Page 94 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
"None of that," he said. "We wouldnae want laird MacCraith following too quickly, would we?"
As they forced her up the stairs toward whatever escape route Wallace had planned, Isolde's mind was already working, searching for any opportunity, any moment of weakness she could exploit. She would not let this bastard win. Not today, and not ever.
But with that dagger at her throat and Aileen's frightened whimpers echoing behind her, she felt more helpless than she ever had in her life. As Wallace dragged her through the castle corridors, Isolde's desperation grew with every step. The sounds of battle were dying down around them, which could only mean the siege was ending—but whether in victory or defeat, she couldn't tell.
"Ciaran!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "Ciaran, help me!"
"Shut her up," Wallace snarled to one of his men.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth, but Isolde bit down hard, tasting blood as her teeth sank into flesh. The man cursed and yanked his hand away, then backhanded her across the face. The blow sent her stumbling, her vision blurring as pain exploded across her cheek.
"Try that again and ye'll get worse," the man growled, flexing his bleeding fingers.
Wallace hauled her upright, his grip bruising her arm. "Keep moving. We're almost there."
They emerged into a small courtyard behind the keep, where Wallace had horses waiting. Isolde's heart sank as she realized how well-planned this escape was. He'd known exactly where to go, exactly how to get out unseen.
"Put them on the horses," Wallace ordered. "We ride fer the border."
"Nay!" Isolde struggled against the hands forcing her toward a waiting mount. "I willnae go with ye!"
"Ye'll go where I tell ye," Wallace said coldly. "Unless ye want tae watch yer sister die."
Aileen whimpered as one of Wallace's men pressed a knife to her throat, and Isolde's resistance crumbled. She couldn't risk her sister's life, not even for her own freedom.
They rode hard through the Highland mist, following deer tracks and hidden paths that Wallace seemed to know by heart. Behind them, the sounds of the battle faded into an ominous silence that made Isolde's stomach churn with fear. Was Ciaran alive? Had he even realized she was gone?
After what felt like hours, they stopped in a small clearing beside a burn, the horses breathing hard from the punishing pace. Wallace's men dismounted, clearly expecting to rest, but their leader remained alert, his eyes scanning the forest around them.
"We'll wait here until nightfall," he announced. "Then we cross the border under cover of darkness."
Isolde and Aileen were bound to a tree, their hands tied behind their backs with rough rope that chafed their wrists. Wallace crouched down in front of Isolde, his face inches from hers.
"Comfortable, me lady?" he asked mockingly.
"Go tae hell," she spat.
"Such language from a lady." His hand shot out, gripping her chin painfully. "Ye'll learn better manners as me wife."
"I'll hang meself before I marry ye."
"Oh, but ye will. Ye see, by the time we reach me lands, yer reputation will be so thoroughly ruined that no decent man would have ye. Yer father will be grateful for any offer of marriage, even from me."
Isolde felt sick at the thought, but before she could respond, one of Wallace's men called out from the edge of the clearing.
"Me laird! Riders approaching!"
Wallace was on his feet instantly, his sword drawn. "How many?"
"Hard tae tell through the mist, but?—"
The man's words were cut off as an arrow sprouted from his chest. He toppled forward without another sound, and suddenly the clearing erupted into chaos.
"Ciaran!" Isolde screamed, her heart soaring with desperate hope.
MacCraith and MacAlpin warriors poured into the clearing from all sides, their battle cries echoing through the forest. Isolde saw Ciaran at the center of the charge, his face a mask of deadly fury as he cut down everything in his path.
Wallace's men tried to form a defensive circle, but they were outnumbered and caught off guard. One by one, they fell to the enemy blades, until only Wallace himself remained, backing toward the horses with his sword raised.
