Page 89 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“Movement in the trees ahead,” Ian said suddenly, his voice sharp with alarm as his hand moved toward his sword hilt.
The attack came without much warning – a storm of armed men bursting from the forest on both sides like demons materializing from a nightmare. Rhona’s mare reared in terror as steel clashed against steel, the peacefulness of the afternoon was shattered by war cries and the swoosh of weapons.
“Rhona! Run!” Ian’s voice cut through the chaos as he drew his sword in one fluid motion, the blade singing as it cleared the scabbard. “Get tae the castle!Now!”
Without hesitation, Rhona spurred her mare toward the distant stone walls of Castle Wallace, her heart hammering against her ribs as she heard the clash of battle behind her, could hear Ian shouting insults to the attackers, his voice commanding and fearless even as steel rang against steel.
But there were too many of them. MacPherson tartans flashed through the melee as at least a dozen men pressed their attack. Ian fought desperately to reach her, his sword cutting down one attacker after another, but for every enemy that fell, two more seemed to appear in its place.
“Get a taste of that Wallace steel, ye MacPherson dogs!” Ian roared, his voice carrying over the clash of battle. Rhona watched in horrified fascination as his blade carved through themen. A raider’s axe whistled past his head, and she saw him pivot in the saddle, his sword catching the attacker across the ribs in a spray of crimson.
“Get away from her!” Ian roared, his destrier plunging through the press of enemies like an avenging angel. His sword opened one attacker from shoulder to sternum, the man’s scream cut short as he toppled from his horse.
But the MacPherson men had clearly learned from their previous encounter with Ian Wallace. Rhona could see them coming at him in coordinated waves, forcing him to defend against multiple attacks while others circled toward her. Steel rang against steel as she watched Ian parry mercilessly, thwarting a thrust from his left only to see another blade slice across his sword arm, dark blood staining his sleeve.
Rhona fought desperately to control her terrified mare, with the animal spinning and bucking in sharp contrast to Dubh’s confident stance while chaos erupted around them. Through the knots of bodies and flashing steel, she caught glimpses of Ian fighting with deadly skill – every movement economical, every strike finding its mark. But they were overwhelmingly outnumbered.
“There!” a voice bellowed above the din. “The lass! Take her alive!”
Rough hands seized her arm, dragging her from the saddle before she could cry out. She hit the ground hard, the breath driven from her lungs as her captor hauled her to her feet.Through the tangle of her hair, she saw Ian’s face contort with fury.
“Get yer filthy hand off her, ye bastard!” he snarled, spurring Dubh toward her with murderous intent.
But three MacPherson men blocked his path, their weapons raised in a wall of steel. Ian’s blade took the first in the throat, but the delay was enough for Rhona’s captor to drag her backward into the forest.
“Ian!” she screamed, struggling against the iron grip on her arms. “Ian!”
The sound of approaching hoofbeats thundered through the trees – reinforcements from Castle Wallace, alerted by the sounds of battle. But they were still too far away, and Rhona knew it was too late.
“We have her!” her captor shouted to his companions. “Fall back! Fall back now!”
Ian fought like a man possessed, his sword slashing through the remaining MacPherson warriors before him with devastating efficiency. But even as his enemy’s blood painted his blade crimson, Rhona felt herself being lifted onto a horse, strong arms pinning her firmly in place.
“Let her go!” Ian’s voice cracked like a whop across the battlefield. “This is between me and yer laird!”
The grizzled warrior who held her laughed menacingly. “Nae anymore, Wallace! The lass is comin’ with us. Lachlan has plans fer her!”
“I’ll hunt ye tae the ends of the earth!” Ian spurred his destrier forward, but the surviving MacPherson men formed a defensive line, holding him back just long enough for their comrades to escape.
Rhona caught one last glimpse of Ian’s face – contorted with rage and anguish – before the forest swallowed them. The sound of pursuit followed them through the trees, but her captors knew the paths well, taking turns and doubling back with the skill of men who’d planned this ambush carefully.
“Why?” she gasped, struggling against Murdoch’s iron grip. “What daes Lachlan want with me?”
“Save yer questions, lass,” Murdoch replied coldly. “Fer now, keep yer mouth shut and try nae tae fall of.”
They rode hard through the forest, branches whipping at Rhona’s face as they followed deer paths and game trails that seemed to wind endlessly through the Highland wilderness. Behind them, the sounds of pursuit gradually faded, though whether because they’d outrun their pursuers, or because Ian’s men had given up, she couldn’t’ tell.
He would come fer her, she told herself desperately as the trees blurred past.
He promised.
But with each mile that passed, Castle Wallace fell further behind, and Rhona began to understand the true scope of the trap that had been laid for them. This hadn’t been a random attack – it had been perfectly planned, timed and executed with military precision.
They’ve been watchin’ us.They knew exactly when and where tae strike.
As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold, Rhona realized with growing horror that their perfect afternoon at the waterfall might have been one of the last moments of happiness she would ever know.
The MacPherson camp materialized from the gathering dusk like something from folklore – dozens of armed men sitting around scattered fires, the stench of sweat and smoke heavy in the air. At the center of it all sat a pavilion larger than the others, its entrance guarded by men whose eyes held the cold gleam of mercenaries.
