Page 3 of Kilty as Sin
But she did something better.
The man squatting at her feet had finished cutting them lose and risen to join his companions. The first man released her in order to reach for the belt of his kilt, while the third man turned to say something to the man still trying to get the fire going.
And the MacDonald lass, bless her, whipped one knee into the groin of the knife-holder, pulled the blade from his weakened hand as he fell, spun about and—holding the hilt with both bound hands—plunged it into the chest of the man who’d been holding her.
Gentle? Refined?
Grinning inside his helmet, Barclay pushed himself to his feet.
Aye lass, that’ll do.
“Run!” he bellowed as he threw himself down the slope, lips curling grimly in anticipation of the battle ahead. “Run!”
Chapter 1
Well,Grace’s luck had just gone from bad to worse, hadn’t it?
Cursing under her breath, she tried once more to pull her foot from the mud where ‘twas stuck, and yet again froze when the movement pushed her other leg in deeper. The situation would be difficult with both hands free, but with them bound in front of her, she felt out of balance.
Anxiously she peered over her shoulder, listening for sounds of pursuit.
Naught.
‘Twas disconcerting. She’d stabbed one of her captors and kneed the other man in a place where Sister Mary Titania had said would severely inconvenience any male with amorous thoughts.
Why weren’t they cresting the hill, calling for Grace’s blood?
…or worse.
Damnation! These stupid slippers hadn’t been made for running across rocks and brambles, and when she’d put one foot into the bog and felt it sink, she was too late to prevent the other from coming down hard as well. And now she was well and truly stuck.
To be fair, ye hadnae expected a kidnapping when ye’d offered to go to market for the sisters.
If she had, she would’ve worn sturdier footwear.
Grace felt hysterical laughter starting to build in her chest. If she’d known she’d be grabbed by men sent by her father today,footwearwouldn’t have been the only thing she’d have changed! She would currently be carrying several days’ provisions, a sturdy plaid to protect her from the constant mist, and a double-headed ax.
For protection.
Groaning, Grace bent double, not caring that her hair fell around her face and dangled toward the muck as she wrapped both hands below her knee and pulled.
Whoops. Nay, no’ like that.
She could feel her own ankle trying to dislocate.
Grace peeked over her shoulder once more. Still no pursuit.
Why? What had happened back there?
As soon as her feet had been freed, she’d used what she’d learned from the Mother Superior and taken down as many of her captors as possible. Grace hadn’t stopped to see the outcome, but had hiked up her skirts with her bound hands and run as if the very hounds of hell snapped at her feet.
Behind her, she’d thought she’d heard another man’s voice. One urging someone to run? That wouldn’t have been her captors though, would it? She might’ve been hearing things.
As if yecouldhear aught over the pounding of fear in yer head?
Well, that was certainly defeatist thinking, wasn’t it?
Straightening, Grace frowned in determination and peered at her surroundings. There were no handy trees or vines she could use to climb out of this mess—of course not. It would be too convenient, wouldn’t it?
