Page 4 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“Take her down if ye must!” she leader bellowed.
So much fer unmarked brides.
Rhona yanked hard on the reins, sending her mare plunging down a steep embankment towards narrow stream. Icy water splashed against her legs as they crashed through the shallows, but the treacherous footing slowed their pursuers.
For a moment, hope flickered in her chest. The ridge ahead led to MacAlpin lands proper – if she could only reach the main road, there might be clansmen about, or at least travelers who would bear witness.
Then her mare stumbled. The exhausted animal’s front leg caught a hidden root, sending both horse and rider tumbling in a tangle of limbs and skirts. Rhona hit the ground hard, the breath driven from her lungs as she rolled through damp leaves and moss. Pain exploded through her shoulder where she’d struck a fallen log.
“Get her!” a triumphant shout echoed through the trees.
Rhona struggled to her feet, her head spinning as she fought to orient herself. Her mare lay nearby, sides heaving butapparently uninjured. Around them, the forest seemed to spin as the three men approached on foot, having dismounted to navigate the steep terrain.
“Foolish lassie!” the leader said, though he sounded more amused than angry. “Could’ve broken yer pretty little neck with a fall like that.”
“Perhaps next time ye’ll listen when yer betters speak,” the second man added.
Rhona’s hands found her dagger, and she drew it with shaking fingers. The blade caught the dappled light filtering through the forest canopy, though she knew it would do little good against three armed warriors.
“Stay back,” she warned, though her voice trembled with exhaustion and pain.
“Or what? Ye’ll prick us with that wee blade?” The youngest man laughed. “Come now, dinnae make this harder than it needs tae be.”
“I told ye. I will never go willingly.”
“Who said anythin’ about willingly?”
The leader lunged forward with startling speed. Rhona flung her arm around wildly with her dagger, feeling the blade bate fleshas the man cursed and jerked back. Blood welled from a shallow cut across his forearm, staining his sleeve crimson.
“Ye wee vixen!” He backhanded her across her pale face with stunning force.
Stars exploded across Rhona’s vision as she crashed to the ground, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard the dagger clatter away into the underbrush.
“That’s fer drawin’ blood,” the man snarled, cradling his wounded limb.
“Careful,” the scarred man warned. “The laird wants her in one piece.”
“Aye, but a bruise or two willnae matter.” The leader grabbed Rhona’s arm, hauling her roughly to her feet. “She’ll learn to mind her manners soon enough.”
Rhona’s legs trembled beneath her as the world swayed dangerously. Blood trickled from her split lip, and her cheek throbbed where his had made contact. Still, she managed to lift her chin with the last dregs of defiance.
“Me faither will come fer me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Aye, perhaps he will.” The leader’s grip tightened painfully on her arm. “But by then, ye’ll be wedded and bedded, and there’ll be naught he can dae about it.”
The crude words sent waves of revulsion through her, but Rhona forced herself to remain upright. She wouldn’t give these animals the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.
“Mount up,” the leader commanded his men. “We’ve wasted enough time chasin’ this wildcat through the forest.”
They hauled her toward their horses with rough efficiency. The tall man boosted her onto his destrier, climbing up behind her and wrapping one strong arm around her waist to prevent escape. The position left her trapped against his chest, his breath hot and foul against her neck.
Rhona tried memorizing their route as they began to ride. Every landmark, every turn – if she ever got the chance to escape, she would need to know the way home.
The journey passed in a blur of discomfort and growing dread. Her captor’s grip never loosened, and the leader set a punishing pace that left no opportunity for rest or second thoughts. They avoided the main roads, following hunter’s tracks and deer paths that would leave no trace for potential rescuers to follow. As they rode on, the familiar forests of her childhood gave way to wilder, more desolate terrain. This was Wallace territory – lands she’d heard described, but never seen. Rocky outcroppings replaced the gentle hills of home, and the very air seemed to carry a different scent.
“There,” the leader pointed ahead with his uninjured arm. “Castle Wallace.”
Rhona’s heart sank as the fortress came into view. Unlike her family’s crumbling keep, this stronghold radiated power and menace. Massive stone walls rose from a craggy hilltop, their surfaces darkened with age and weather. Banners snapped in the wind above the battlements, displaying the Wallace colors in stark reminder of whose domain this was.
