Page 32 of Desire of a Highlander

Elodie grabbed half a loaf and a wedge of cheese, then climbed to her feet.

“Where are ye going?” Faye asked.

Elodie shrugged. “To make sure your chief remembers to eat.”

The healer’s mouth twitched in something suspiciously like a grin. “How thoughtful of ye.”

Elodie scowled. “I’m just being helpful.”

“Aye,” Faye said mildly. “Of course ye are.”

Elodie ignored the healer’s smug expression and strode off. But when she reached the smithy, she found the building empty. Hot coals glowed in the furnace and tools lay scattered across workbenches, but there was no sign of Ronan.

She took a few steps inside. “Ronan?”

There was no answer, but faint noises were coming from somewhere behind the building. Curious, she followed the sound to a small yard out the back and halted, staring.

Ronan was in the yard. He’d discarded his shirt and boots, leaving him in only his loose-fitting pants. He held one of the swords she’d seen hanging on the wall of the smithy in a two-handed grip, and he was moving through a series of forms as though fighting some invisible opponent.

Elodie watched, mesmerized. He moved with easy grace. The blade arced, flashing in the sun. Step. Turn. Cut. Recover. This wasn’t someone fumbling through practice, this was someone who had trained for years. Someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

Elodie forgot entirely about the food in her hands. Ronan pivoted, and the sword swept through another sequence. She might not know much about his time period, but she knew enough to realize that a blacksmith shouldn’t know how to fight like that. Or own a horse like Angus and expensive pistols and swords.

Who are you? she thought.

A low ‘uff’ interrupted her thoughts. Bran, who had been curled up asleep by the wall, had opened one eye. A moment later Skye woke as well and thumped her tail on the ground in greeting. Alerted by the noise, Ronan whirled and spotted her standing there. Heat flooded Elodie’s cheeks at being caught watching him.

She held up the food sheepishly. “I brought you something to eat.”

Smooth, Elodie, she thought. Very smooth.

Ronan put down the sword, then retrieved his shirt from the post it was hanging on, and pulled it over his head. A small part of Elodie found this disappointing. She firmly ignored that part.

He came over to join her. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and he was breathing heavily. “My thanks, lass, but there was no need. I would have grabbed something later.”

She shrugged. “Faye said you often forget to eat.”

She folded herself cross-legged in the grass, and Ronan joined her. Bran and Skye stretched out nearby and promptly fell asleep again. Elodie handed him the bread and cheese.

“Thank ye.”

“You’re welcome.”

For a while they ate in companionable silence, but she soon found her gaze drifting towards the sword lying beside him in the grass. The sight of it sent an unexpected chill through her. A sword. An actual sword. One used for killing people. The reality of where she was hit her all over again. This place wasn’t a historical reenactment or a theme park. This was a place where people carried pistols and swords.

Ronan saw her looking. “What’s wrong, lass?”

She hesitated. “I suppose it’s finally sinking in.”

“What is?”

“How dangerous this place is.”

Ronan sighed. “Aye,” he agreed. “No matter how we might wish it otherwise.”

Elodie tore up a handful of grass and began tossing it away bit by bit, trying to ignore the lethal blade lying in the grass not three feet away.

Ronan indicated her temple. “How is yer head?”