyes growing round for a split second before narrowing. Questions pressed within him. Who are you? Were you helping them? Why were you standing back watching? But answers to those questions might lead her to walk away from him, for which he was definitely not ready. He leaned in, tethering her gaze completely. “Were they going to eat my horse?”
Her lips rose into a grin, and she jerked back, breaking free of his hold. “No, Highlander. Despite Lord Robert’s lies, we do not eat horseflesh. Although, if the choice between eating you or eating your horse arose…” She squeezed his arm as if testing the meat on his bones. “No, even then your horse would be safe.” She shook her head. “I would choose to eat you.”
His frown relaxed, and for a moment they stared at each other. Her mouth softened with the faintest hint of humor. The wind calmed, the snow falling straight down to catch in her pale hair. “It is good to know my faithful steed is secure.”
“Do you not worry for yourself?” Her gaze traveled down his form. “Because ye look…delicious.”
Lightning coursed through his body at her words, making his jack awaken below the layers of his woolen plaid. Although, he was fairly certain it had been paying attention since he’d seen her standing in the tavern, all curves and long legs. “I can take care of myself,” he said.
Her brow rose, and Joshua watched as the tip of her tongue came out to touch the edge of her bottom lip. Heat began to roll through him. Was he reading her signals correctly? A woman like this did not seem like the type to tease. She seemed more like someone who knew what she wanted and almost always got it. And if she wanted him right now, he, bloody hell, wouldn’t refuse her.
“Did ye find a place for my horse and me to stay for the night?” he asked, keeping his gaze locked to hers. Snowflakes swirled about, hitting his cheeks. The intensity in the woman’s almond-shaped eyes made the rest of the world disappear, even the bite in the sea breeze.
“Aye,” she said, sliding a finger up to tuck the wisps of her hair behind her ear. “You can stay with me. That is, if you can find me.”
His heart beat faster at her words, and his grin grew. “Ye are right here, so I have already won.”
Without warning, she spun, jogging inland away from the village. Was the woman insane? Where would she go? There were no trees in which to hide, and the landscape of rolling hills was free of most dwellings. “I will find ye easily. I have a horse, lass,” he called, noticing the twilight was deepening quickly.
She turned to jog backward. “And I have cunning, Highlander,” she called and raced off.
He watched her run, the sway of her braid like an entrancing pendulum. She glanced several times over her shoulder as if making sure he would follow, but her form was quickly fading into the darkening landscape. He strode to Fuil to mount but yelled over his shoulder, “I can easily run ye down and catch ye.”
Her laughter floated back to him on the twilight wind.
…
Kára pumped her arms as she ran, her boots easily finding purchase on the familiar moor. He will follow. A man like the infamous Joshua Sinclair, Horseman of War, would not turn away from a challenge.
When he’d walked into the tavern, she had known instantly who he was. Very few were as large as the Highland warrior and no one as darkly handsome. The first things one noticed about Joshua Sinclair were his broad shoulders and towering height, which displayed his muscular frame so perfectly that he resembled the pictures her brother drew of the warrior Danes from long ago. He wore the belted wool wrappings of his homeland around his narrow hips and fur leg wraps above his boots. His hands were large and calloused from holding the massive sword strapped across his back. When he’d stared into her eyes,
