Lured to the Night (The Brotherhood 4)

Isla’s heart pounded in her chest, the sound so loud it echoed in her ears. She clung to Lachlan’s hand as they pushed through bracken, the fern fronds brushing against her cape as they skirted stealthily around the perimeter of the field.

She gripped his hand tighter. Fear for the cattle and her safety had no bearing on the need to remain connected to him. In her mind, she imagined they were running away, far away from anything or anyone that would seek to keep them apart. There would be a small cabin, a cosy, isolated place where they could hide from the world, where no one would ever find them. Each night she would lie enveloped in his arms, relish the thought of his large body covering her, keeping her safe, keeping her warm.

But it was a foolish dream.

Sunrise would bring the realisation that she was no longer human. Any hope of spending her life with Lachlan had vanished the moment she had tasted Nikolai’s infected blood. A sob caught in her throat. Gulping down breaths was the only way to keep calm and quiet.

“We’re nearly there. I expect once he has carried out his evil deed, he will reenter the forest the same way he came.” Lachlan glanced down at her, his brows drawn together. “If you’re struggling to keep up I can carry you.”

“No.” Her heart fluttered at the prospect. Once, he had chased her along the banks of the burn, scooped her up into his muscular arms and twirled round and round until they were both dizzy. She had squealed and laughed until her sides ached. It was the day she lost her heart and soul to him. “No. It’s just difficult to keep up with your long strides.”

“Will it be easier if I let go of your hand?”

“No.” She wanted to hold on to him for a little while longer. The opportunity would never present itself again. Soon, he would leave for Edinburgh. She suspected he would leave for good. “Your firm grip is the only thing preventing me from tripping.”

He nodded, unaware of how she longed to rest her head against his bare chest, oblivious to the way her body cried out to be near him.

Lachlan stopped and bent his head. “We must be quiet now.” His gaze travelled over her face. “I want you to remain here. Should anything untoward happen, I want you to run home and alert Douglas.”

Panic flared.

He was strong, robust, a perfect specimen of a masculine warrior. What on earth could go wrong? “Do not do anything foolish, something you might later live to regret.”

He used the tips of his fingers to trace a line along her jaw. “I am already guilty of being foolish. I have committed one cowardly act that saw me lose the only thing dear to me. And so regret is something I have learnt to live with.”

He did not wait for her to pass comment and without another word turned and marched towards the clearing. Hunching his back to stoop forward, he crept out into the open air. Isla clung to a tree trunk as she watched his measured movements. The hair at her nape prickled to attention; the muscles in her stomach grew hard as she waited for him to confront the scoundrel.

In the dark, it was difficult to distinguish one black shadow from another. Lachlan had blown out the candle in her lamp and so there had been no point carrying it. All she could do was attempt to use the predatory skills that were a consequence of her blood affliction. Could she pick up traces of the villain’s thoughts in order to establish motive and minimise the risk? Could she convey those messages to Lachlan?

In refusing to accept the nature of her affliction, she had avoided listening to other people’s thoughts. Consequently, she lacked the skill ne

eded to focus fully on the task. When it came to thinking about the man she should have married, her wild imagination often concocted wonderful scenarios that served to stifle her concentration.

Staring out across the meadow as Lachlan drew nearer to his prey, she watched as the figure suddenly shot around. She witnessed their quarry’s animated gestures, saw a glint of metal, a brief flash of light swiping the air. The frightened cattle darted in between the two men, desperate to be clear of the threat.

Nikolai’s ominous whispers rushed through her mind.

You could be sliced with a sword or shot with a pistol, and still you will not die.

Was there any truth to his words?

Without another thought, she picked up her skirt and ran out from her woodland shelter. It did not occur to her that her untimely presence would distract Lachlan from his task. Indeed, as he turned to urge her to return to the sanctuary of her hiding place, their prey took the opportunity to flee into the forest.

Torn between waiting for her to reach him and chasing after the scoundrel, Lachlan’s head shot frantically back and forth.

“Hurry,” he yelled as the cattle darted to a safer part of the meadow. She sprinted the last few steps. He grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of their quarry. “You should have stayed in the forest.”

“He has a blade.” She panted the words as she tried to keep up with his fast pace. “Did you see his face? Do you know who it is?”

“No. It’s too dark. He’s wearing a woman’s cape, has covered the lower part of his face with fabric or material of some sort.”

“But you’re certain it’s a man?”

“Without a doubt. His shoulders are too broad. His stance lacks the necessary elegance or refinement. And I’ve never seen a woman wield a weapon in such a way.”

Isla shivered. What would he say if he saw her pointed fangs hanging over her bottom lip, or if he heard the devilish hiss that resonated from the back of her throat? In that instance, she wielded a weapon far more lethal than a blade. When in monstrous form she lacked feminine grace and resembled a wild animal with no compassion for her victim.

They entered the forest through a narrow gap in the trees, managed to duck beneath the low branches to follow the overgrown path. The terrain proved uneven. Unstable. She tripped over a protruding root, and he grasped her elbow to help her back to her feet. The shafts of moonlight streaking through the trees did little to illuminate their way. Random gruff curses, mingled with the crunching noise underfoot, assisted them in tracking the blackguard’s movements.