if her mouth had been a hot coal. A long, baffling moment stretched as her muddled wits cleared. Nay, she hadn’t imagined the quaking ground or the thunder of hooves. Riders approached.
Gregor spun to face the riders, blocking them from her view. From the sounds of it, there were at least a half dozen of them, advancing quickly.
Birdie’s stomach seized. What if she’d been wrong when she’d flippantly disregarded Lamond’s warning about riding out alone? What if the Gunns were barreling down on them, ready to escalate their feud yet again—and make an example of the Morgan Laird’s eldest daughter?
“Stay behind me,” Gregor snapped.
As if she had a choice. He looped one arm around her, locking her firmly against his back so that he completely shielded her from the oncoming riders. Even through her rising panic, she couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that Gregor would put his body between her and an unknown danger without hesitation.
He sidestepped toward his horse, practically carrying her along with him. When he reached the animal, he yanked free the sword that was lashed to the saddle.
“Who is it?” she asked, her voice pinched with fear.
“What color is the Gunn plaid?”
Birdie’s heart leapt into her throat. Oh God, she’d been a fool to put both her and Gregor in danger.
“Green with red and black checks,” she replied.
She felt the muscles in his broad back relax ever so slightly. Yet he didn’t move aside or loosen his hold on her. As the drumming of hooves drew nearer still, all she could do was wait.
At last, the horses clattered to a halt. A voice boomed out from a dozen paces away.
“Name yerself, and quick, for ye are on Morgan land and I dinnae ken yer face, man.”
Relief slammed into Birdie’s chest.
“Father!”
She squirmed in Gregor’s hold, but she might as well have been wrestling with a mountain.
“Let me go, Gregor. He’s my father,” she said, hoping her words would sink in.
Grudgingly, he loosened his grip on her, and she slipped out from behind him.
But belatedly, she realized she’d made everything worse. When she stepped around Gregor, her father’s eyes were nigh bulging from his head. He’d just arrived to find not only a strange giant on his lands, but one who was forcibly restraining his daughter.
“What the Devil—”
He was so impatient to be out of his saddle that he practically flung himself to the ground.
Birdie hastily sidestepped in front of Gregor, who had only partially lowered his sword. She held up her hands at her charging father.
“Father, wait. I am well. This is Gregor MacLeod.”
He came up short. “Who?”
“Tell yer men to stand down,” Gregor growled.
Birdie looked up to find that the eight guards her father had brought with him were drawing their swords in preparation to defend their Laird.
“Tad, Fergus, Arran, please,” Birdie said, picking out the closest guards she recognized. “Everyone, stand down. All is well. Father, let me explain.”
He narrowed his eyes at Gregor, clearly unconvinced that the man wasn’t a threat, but nor did he advance on him again or call for the guards to attack.
“I went to the Caithness Games while ye were away,” Birdie rushed to say into the taut silence.
That had her father’s hazel gaze snapping to her. “Ye did what?”
“I wanted to help the clan. I went searching for warriors to assist us in checking the Gunns. And I found Gregor MacLeod.”
“Ye…found him?”
Warmth raced up her neck and into her face. “I…convinced him to help us.”
Behind her, Gregor cleared his throat.
Her father shot him another glare.
“I was just giving him a tour of our lands so that he may understand the nature of the Gunns’ attacks,” she hurried on.
“I saw him leaning over ye,” her father countered. “And holding ye against him.”
Oh God. Her face would surely catch fire now.
“I was showing him nana’s necklace,” she fibbed. “And then when we heard ye approach, we feared it was the Gunns. He was only trying to protect me. How was yer visit to the MacWrays?”
“Dinnae try to change the subject, Birdie.”
“Did Laird MacWray agree to help us?” she pressed.
When he clicked his tongue, she knew it would be bad news, but at least she’d managed to distract him from Gregor for a moment.
“It was a waste of time,” he muttered. “One night of sleeping on the hard ground to get there, and another on the way back, just for that old goat Ragnall to tell me he couldnae spare any men to help watch our border. He didnae even