Reunited (Book 2 of Lost Highlander series) by Cassidy Cayman Page B

at him for a second, then slumped back against the rock. She pulled up her knees and started crying into her skirt.
    He almost wished he’d been faced with a knife wielding foe, rather than this sweet crying woman.
     Each pitiful sob tore at his heart, but he’d already acted like a heathen ruffian, jumping out and grabbing her. If he tried to comfort her, she’d probably scream and bite his hand.
    Tentatively he reached out and patted her on the shoulder, and when she didn’t rebuff him, he scooted next to her. The night was getting cold, perhaps he could lend her some body heat.
    “Why are ye out here all alone?” he asked.
    He was beginning to accept that things were not what he was used to and an oddly dressed young woman alone in the woods at dusk was probably cause for some alarm. People were probably out looking for her.
    To Pietro’s amazement, she turned and flung her arm around him, pressing her face into his chest and crying all the harder.
    After the slightest hesitation, he stroked her hair, pushing some strands off her face and tucking them behind her ear. He was overcome with a fierce sense of protectiveness.
    “Ye’ve nothing to fear, lass,” he said, feeling bold.
    She sniffled and pushed away from him, looking up at him as if taking his measure.
    He smiled his most charming smile, once again taken by surprise at her beauty.
    “It’s my husband,” she sobbed, falling back against him and gripping his shirt.
    Well, crap.
    He didn’t want to seem a cad and shove her away as if she had the plague, but he didn’t want some angry tartan clad madman to come bursting into the clearing and take an axe to his head because he was holding the man’s wife, either. But he didn’t want to let her go, not if he was honest. Maybe he’d get his fight after all.
    He patted her back and rocked gently from side to side, and soon she stopped crying, and he began to feel sleepy and comfortable with his back against the boulder and her small, soft body nestled against him. He was about to let his head rest against the rock and close his eyes when she gasped and wrenched away from him. She stood and stepped back, brushing at her skirts and trying to straighten her hair.
    “Ye’ve been kind to me,” she said with a hitch in her voice. “Now it is my turn to beg yer pardon. I do not know what came over me.”
    Her lip quivered and she looked off into the depths of the woods.
    “Are ye running from your husband?” he asked.
    She put her face in her hands, then looked at him, eyes blazing and clear.
    “Aye,” she said. “He’s a cruel savage. He forced me to marry him a fortnight ago. He willna speak to me. He shuts me up in my room.” She took a deep breath. “He’s mad, he’s evil. He mutters to himself, and goes off for days at a time, and when he returns he’s in a terrible state. He stares at me and gives me the darkest looks.”
    She reached out and leaned against a tree, as if her confession had taken the last of her strength.
    She looked at him and shuddered. He took a step forward and stood close, not touching her, but trying to give her strength with his proximity.
    “I’m afraid of him.”
    “I’ll help ye,” Pietro said. “I’ll help ye get away from him.”  
    “Why would ye do that?” she asked, taking a step back and peering up at him.
    It was almost full dark. The moon had taken over the sun’s post, and the stars were winking to life all over the sky.
    He almost laughed. What else did he have to do? Then he sobered. How could he help her when he had no idea what had happened to him. He had some money in his wallet, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be worth anything here. Now.
    Once again he ran his hand over his head, feeling for lumps. He wasn’t much of a dreamer when he was asleep. Of his occasional dreams the most vivid were of his training days in the RAF, or of getting kicked by a horse.
    He never had such detailed dreams where his place of work would be completely