Page 7 of The Wrong Bride
But this feud had become intensely personal, and she wasn’t about to meekly accept what was happening to her. She was still in England, where people would help her against the Scots. When they stopped for the midday meal, she’d look for her first opportunity to escape. If that didn’t work, she’d come up with something else.
CHAPTER 3
Hugh knew Lady Riona wasn’t going to give up her attempts to escape. Her moods alternated from anger to frustration, although her fear seemed to be easing away. He wasn’t certain that was a good thing.
They were taking their midday break in a woodland copse near a burn, hiding the coach away from the road itself. The hobbled horses could drink while they grazed on the grassy banks. They were surrounded by trees; a rare and more remote spot could not be imagined.
Lady Riona asked for a moment’s privacy behind the coach, and he allowed it, remaining stretched out on his side near their small fire, where oatcakes cooked on a flat iron girdle.
“We’ll be needing supplies soon,” Samuel said.
“The fowl I’ve shot not good enough for ye?” Hugh asked.
“These are almost the last of our oats. And I’m feeling the need for an egg or two.” Samuel looked to the west. “And a storm is coming, the first droplets to hit us soon. We might be needing an inn this night.”
“Nay, not this far south in Yorkshire. We’ll find a protective copse like this one, and we’ll all sleep inside the coach if we have to.”
“Her ladyship will find that cozy enough,” Samuel said dryly.
Hugh made a disinterested sound deep in his throat.
“She’s been asking for my help, of course,” Samuel continued.
“She’s got spirit, that one.” Then he lifted his head. “Shouldn’t she be back by now?” He raised his voice. “Lady Riona?”
Nothing answered but the call of birds flying overhead.
“I’ll be back in but a moment,” Hugh said with resignation, leaving his weapons near Samuel.
“Easy on the lass, Hugh. If it were us, we’d try to escape, as well.”
“I would not try to escape from my duty to my family.”
“Sanctimonious, aren’t ye?” Samuel teased.
Ignoring him, Hugh jogged beyond the coach. It was easy enough to track Lady Riona, whose wide skirts trampled grasses and broke twigs. Toher credit, she’d circled back the way they’d come, though the nearest village was several hours’ journey behind.
He heard her before he saw her, crashing through undergrowth as she tried to remain hidden by following the main road without actually being on it. He could have called to her, using simple reasoning to force her to see that it was useless to make such foolish attempts, but . . . she needed to temporarily fear him, and the lesson had to be memorable.
He approached soundlessly from the rear, which was easy, because, thinking herself safe, she’d begun to make too much noise, and even grumbled aloud a time or two, which he found amusing. She marched with determination, her strides hampered by the overgrown weeds tugging at her skirts.
In two strides, Hugh came out of hiding to grab her around the waist with one arm and lift her right off the ground.
THEsudden assault was so startling that Riona screamed until his hand covered her mouth. It was like a repeat of last night all over again. She would never be free of him, and frustration and despair made her struggle though it was useless against his strength.
“I could have been a highwayman,” he said angrily, his lips against her ear. “Ye’ve put yourself in danger.”
She kicked at him even as he turned to take her farther from civilization, farther from rescue. Their legs entwined, her skirt trapped his foot, and suddenly they were falling. To her surprise, he twisted and landed first, then let out an “oomph” when her elbow caught him in the gut. She didn’t feel bad about that, but her gloating faded when he rolled and pinned her beneath him, rocks digging into her back. Though she squirmed to buck him off, he used the weight of his body to subdue her. When she tried to slap him, he took each wrist and held them to the ground over her head. Arched uncomfortably, she was gasping for breath, furious, still fighting, but it began to dawn on her that Samuel was not there to act as a buffer against McCallum’s need to dominate her. Though fear could cripple her, she felt it surge anew.
“Stop it,” he said firmly.
Her struggles only made him sink between her legs, which, along with her skirt, finally trapped her in place. She was breathing hard, gasping, and for the first time felt a man’s body against hers, and went still. Something seemed to shift between them at such intimate contact, and she remembered too late how little control she truly had in the grasp of this big Highlander. There was no one around to help her—even his coachman could not act as a buffer. She’d put herself at his mercy.
“Please . . .” she whispered, hating how weakand trembling her voice sounded, but helpless to stop. “Let me up.”
“So ye can run again?” he demanded.
His voice was full of anger, but his gaze . . . his gaze was on her mouth, and there was a heat in their formerly winter depths that made her think of molten silver.
