Page 9 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

In seconds the guard was on her, grabbing her leg, wrenching her backwards out of Arran’s grasp. He clutched at her wildly as her fingers slipped away and she fell to the ground with a loud scream, the man on top of her.

Striving to muster every scrap of his rapidly failing strength he prepared to throw himself from the wall to attempt to free her from the guard’s clutches.

She looked up beseechingly. “Go, ye’ll die here if ye stay.”

His last sight of her was struggling with the man, slashing out at him with the dirk. The man’s rough cries had brought a dozen other guards and as he watched with horror, they encircled her and pinned her arms to her sides.

He felt himself losing his weak grip on the wall despite scrabbling desperately to right himself. His only thoughts were on how he could overcome the guards surrounding Dahlia’s struggling figure. His strength had ebbed as his blood flowed, and now the blackness was closing in, no matter how much he wanted to go and help her. His senses were fading yet, before he slid, helpless, down the wall to the ground, he managed to roll his leg over so that when he fell, he was outside the castle. Dahlia’s frantic shrieks echoed in his ears as darkness finally claimed him.

Now his world had turned full circle. It was he who was holding the Lady Dahlia MacLeod captive at the orders of Bairre Mackinnon, the man who was determined to force her to be his bride.

He was the one sentencing her back where she prayed so desperately to escape.

CHAPTER FOUR

Dahlia was wakened by a tapping on the door. The room was gloomy in the early morning light and it took seconds for her to register her surroundings and fully recall the events of last night.

She was being held against her will in a dingy tavern halfway to Castle Mackinnon where the Laird Bairre Mackinnon awaited her with his infernal plan to make her his wife.

Dammit to hell!

“Who is there?” she called sleepily.

“’Tis Arran Mackinnon, milady. I’ve brought ye some nourishment tae break yer fast before we continue our journey.”

She struggled out of the hard pallet where she’d spent the night, flung on her robe and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, a lopsided grin on his face, his big hands proffering a tray loaded with oat bannocks, sausages, boiled eggs and two bowls of porridge.

She followed him as he laid the tray on the table.

Observing him from the corner of her eye there was something about him that was familiar. Perhaps it was the rare smile, and the way his eyes crinkled, or simply the way he looked at her that, somehow, made her heart skip a beat, reminding her of someone she’d met before. He stoked the dying embers and placed to logs on the fire. As the flames blazed up, he rubbed his hands to warm them.

She looked askance at the food he’d placed on the table. “Two bowls? D’ye intend tae share this break-fast?”

“Aye, lass.” The grin widened and he lowered his large form into one of the chairs beside the table. “And it’s a pleasure to place me backside in a cushioned chair after the hard oak floor that was me bed last night.” Groaning, he reached around and rubbed the small of his back. “’Twas much the same as attempting tae sleep on a rock.”

She shrugged. “Too bad. Naebody asked ye tae keep guard over me. Ye’ve nay one but yersel’ tae blame fer the cricks in yer bones this morning.”

He placed a greasy sausage on one of the oatcakes and took a bite, leaning back in the chair with a sigh of satisfaction while Dahlia stirred a spoonful of honey into the porridge.

“What d’ye intend tae dae today?” she asked, supping the porridge.

“Once ye’ve finished yer repast and donned yer riding clothes, we’ll saddle up and be on the road.” He reached across for a second sausage. “We’ll nae make it tae the castle afore dusk unless we ride hard.”

Dahlia made a mental note to create as many delays and diversions as possible in the hope that some respite would come and she’d find a way to escape.

Once the meal was done, he didn’t linger but rose to his feet, wiping his greasy fingers on a cloth beside the tray. “I’ll be waiting afore ye by the stables. Be quick, I’m in nae mind tae dally.” His voice held a cold, commanding tone that set her teeth on edge. Her faint hope that he might have some concern for her plight was clearly in vain.

She dawdled over dressing and gathering her things, hoping to delay their departure. But no time had passed before her door was flung open and Arran stomped into the room. He grabbed her open satchel, snatched up her robe and nightgown and stuffed them in. He reached for her hand and when she wrenched it away, he seized it in his steely grip.

“Nay more of yer childish games. It’s time we were travelling.”

“How dare ye storm intae the room like this? What if I had still been unclad?”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “Why then, me fine lady, ye’d be riding half-dressed fer the rest of the day’s journey.”

“Well, ye can at least give me a chance tae lace me boots,” she snapped.

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