Highlander Unchained Read online

  They must have been scouting for an attack and come upon them by chance. Thank God he’d had the foresight to bring extra men.

  He fought like a man possessed—with only two thoughts, the safety of his sisters and reaching Flora in time.

  They’d easily repelled the initial attack, and he immediately ordered Allan and a few of the other men to see his sisters home to safety. Then, having gathered the rest of his men, he went after Flora—his chest twisting as he realized he didn’t know whether she wanted to stay or go. The thought that given the chance she might leave him wormed its way into his heart.

  But he wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

  Flora had never been more happy to see anyone in her life.

  Men poured from the trees, Lachlan in the lead, with at least four men hard on his tail. He looked around, his gaze locking on hers. She saw the relief and realized that he’d been worried—for her. She counted at least a dozen of her brother’s men and only three of Lachlan’s—Murdoch was the only one she knew by name. He must have sent Allan and the others back with Mary and Gilly. She prayed they were safe.

  She’d seen Lachlan training with his men, but nothing could have prepared her for witnessing him in battle. He wielded his claymore with unbelievable strength and agility, swinging it in a high arc with one hand to force back an attacker, thrusting his dirk with the other. It was brutal and graceful at the same time, and undeniably powerful. This was the fierce edge to him that she’d always sensed lurking under the surface.

  Highlanders are barbarians, nothing more than bloodthirsty killers. Her mother’s words came back to her. If Flora didn’t know Lachlan, watching him right now, she might think the same. But she did know him. And the hand that held his claymore with deadly purpose could also caress with tenderness. The hard blue eyes that killed ruthlessly could also be soft and gentle. Yes, he was a formidable warrior, but he was so much more.

  The danger he faced set her heart racing. But despite the odds against him, Lachlan appeared completely in control—almost eerily calm and more dangerous than she’d ever seen him. He looked like a man who’d spent a lifetime on a battlefield. He had, she realized. But until now she hadn’t understood what that meant, of what it must have been like. Her admiration only increased. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to face death constantly.

  His skills were dominating. He dispatched two of his attackers with relative ease, purposefully making his way toward her.

  The odds were improving. It was perhaps only eight to four now. Plus the two men who guarded her, she realized.

  “Come, my lady,” Aonghus said. “It’s not safe for you here, we must leave.”

  “But I can’t…” Flora hesitated, looking back at Lachlan. She couldn’t leave him. Or, more accurately, she didn’t want to leave him.

  Cormac must have read her hesitation, because he pushed her toward Aonghus. “Take her, I’ll take care of Coll.” He drew his sword from the baldric at his back. The deadly blade sent a shiver rippling through her. She sensed this man was a threat.

  Aonghus tried to lead her off, but she jerked out of his hold. Though the brutality of battle horrified her, she couldn’t turn away. Not while Lachlan was in danger. Her heart rose in her throat as the brute who’d captured her attacked Lachlan.

  She felt the force of every heavy strike reverberate through her bones as the two men exchanged blows. How could they stand it? Even the sound was horrible.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Flora saw one of Lachlan’s men cut down. A strangled sound emerged from her throat, and from the fury in his gaze, she realized that Lachlan had seen it, too. He struck harder against his opponent, lowering the sword with such force, it would have cut Cormac in two had he not blocked it.

  Though her brother’s man didn’t have the strength or skill of Lachlan, he was an able warrior—with surprising agility for a man of his size and weight—which was considerable. The brute continued to block stroke after stroke and didn’t seem to be tiring.

  Lachlan’s arms and torso flexed with his exertions; she didn’t know how much longer he would be able to keep it up. The relentless attacking had surely sapped his strength—not that you would know it from looking at him. He barely seemed to be breathing hard.

  She chanced a glance at the others. Her hand covered her mouth. Murdoch was in trouble—he was being forced back against the trees with nowhere to go. Lachlan’s remaining guardsman tried to get to him to help but was set upon by three of her brother’s men.

  With his men in danger, something came over Lachlan. He moved with cold purpose. Not frenzied, but strong and sure. Cormac sensed it as well. He tried to swing his blade, but Lachlan nearly plucked it from his hand with a hard twist of his wrist. The moment of surprise was all the opening he needed. He plunged his dirk into Cormac’s gut, and Flora looked away.

  Aonghus swore. The death of the other man had clearly rattled him. He kept shooting furtive glances toward the trees. Flora had the horrible suspicion that he was waiting for reinforcements. No longer content to watch the battle unfold before them, he urged her away with renewed vigor. Though not much taller than she, he was wiry and strong.

  “Let go of me,” Flora said, ripping her arm from his hold. “I’ll not leave—”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but I’m afraid I must insist.” He took hold of her and forcibly pulled her toward the waiting horse. She wanted to shout to Lachlan for help, but he’d gone to Murdoch’s aid and was engaged with three of her brother’s men—she dared not risk the distraction. Instead, she used all her strength to resist him, all the time keeping her eyes pinned on the fight.

  She muffled a cry, seeing Lachlan surrounded. He warded off blow after blow, but they kept closing in on him. Dear God, they were going to cut him to shreds. At least Murdoch was holding his own now that one of the men pinning him back had turned to Lachlan. The remaining guardsman from Coll—a man she recognized as one of Murdoch’s friends—was trying to stave off two others, but he stumbled on a root. Flora sucked in her breath and turned her head, unable to watch as one of her brother’s men plunged a dirk into his heart. She knew he was dead when the two men he’d been fighting joined the others against Lachlan.

  Panic rose in the back of her throat. He was fighting five men. He would not be able to hold them back forever, no matter how superior his fighting skills. Her fears were soon realized. A scream strangled in her throat when one of her brother’s men slashed high across Lachlan’s arm. The gash that tore through his shirt was horrifying. Bile rose in her throat as blood flooded the white sleeve crimson.

  Aonghus was still dragging her from behind toward the horse, and she stomped down as hard as she could on his foot, as she’d done with Lachlan, and twisted out of his arms. Then she ran toward Lachlan.

  In that moment, nothing had ever been clearer. She didn’t want to go with her brother’s men; she didn’t want to leave Lachlan.

  She loved him.

  The intense initial attraction she’d felt for him had grown stronger as she came to know him. Behind the implacable façade, she’d discovered a man of surprising tenderness. With him she felt safe, protected—and, most of all, wanted. She’d been lost after the death of her mother, and he’d given her a home with a family. He was a rough and brutal Highland chief, but pure of heart and honorable. He was a survivor. A man who’d had to fight for his heritage and his clan not only with brute strength, but with cunning.

  He was the first man not to be intimidated by her in some way, whether by her wealth, her supposed beauty, her connections, or her so-called willfulness—which Flora simply considered confidence. Lachlan challenged her and didn’t back down. And she respected him enough to heed the warning. She admired his fortitude, his calm under pressure, and his physical strength.

  She loved him more than she’d ever dreamed possible. If only she’d realized it sooner. Not now, when it might be too late.

  She raced toward him. But with so many men surrounding him, s