Page 6 of The Laird who Craved her

"Molly! Stay close!" Claire cried, lunging after her.

The raiders were circling now. Claire saw them through the open door, three of them, maybe four, their faces obscured by hoods and shadow, their weapons dark with rain. One of them laughed as Molly ran, a low, ugly sound that made Claire's blood run cold. They were tearing through the baggage at the back of the coach, throwing linens and boxes into the dirt.

I have to move.

I have to…

She did not think.

She fled.

Her boots hit the mud with a heavy splash. Her skirts tangled in her fists, the heavy, wet velvet weighing her down as she tore away from the path. Branches tore at her sleeves and snatched at her hair as she plunged into the dense forest, driven by nothing but the desperate animal need to survive. Behind her, the men shouted, realizing their prize was escaping. They were not far enough, never far enough, their heavy footsteps bouncing through the trees like hounds on a scent.

"She's heading for the ridge!" a man roared behind her.

Faster.

Her lungs burned with every breath of icy air.

Faster.

A sharp pine branch caught her across the cheek, cutting the skin. She barely felt it.

Faster.

The trees began to thin, the dense pines giving way to broader clearings. Light filtered through the canopy, gray and weak, but light. Claire pushed harder, her legs screaming with exhaustion, her heart pounding so loud in her ears that she could hear nothing else of the pursuit.

And then…

She stumbled into a clearing.

A village market, small and scattered with low stone huts and timber stalls.

Thank God.

She opened her mouth to scream for help, to raise the alarm to the small crowd of villagers scattered among the sheep pens.

And found herself staring directly at two mounted Highland warriors who sat astride two massive warhorses near the center of the square.

Claire froze, her breath catching entirely.

The first warrior was unremarkable— broad, bearded, with watchful eyes that swept over her once and seemed to catalog everything from her torn cloak to the mud on her face. But the second…

The second commanded every ounce of her attention.

He was a massive man, his shoulders straining against a dark cloak that dripped with rainwater. Black hair brushed his collarbones, damp and wild. A pale scar cut across one sharp cheekbone, standing out against his tanned, rugged skin. And his eyes… Green.

The color of emeralds. The color of the forest after a storm, of something ancient and dangerous and alive.

He stared at her.

Not with surprise, exactly. More like... assessment. As though she were a puzzle he had not expected to find and had not yet decided whether to solve. He didn't move a muscle, his large hand resting casually on the cantle of his saddle.

Behind her, the raiders burst into the clearing, their boots skidding on the wet stones, their breathing heavy and ragged.

Claire's mind moved faster than it ever had in her life. She knew what happened to unprotected women caught in the middle of clan rivalries. She needed a shield, and she needed it immediately.

She spun toward the warriors, pointed directly at the larger one, the green-eyed one, and summoned every ounce of confidence she had ever possessed, standing straight despite her trembling knees.