Page 2 of The Ruthless Laird's Virgin
Tears welled in her eyes as she drew her lips into her mouth. Andrew was the only brother she had left, and he meant the world to her. “Ye cannae leave, Andrew, at least let me go with ye.”
Once he had finished gathering the documents, he walked over to her and kissed the top of her head. “Be careful, me hen. Yealways fuss about us. I promise I will come back to ye. Take care of Father for me.” He drew away from her, walking out of the study as silence suddenly set in.
Ride North. Avoid the inns. Daenae trust a soul.
Eleanor repeated her brother’s instructions in her mind with every beat of the horse’s hooves against the dirt. It had been a week since he had left her. A week since she had not heard a single word, then suddenly, in the early hours of the morning, a letter had arrived. Ten simple words that urged her forward.
Ride North. Avoid the inns. Daenae trust a soul.
Soft rain began to soak her cloak as she lifted the hood and covered her hair, setting her eyes on one of the old boundary markers in the distance. She was at least an hour from Fraser lands, and her muscles were beginning to ache from the hours of riding and very little sleep.
Her breath caught in her throat when her horse suddenly stopped rearing on the side of the road just as they reached the edge of a thicket of trees.
“What is it, girl?” Eleanor leaned down and petted the horse’s thick black neck, feeling as if her heart would burst from her chest as it slammed against her ribs.
Slamming her hooves against the sodden ground, the mare flicked her ears, rearing slightly as she snorted and looked toward the trees.
We are too close to the line of trees. Somethin’ isnae right here.
Eleanor stiffened in the saddle, gripping the horse’s reins tighter as the unmistakable scent of sickly-sweet iron filled her nostrils. Blood. Her heart skipped a beat as her pulse began to race, her eyes moving frantically across the line of trees.
There was not a single person in sight, but that did not mean she was alone. The roads between Edinburgh and the Northern territories were well-known for bandits and men who had abandoned their clans for less savory lives.
“Walk on.” Eleanor clicked her tongue, urging the horse forward despite the animal’s hesitation.
Silence filled the air apart from the hesitant clopping of her mare’s hooves. It was quiet, far too quiet for…
Every fiber in her body froze as a blood-covered man stumbled into the road, blocking their path.
The mare reared, kicking her front legs in the air as the man stumbled even closer, and Eleanor had to fight to keep herself seated.
His thick dark hair hung in messy clumps over his shoulders, while the rest of him seemed to have been dragged through the mud. Yet it was his eyes that stood out the most. Blacker than the depths of a coal mine as they locked onto hers.
He glared at her, taking a step forward as he reached a bloody and torn-up hand toward the saddle. He was a big, burly man, well-built and toned.
Is he a warrior or a bandit?
Fear rose in her chest when he grasped for the reins, missing them by an inch.
Acting without thinking, Eleanor reached for her riding crop that had been tucked into her boot and struck him, hoping the blow would buy her some time to escape. “Leave us alone!” she yelled, but the blow did nothing but anger him further.
The man clenched his strong jaw, exposing a vein in his neck as he stumbled forward and caught the reins on his second try. He fell to his knees and met her gaze once again before whispering, “Water…” His eyes suddenly rolled back in his head as he let go of the reins and fell to the side.
Now is me chance.
Uncertainty entered her heart as she gripped the reins and held them tight. It would not be right to leave the man injured and alone if he were a warrior, but if he were a bandit… Herheart suddenly jolted at the thought, causing her to act without thinking as she dug her heels into the horse’s flanks and urged the mare on.
The mare began to gallop, leaving the man lying still beside the road as they sped away.
Be kind, nay matter the cost.
Her father and Andrew’s words echoed in her mind as she drew further and further away.
“Damn!” she swore and slowed, looking back over her shoulder.
The man lay deathly still, too still for someone who could rise again and walk away.
Heaving a sigh, she turned the horse around and slowly began to make her way back toward the stranger. He did not so much as stir as she drew closer and dismounted, keeping a safe distance at first.
