Page 3 of The Ruthless Laird's Virgin
His chest rose and fell in steady, uneven rhythms as the rain grew thicker and blanketed them both.
She took a few steps toward him, nudging him gently at first before kneeling at his side when he did not stir.
I shouldnae get any closer.Her heart raced with fear, yet she could not help but notice the subtle scars on his arms and his strong build. He looked far fiercer, like a warrior rather than a bandit.
Her breath caught in her throat again as the rain washed away patches of dirt from his skin. He was tanned, almost olive-colored in the patches that were now beginning to reveal themselves.
“Water…” He finally stirred, almost making her jump from her skin.
“I can give ye water,” she whispered before pushing herself up and hurrying back to her horse, where she retrieved a hide flask and hurried back. “Here.” She placed one hand under his head and lifted, guiding the flask to his lips.
The man drank in large gulps, unashamedly quenching his thirst like an animal in the desert. The flask was almost empty by the time he breathed a sigh of relief and fell back down, his heavy head lolling onto her lap.
“I cannae just leave ye here.” She released a heavy breath and lifted her head to look around. She was still an hour from her destination, and the road was not safe. She thought of lifting him onto her horse, but there was no possible way that someone with her lithe figure would be able to manage his bulk.
The horse neighed when lightning lit up the sky in the distance.
She had no choice but to drag him off the road and into a shelter.
“But where?” She looked around, hoping against hope that a miracle would present itself. It was then that her eyes fell on something in the distance. A faint pillar of smoke was barely visible above the line of trees.
A pillar of smoke like that could mean only one thing: a fire. And where there was a fire, there were people who could help them. It suddenly dawned on her that she recognized exactly where she was. She and her brother had spent many hours playing in the forest during trips up North. The smoke was more than likely coming from the healer’s hut, Fiona MacRae, an old woman despised by most of the highlands, but useful when it came to healing.
“Fiona is the only person who can help us.” She stood and spoke out loud with another heavy sigh before fetching her horse and looping the reins around her arm.
The stranger still lay deathly still, and had it not been for the uneven rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought him dead.
“I guess we have nae choice.” She gritted her teeth as she leaned down and placed each hand under his arms, lifting him slightly off the ground as she began to drag him backward. “Good Lord, ye must have weighed more than a few sacks of grain as a bairn. Yer poor mother.” She gritted her teeth and headed toward the line of trees.
It took her what seemed like more than an hour to drag him all the way to the hut, taking frequent breaks as the underbrush caught his hair and cloak. She was soaked through to the bone and almost completely out of breath by the time she lowered him to the ground and knocked on the door.
A loud wooden creak sliced through the air as the door opened at once.
“Aye?” An old woman who appeared to be in her seventies, with pure white hair and ice-blue eyes, looked at them both. She was tall and thin with bony hands and features, yet her face bore the evidence of someone who had once been quite pretty. Her eyes dropped back down to the man on the floor as she stepped aside. “Ye had better bring him in.”
Taking a deep breath, Eleanor composed herself again before lifting his shoulders and dragging the man inside the hut.
What have I gotten meself into?
The door shut behind her just as a loud crack split the sky outside.
CHAPTER TWO
Where am I?
Callum opened his eyes, blinking the world back into focus. The warm air around him smelled of herbs, damp earth, and fire. The last thing he could recall was stumbling onto a wet road, and then? Nothing.
His chest ached with every breath as he shut his eyes, steeling himself against the pain that made him grit his teeth. He reasoned with himself that he could not have been taken by an enemy, if he had, they would have surely killed him by now.
Forcing his eyes open again, he looked to the side, taking in a small cabin with a hearth burning bright and a few items of wooden furniture. His vision was still blurry, but his gaze quickly shifted to the foot of the bed, where an old woman’s icy gaze was pinning him in place.
“Easy now,” she said in a low, raspy voice. The corners of her mouth wrinkled at the sides as she pursed her lips.
I ken who she is.
He tried to speak, but found himself almost choking on the dryness in his throat.
The old woman stood, her movements steady and sure as she made her way to his side and reached for a glass of water, then held it to his mouth. “Drink,” she barked, her words more of a command than a suggestion.
