Page 5 of The Runaway Bride and the Highlander
* * *
The bitterly cold wind tore at her frock, but the lack of a shawl was the last thing on Skylar’s mind. Her heart thumped in her chest at her circumstances, and though the fear welled up inside her, she made great efforts to control it. Fear would only paralyze her. She needed to keep her wits and look at her problem with clarity. Escape had to be the only way out of this, but the odds were hardly in her favor.
The joviality of the men who had taken her did nothing to ease her mind, for she could well imagine what they were capable of doing. They could not kill her. If Lana’s letter was to be believed, and Skylar had no reason not to take it as the truth, Laird Johnson wanted to use her to his advantage. That did not mean these men could not seriously harm her though.
Warily, she tried to gauge her surroundings. There were two men beside her, one having a tight and painful grip on her arm. The others had moved out in front, clearly eager to reach wherever they may have camped out and celebrate their acquisition. When they’d taken her, she had not resisted. But now that the sisters were not in any danger, she needed to concoct a plan to save herself.
Her dagger was still safely tucked away in her stocking. And, thankfully, none of the men had physically searched her. Perhaps the nun’s garb had put them off, or perhaps they were all too confident in their achievement to believe she could pose any threat.Silly men.In any case, Skylar could use their ignorance and arrogance to her advantage.
If I’m quick enough, I can stab one. The other might be too shocked tae react before I can break free. Though it’d be better if I injured him too. Then, I can run.
Biding her time and purposefully slowing a little to create a bigger distance between those in front of her and the two men beside her, Skylar finally put her plan into motion. She quickly reached down into her stocking and grasped the dagger, plunging it into one of her guard's stomach. He cried out as the warm, sticky, liquid oozed onto her hand, but she could hardly think about it. Doubling forward and grasping at the wound, he dropped to his knees. As she had assumed, the other looked at first confused, and then his eyes widened with shock and realization, right before Skylar plunged the dagger into his side. Turning full circle, she pressed her feet strongly into the ground beneath her and launched into a frantic run.
It was she that was surprised then, for she had not been aware of the two guards following some distance behind the rest of the group. Seeing what had occurred, they hurriedly ran toward her with gnarling expressions of rage on their face. Her only means of escape was now blocked, and with nowhere else to go, Skylar found herself once more a prisoner. Her effort had come to naught, and feeling utterly defeated, she winced as she felt the guards grabbing hold of her even more tightly than the others. She was back where she had started, only now, they shoved her much more violently than before as they passed the two injured guards now being tended to by some of the other men.
“Ye little witch,” one of them spat, his stinking breath dancing on her face. “I should slaughter ye for that.”
Skylar pulled away from them, her arms thrashing with panic as she fought against them as hard as she could. She needed to get away. She needed to escape. But the men were not only strong but now very angry as well. A striking blow hit her hard in the face, knocking her head back, and then another heavy punch completely stunned her. Her knees gave way, and before she realized what was happening, she found herself flung over the soldier’s shoulder. With her arms flopping about and her head lolling as the gruesome man continued, the realization came to her.
Ye’re done for. Ye cannae fight these men. Ye cannae escape.
She fell in and out of consciousness, unable to really know what was going on until, eventually, the boisterous sound of a group of noisy men made her suddenly more alert. She was in danger, and she knew it. Back at the camp, where there were far more of them, God only knew what they would do with her now.
* * *
“Ye cannae let them ken we’re here, Max,” Bram growled, his large hand on Maxwell’s shoulder, holding him back.
“Did ye nae see what he just did tae her? That bastard punched her so hard, he knocked her out,” Maxwell spat, rage boiling within him.
“I did see. Ye ken well I did,” Bram said. “But whatever happens, ye ken what Dundee said. We cannae give ourselves away.”
“If Dundee were here, he might say something different,” Maxwell huffed.
“Aye, he might. But he isnae here, is he?”
The two had watched what had occurred, and the mighty punch that bastard had thrown had knocked the poor nun unconscious.
What the hell is going on?
“I cannae understand what’s happening, Bram. We’ve traveled for over a week, and for what? A nun? What the hell does Johnson want with a woman o’ God? Tae go tae heaven? This is sick, brother.”
“I dinnae ken,” Bram said, shaking his head and looking as confused as Maxwell felt.
They had been careful to keep low but had moved along the higher ground where they had been situated, following Johnson’s men as they made their way back to their camp. Now, the brothers crouched low again, moving as close as they dared to the camp but at the same time making sure they could not be seen.
Their saving grace was the merriment of Johnson’s men. They had succeeded in their mission, and flagons of what Max assumed was whisky were already being thrown back in great volumes as the men yelled and congratulated each other on their capture.
Colum Brady, Johnson’s war chief, approached the men who had carried the sister to the camp. With little care, the man threw the woman to the ground, but when she threw an arm out to break her fall, it was evident she was no longer out cold. The men surrounded her, leering at her in such a disgusting way it made Maxwell’s stomach turn.
“Ye,” Colum ordered, pointing to the man who had carried her over his shoulder. “Take off her robe.”
There were titters of delight from the men surrounding her. It was a wicked sound that made Maxwell’s skin crawl. He could hardly believe what was about to happen and readied himself to attack. Dundee had told him not to show himself under any circumstances, but surely the Viscount would not expect him to stand by and do nothing now, would he?
Once more, he felt Bram’s heavy hand on his shoulder. Maxwell turned to his brother and watched him shake his head. Holding a steady hand up, Bram mouthed for Maxwell to wait. The instruction went against every nerve in his body at that moment, but he did as his brother bid.
The burly soldier was not in any way careful in removing the nun's robe, tearing the material apart and flinging it from her body, revealing the thin dress she wore beneath. He pulled the covering from her head, and a low gasp escaped from the soldiers when long silvery blonde hair fell softly around her shoulders and down her back. Maxwell’s breath caught in his throat, for even in the dull light of the late evening, her beautiful locks still shone.
With his eyebrows raised in astonishment, Maxwell turned to Bram, who also appeared rather transfixed. A second later, he glanced at Maxwell and gave him a look that conveyed exactly what he was feeling. This was no ordinary nun. Something was definitely wrong, for no God’s child ought to look as she did. There was a fiery spirit about her, and though her beauty was striking, Maxwell sensed an underlying sinfulness about her.
