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tunic and noticed a woman’s breasts, several thoughts had come to mind. Why would a woman cut her tresses and dress in a lad’s clothing? And when she spoke her name, something clicked in his mind. Ciaran had a vivid recollection of the woman at court. Her troubled face still haunted his dreams, but when she’d graced him with a smile… Due to the extent of her bruising he was not sure she was the same woman, but he would pull the truth from her eventually. He did know there was only one logical reason for her actions. She was running from someone or something. He most definitely did not need a woman’s woes to keep them from returning home.
    They needed to move.
    He blew out a loud whistle for his men to return and Aiden cast him a questioning gaze. “What the hell was that about?”
    Ciaran waved for his men to come near. “Ye willnae believe… The lad is a lass . We need to take our leave.” When all of his men held similar shocked expressions upon their features, he added, “Aye, she has cut her tresses and wears a lad’s clothing. Those arenae bruises from a fallen mount. She was badly beaten. She runs from someone but willnae say who. She says she is unwed but willnae say why she runs. Mount up. I donna want trouble. We will take her to the next village.”
    The lass emerged from the brush and his men gawked at her. She shifted from foot to foot and stared at her hands.
    Silence grew tight with tension.
    “We will ride with ye to the next village,” said Ciaran, his voice ringing with command.
    She immediately tensed. “Nay, ye have done enough. My thanks to ye and your men,” she spoke firmly, her eyes proud.
    “Lass, we willnae leave a woman, especially an injured woman, alone. We will all escort ye to the next village and seek the healer,” he insisted. When she did not move and held her ground, he stared at her, perplexed. No one ever disobeyed his orders and this would not be a first. He grabbed her mount and led him over. Dropping the reins, Ciaran moved to assist her.
    She placed her hand on his forearm, and a shiver ran through him from her mere touch. “Please, nay, I can do it.”
    Was she completely daft? Why was she so insistent on doing everything herself when she could barely stand to take care of her personal needs? Women. She was a frustrating lass. His eyes widened when the black beast actually started to kneel upon the ground.
    Wincing in pain, she pulled herself upon his back. She kicked him once and the beast actually rose. “He is mine. I didnae steal him.” She spoke with light bitterness.
    He shook his head in nonbelief. This woman was an ever-changing mystery. He and his men mounted their horses and moved in single file. He rode behind her for her own protection, but also to ensure she did not flee. For some reason, he would not have been surprised if she tried. They continued to ride in companionable silence for the next couple of miles. It was a slow pace, but at least he was getting closer to home. He longed for the mountains of the Highlands.
    The lass was quiet—too quiet. When Rosalia placed her hand at her side for support and stretched her back, he knew she was uncomfortable.
    “How do ye fare?” Ciaran asked with concern.
    She jumped at the sound of his voice and her horse shied, but she easily controlled her mount. “I am fine. My thanks for asking,” she murmured.
    He grunted in frustration—loudly. Perhaps he even growled. He was not sure. Was everything “fine” to her? Did she not realize the danger she was in? If someone else had found her, she would surely be… Ciaran shook off the mental image. She was a stubborn lass. It reminded him of why he was not wed. He heard enough of Aisling’s ire to be thankful he was not Aiden. He would never understand women, let alone why anyone would want to be shackled to one—obstinate, bellowing creatures.
    Aiden stopped his mount ahead on the path and waited for Ciaran to catch up. “Donna ye think we should