Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) by Kelly Jameson

love us ne’er really leave us.”
    Leith sat on the nearest bench and Isobel sat down beside him. For a while, they were silent. She studied his proud profile.
    “I ken I am no’ handsome like my brother was,” he said. “It’s the scar. It divides my face. Ah well, at least half of my face is still handsome.”
    “How did ye get the scar?”
    He gazed at her coolly. “’Tis a story for another time.”
    Isobel reached out to touch it and he flinched, but he did not move away. She closed her eyes as she traced the scar softly with her fingertips. She heard his quick intake of breath and in her mind, she saw darkness and slashing rain, the flash of many swords, blood spattering high grasses beneath the moonlight. And then, something unexpected.
    She snatched her hand away and when she opened her eyes, he was staring at her hard.
    “Ye were wounded in a fierce battle.”
    He arched a dark eyebrow. “It would be fair easy to guess I’d gained this scar in battle.”
    “Yea. What surprised ye is that the foe ye raised yer sword against turned out to be a woman disguised as a man. Ye couldna kill her and she took that moment to slash yer face and escape. Ye let her run and no one kent it.”
    He stood up and walked to the end of the bench, leaning his tall frame against it. “I’ve ne’er told anyone about it. How can ye see these things ye see, Isobel? For ‘tis true. Had the wind and rain no’ knocked her cap from her head, spilling her long hair down her back, I would have pinned her heart to the earth with the point of my sword.”
    “I dunna know how I see these things. Some people are mysteriously connected. Why ye and I are connected, I canna say. It may no’ always be so.” She paused. “Though she was yer enemy, ye are glad ye didna kill someone so brave.”
    He ran his hand through his midnight-dark hair. “Aye. ’Tis true. But by God, a young woman! On the battlefield!”
    “Like Joan of Arc.” Isobel looked away from him. “Women can be vera brave, too.”
    “I’ve ne’er doubted it, Isobel. Women are vera brave. I’ve often thought them braver than men for the things they must endure. My mother was brave. Do ye know, she gave her life to protect me and Logan when we were just babes?”
    “What happened?”
    “Some of the women were in the orchard with their children. We were only old enough to be just walking then, I’m told. Myself and Logan. ‘Twas a warm, beautiful day. The sun was shining. A party of drifters came upon the women and despite being offered food and drink, the drifters raped and killed a few of the women. My mother had a dirk hidden in her skirts. She’d seen the drifters coming and had a bad feeling about it, so she told some of the women to take to the heather.
    “They gathered up the children, including Logan and myself, and ran into the brush to hide. As I understand it, the drifters were travel-stained and weary, their horses sweat-streaked and flecked with spume. A vera desperate sort.
    “My mother fought valiantly but she was stabbed just as my father and his men, including my uncle Rolph, came riding over the hills. Their rage was such that no’ a drifter was left standing. My mother died in my da’s arms.” He paused, frowning. “The drifters paid with their lives but it couldna bring my mother back. I dunna remember her face. I was too young. I am only alive because of her bravery.”
    “That’s something we have in common,” she said. “Brave, unselfish mothers. My mother also died protecting me.”
    “How?”
    “’Twas a fire in our croft. I was eight summers. She pushed me to safety. But she didna survive. ‘Tis why I have the ugly scars. Much uglier than yers. Whereas ye were cut, I was burned.” Her face flamed at the memory of his eyes assessing her naked flesh as she stood in the wooden bathing tub, at the feeling that surely he’d been repulsed by what he saw. She decided to talk of other things. “Yer mother is also buried