Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart by Tanya Anne Crosby

shining down on her, nothing seemed so terrible. When he returned, she would face Broc like a woman and not hide like a child.
    What was done was done, and there was no way to rescind her actions.
    Nor did she entirely wish to, if she could be honest with herself. In those moments with Broc she had felt more alive than she had ever felt in her life. In fact, this morning, everything seemed brighter, more vivid. Her senses were keener and her heart pounded with more vigor. She took a deep breath and savored a moment of sweet purity. This land was wild but truly beautiful. She could hardly fault the Scots for defending it so fiercely.
    She stopped and turned to consider the hovel with different eyes.
    It was a simple dwelling, and its owner must have been a simple person. Unlike those women she’d grown accustomed to at court, this woman had lived entirely without luxuries. There was no extravagant bed upon which to lay her head at night. No kitchens, no corridors to be lost within, no gardens in which to brood. But she had been free—completely and utterly free!
    Had she been happy?
    Had Broc visited often?
    Did they love each other?
    Who was this man she had wed instead of Broc?
    Her head filled with questions.
    It was easier not to think about the bowman. She didn’t want to consider Tomas. Didn’t want to think that her stepmother wished her dead. What had she ever done to incur the woman’s wrath? Surely Broc must be mistaken. He’d misunderstood the bowman’s intent, was all. Tomas had merely been defending her—it had to be.
    She tried to recall the previous day’s events precisely. Her stepmother’s brother hadn’t been among her father’s men—not when John had fallen and Broc had whisked her away. So, then, where had he been? And why hadn’t he shown himself? What would he have to gain by her death?
    The question plagued her.
    Broc would return soon enough with news.
    In the meantime, she intended to take care of a few minor necessities. He couldn’t possibly miss her in the short time she would be gone.
     

     
    Broc expected to find Elizabet still abed. Instead he returned to find her gone.
    He tried not to panic—for her sake, not his own. He knew they were out searching for her. What if the bowman found her first? He’d promised no harm would come to her, and he didn’t intend to fail her now.
    He barreled out of the hut, shoving the door open and calling her name frantically.
    By God, if they found her first, if they discovered his involvement, the clans would all be at war again. And Broc would be the man responsible for starting it. Was this how he repaid his debts to Iain? By starting a blood war worse than the MacLean-MacKinnon feud?
    “Elizabet!” he called, running through the forest. And then at once he saw her, hiding behind a bush. Her head popped up, and then she ducked once more.
    She was hiding from him. She obviously didn’t wish him to find her. Too bad. He had, and he bloody well intended to drag her back to the hut where she would be safe.
    He ran and dove after her, determined to catch her. He hardly expected what happened next.
    Somehow, she seized hold of him, taking his arm and twisting his body in midair like some warrior woman. Dazed and confused, he landed with a thud upon his back.
    “Damn,” he said, and groaned.
    Elizabet stood, arms akimbo, and glared down at him. “What in damnation were you doing?”
    He gave her a look of wounded pride. “That hurt,” he protested.
     
    It served him right.
    Elizabet raised a brow at him, unmoved by his little-boy pout. “I heard you the first time you called,” she assured him. “Didn’t it occur to you there might be a reason I didn’t answer you at once?”
    His confusion turned slowly to comprehension, and his gaze snapped to the place where she’d been stooped and then back to her. He seemed suddenly to realize what he’d interrupted, and his eyes widened. His cheeks began to color, and he rolled over onto his