Page 10 of My Brave Highlander

Damnation, where had they gone?

He crept forward, down an incline and around a bush. There, two forms in drab plaid huddled, one standing upright, back pressed against a giant boulder, and the other crouched.

Dirk froze, as did the two strangers.

A lass? Dark fierce eyes met his from beneath a cowl, but the face was definitely female and so was the clothing—a long arisaid. Despite her bulky and voluminous clothes, he could tell her shoulders were slender. Her eyes narrowed, and her stance was defensive. He glanced down at her hands, partially hidden in the folds of her skirts, but he did not miss the glint of a dagger clutched in one fist.

His gaze darted to the other figure. Also a woman, but a few years older.

"What the devil?" Rebbie muttered, coming up beside him.

"What are the two of you doing out in this weather?" Dirk asked in Gaelic, his tone harsher than he'd intended. Were they mad? Gloaming was approaching, and the snow and wind would only worsen.

"Leave us be," the lass said, her voice strong.

He exchanged a confused glance with Rebbie. He was surely wondering the same thing Dirk was. Why were they here, far from the nearest village, croft or castle?

"'Tis not safe for two women to be wandering about. Do you not ken of the outlaws and thieves in these parts?" At least there had been twelve years ago, and he doubted things had changed much.

"We're not troubling you, and we have no need of your help. Not much farther and we'll reach our destination." The glint of her dagger taunted and irritated him. Undoubtedly, she was afraid of them.

Dirk returned his broadsword to its scabbard. "And where would that destination be? It's been a long while since we passed through a village." And even longer since they'd left the keep they'd stayed in the night before.

"'Tis none of your concern."

Ah. So the lass had an impertinent mouth on her. Even more interesting, she had the speech of the Highland aristocracy, the dialect of somewhere south of here, but Western Highlands for a certainty. He nodded. "Well, I cannot leave you out here in the elements. I'll take you and your companion to Munrick Castle. The MacLeods will help you."

"Nay," she snapped and turned about, helping her friend—or her maid—rise to her feet. "Leave us. We are well."

"We mean you no harm, m'lady." He watched for her reaction to the title.

"I thank you for the offer of assistance, but we have no need of it."

She didn't notice the title, so clearly she was used to being called lady. Aside from that, her speech spoke volumes about her social station. And her status meant he definitely couldn't leave her unprotected in a snowstorm. She would not be as accustomed to the elements as a hardier crofter maid might be. Was she some chief's daughter who'd run away?

"Which clan are you from?" he asked.

"Does that matter?"

"Aye." He always liked to know who he was dealing with. Helping her would no doubt have repercussions.

The shape of her lips and the curve of her jaw line gave Dirk a sense of déjà vu. Though he could tell her eyes were dark, he could not see the shape clearly beneath the cowl and curtain of her dark brown hair. Had he seen her somewhere before?

"Are you a MacLeod? A MacKay?" he asked. Those were the two main clans in the area. But if she was from somewhere farther south, as her dialect indicated, no telling which clan she'd come from.

"Nay," she said. Why the devil wouldn't she reveal her clan name at least?

"Are you running from someone?"

She froze, staring at him wide-eyed. That was it. Who was she running from and why?

A sharp gust of wind grabbed her cowl and flung it back, revealing more of her face and long dark hair.

Indeed, she was familiar. Was she someone he'd met during his youth? The familiarity niggled at the back of his mind, tormenting him.

"I've seen you before," he said.

She yanked the cowl over her head, concealing most of her face once more. "Nay. I think not. You're mistaking me for someone else."