Page 7 of The Laird who Craved her

"That's right," she declared breathlessly, her voice ringing clear across the market square. "This is me husband. And he is the Highland warrior who will kill every one of ye if ye come closer."

Silence.

The raiders hesitated, their weapons dropping an inch as they looked from the lone woman to the two towering figures on horseback.

The bearded warrior beside the green-eyed one raised an eyebrow. His mouth twitched, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement, his eyes darting toward his companion.

But the larger one...

He simply stared.

Cold… Silent… Unreadable.

Claire's heart hammered against her ribs, the tension in the square stretching until it felt ready to snap.

Please.

Please play along.

I am beggin' ye.

The green-eyed warrior dismounted. The motion was fluid and entirely effortless for a man of his immense size. His dark cloak shifted as he drew his broadsword, the heavy steel catching the dull gray light, revealing the distinct colors of the wool beneath.

MacRae.

Claire knew that tartan. Everyone knew that tartan. It belonged to the fiercest clan in the western valleys, men who fought with absolute brutality.

One of the raiders muttered something, a curse, maybe a prayer, and took a hasty step back into the shadow of the tree line. "We want no trouble with the MacRaes," the man grunted.

The green-eyed warrior did not move. Did not speak. Simply stood there with his sword in his hand and his eyes fixed on the raiders like a wolf deciding which throat to tear out first. His absolute silence was far more terrifying than any shouted threat.

One by one, the raiders backed away, melting back into the safety of the deep forest until the sound of their retreating footsteps died away.

Claire's knees nearly gave out from the sheer rush of relief.

Thank God.

She turned to the green-eyed warrior, her breath still ragged, and summoned a smile that felt like it might crack her face in half, trying to regain her noble composure.

"Thank ye kindly," she said, taking a small step backward toward the path.

The warrior did not step aside.

He stood directly in front of her, close enough that she could see the individual scars on his large hands, the dark stubble along his sharp jaw, and the way his wet hair curled against his collar. His companion had dismounted now as well, circling slowly to block the opposite direction, his hand resting on his own dirk.

Claire's stomach tightened, the relief vanishing instantly.

What have I done?

"Now kindly let me go," she said, her voice wavering slightly.

The warrior's mouth twitched.

It was not quite a smile. More like a crack in a stone wall, a brief glimpse of something dangerous beneath the surface.

"Nae so fast, lass."

His voice was rough. The kind of voice that scraped across a person's skin like stone dragged across steel.