The Warrior Laird by Margo Maguire Page B

and ached for his touch, and when she felt his intense arousal against her belly, Maura had lost all sense of decency.
    But he had not. He’d pulled away.
    Maura supposed a highland warrior might allow himself to enjoy a few moments’ passion, especially when freely offered, but he would never ally himself with the daughter of a lowland lord. Nor would that lowland lord allow his daughter to be courted by such a man.
    Maura shivered and rubbed her arms to warm them. She opened her eyes to the brightening sky and caught the sight of three unsavory men coming toward her from the deep woods, all of them on foot.
    She stood abruptly, her heart pounding.
    All three men were large and dirty, their expressions menacing. Maura did not know what to do. She was entirely alone, with no weapon, no way to defend herself.
    â€œWhat have we here, lads?” the first one called out.
    â€œA wee pigeon, ripe for the pluckin’,” another one said with a wicked grin.
    Maura realized she was going to die there, and die horribly.

 
    Chapter 9

    M aura grabbed her bag and made a run for it. She ran as fast as she could, cursing the twisting of her skirts about her legs. They slowed her immeasurably, and if she could have torn them off to get away from the filthy brigands, she’d have done it.
    She began to pray for her salvation when she turned back for a quick glance and saw them gaining on her. But the rumble of galloping hooves was coming toward her through the dense woods, distracting her. She tripped and nearly fell, but suddenly Laird MacMillan was there, jumping from his horse and catching her in his arms.
    He quickly shoved her behind him as he drew out his massive claymore from his sword belt.
    â€œYou’d be wise to stop where you are, lads.” His voice sounded like steel.
    The outlaws laughed. Maura gaped at the men, her terror in her throat. Her knees wobbled so badly she was afraid they would not support her. She tried to step back, away from Laird MacMillan, but quickly realized she was holding on to the back of his tartan. She was using him as a shield, the very man who’d come to take back the property she’d stolen from him.
    He was poised to fight. His knees bent, arms spread wide, his plaid swaying against his legs as though naught was amiss. As though he was about to spar for his own amusement.
    â€œYou do not want to test me,” he said. Maura let go of his tartan and watched in horror as the men surrounded them. Did he not understand what a dire predicament this was?
    â€œNay?” asked the tallest of the men, lunging at Dugan with his sword.
    Dugan leaped away to one side, pulling Maura with him. Her ankle shrieked in pain when she took a step. “Stand away, Maura,” he commanded.
    But there was nowhere to go. Their attackers seemed to come from every direction all at once, two with long swords, the other from behind, wielding a short dirk.
    But MacMillan turned and dodged quickly and effectively, parrying every thrust and jab. The clang of steel echoed in the woods, as did the taunts of his attackers. Maura ducked and tried to stay out of MacMillan’s way and out of the reach of the men who’d come upon her.
    â€œYe can’na keep this up, ye wee bloody bastard!” one of them shouted.
    But yes, it seemed that Dugan MacMillan, who was not wee in any way, could keep it up indefinitely. And he would have, but one of the swordsmen came for her. Maura turned to run, but her injured ankle prevented it. She lost her footing and fell to the ground.
    MacMillan spun quickly and speared her assailant before Maura could look away.
    Screams of rage came from the two who remained and they charged MacMillan, clearly intending to slaughter him for killing their accomplice.
    He dealt with each one, seemingly all at once. And yet Maura knew it could not be possible. No one was that fast or that capable a swordsman. But when all was quiet in the woods, the three