Embrace of Fur and Flesh

Chapter 6

The woman held her head between her legs whimpering softly to herself. By the time she had stop screaming she had been shaking profusely, feeling faint, and needing to get air Breagan had then pushed her head in between her legs to ensure blood flow. She was shaking like a leaf and moaning very weakly to herself in whispered tones, "Wha's happinen t' me?"

The harsh voice was nonstop in it's rambling, most of which she couldn't make out but two or three words at a time. It was rough, primitive as it vibrated in her head. Words that didn't make sense rang out such as possessive "mines" and "mates". Before she knew what was happening a pair of leather worn boots came into view. They stood there proud, demanding her attention, she felt herself raise her eyes slowly to whom the boots were connected to.

She looked up quickly still fighting to control her breathing and squinted. He blocked out a large portion of the sun. He was a big man but his shadow was long and tall as it blocked her view of him and the sun itself. The loud gasp her hand flew to her mouth as she realized that the MacKinnon laird stood a'fore her. As he got closer and bent down from the light she saw his face he looked as if he were bored. This made her angry. Bored when she was in pain, bored he looked, and he had no idea what was happening. He should be more concerned, of course he did save her, but still concern would've been nice.

She gritted her teeth against her anger bored she huffed, he had the gall to stand there looking proud and she glared at him. He suddenly seemed as if he got an amused glint in his eye, it was hard to tell as the facial expression and body language looked bored, but his eyes gave amusement. The voices in her head must be from him, he made her crazy. It was odd though, he bared a grace she never thought possible of a man so imposing in stature as he.

He looked wild. His hair everywhere a mess upon his head that streamed down his back, loosely pulled into that ponytail that she so adored. His piercing gaze, as she looked closer, she realized was not bored all it was really just a mask, a faux expression that he hid behind. He was actually concerned, or at least a little, or maybe it was just her maybe she was misguided in her thoughts. He cocked his head to the side studying her as she looked at him she felt odd fluttering in her stomach. Feeling embarrassed, she looked away quickly then dared another peek to his face.

My, the MacKinnon was a large man with almost an impossible fluidity and swiftness. Nobody, Lileas was sure, could come by such movements so easily. She felt vulnerable and small because such a big man posed himself in front of her dwarfing her immediately. She needed her sword, but when she tried to reach for the help she realized it's absence. Panic grasped firmly upon her, as her chest tightened from the force. Where was it? Where was her sword she had never been anywhere without it, and feeling so vulnerable she needed its presence now, it made her more comfortable to have it with her, it made her feel safe, and yet with it missing, she felt panic rising in her.

Bragan saw her beginning to panic and grasped her jaw firmly in his hand and pulled her face gently to look at him. Her brown eyes reflected hints of copper and fear. "Dare ye think a MacKinnon to harm an innocent woman? Dare ye believe I would be so cruel as to fix your wounds then to attack or kill ye," he asked in a cold soft voice.

It worked, for it broke her panic haze and anger bubbled up surprisingly with a mix of astonishment. She incredulously retorted, "Dare I? Dare I? Nay Sir Laird MacKinnon, dare ye to waltz upon me an' give me a fright and dare ye t' also take 'way my sword!"

"I did take it yester-noon when ye got wounded, yet I will nay be giving it back any time too soon," he stated as a fact with an arrogant tongue trying to keep patient with the insolence that she gave him, only because she was pain and he knew it.

"I would 'ave it back now. 'Tis mine an' if I cannay 'ave my sword, then be I perhaps yer prisoner?"

His eyebrow raised up at that statement, clearly annoyed with her observation. His body was tense and ridged as he spoke slow and soft, hinting on a coldness at edge, "Ye will hold her insolent tongue when regarding me, woman, fer ye speak to one if higher station than yerself; therefore, I would advise ye to seek fergiveness fer such an unseemly disposition."