Page 67 of The Outlaw's Bride
“Lachlann Fraser is my prisoner,” he snarled, his neck stretching out as he glared at her. “And ye are my daughter and will do as ye are bid. Both of ye are coming back to Dunvegan.”
Lachlann let go of Adaira and stepped forward, going toe-to-toe with MacLeod. “Yer daughter freed me because she was desperate,” he growled. “What kind of father promises a lass like Adaira to the likes of Aonghus Budge?”
MacLeod’s heavy-featured face screwed up. “Don’t tell me what—”
“I’ll tell ye what kind,” Lachlann cut in savagely. How he longed to lash out at this man. They were standing so close he could smell the wine on the clan-chief’s breath. “A tyrant who thinks nothing of sacrificing his youngest daughter.”
The clan-chief roared and lunged for him.
Lachlann had been anticipating the attack. Even so, he hadn’t expected such an overweight man to move so fast.
MacLeod’s knuckles grazed Lachlann’s ear as he ducked.
Lachlann brought up his arm and caught the chieftain’s wrist, holding him fast. He barely managed; the man had fearsome strength. He had wrists twice the width of Lachlann’s own.
MacLeod snarled a curse and threw his entire weight at Lachlann, slamming into him. They went down on the flagstone floor of the kirk.
Adaira’s scream echoed through the building, but neither man paid her any attention. Lachlann was locked in a fight for his life; he didn’t dare spare her a glance. Yesterday, when Taran had attacked him, Lachlann had been impressed by the warrior’s brute strength. Yet it appeared insignificant to that of Malcolm MacLeod.
Incensed, MacLeod pummeled at him with huge fists, his bulk pinning Lachlann to the floor.
“Stop this,” the priest cried, panicked. “This is a house of God. There can be no violence here!”
MacLeod ignored him. Bellowing curses, he slammed his fist into Lachlann’s jaw.
Lachlann managed to get his legs free. He drove his knee up into MacLeod’s gut. The big man gave a choking gasp and fell sideways. It was an instant’s distraction, but all Lachlann needed. He reared up and head-butted the clan-chief in the nose.
MacLeod roared, blood spurting. But instead of quieting him, the blow seemed to drive him to madness. He came at Lachlann, grabbed him round the throat, and threw him backward.
The back of Lachlann’s skull hit the flagstones with a crack. His vision darkened for an instant. But when MacLeod’s fingers started to tighten around his throat, Lachlann fought him. The madness in the clan-chief’s grey eyes, as he loomed above Lachlann, warned him that MacLeod was intent on killing him.
He grappled with the hands around his throat, grabbed hold of the little finger of MacLeod’s right hand, and yanked it back.
The crack of breaking bone sliced through the air.
Malcolm MacLeod gave a shout of agony and let go of him. Lachlann rolled away, choking, before bouncing up into a crouching position. The back of his skull ached, as did his throat, but he was ready for the bastard, should he come at him again.
MacLeod glowered at him, tears of pain glittering in his eyes. Then he drew his dirk with his left hand. “I’m going to gut ye, Fraser.”
“No!”
A small body hurtled in between them.
“Adaira!”
Lachlann reached for her arm, but she ducked out of his grasp. Instead, she faced her father, stepping forward so that the sharp tip of his dirk nearly touched her breast.
“Get back, Adaira,” MacLeod ordered, biting out the words. “Don’t interfere.”
She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his. “No, Da. Not until ye promise to let Lachlann be.”
“Foolish lass.” His voice was a low, threatening growl. “Don’t ever stand in my way. Once I deal with Fraser, I’ll find a suitable punishment for ye.”
“No!” Her voice lashed across the kirk. Lachlann saw the high spots of color that had appeared on her cheeks. She wasn’t just upset, she was incensed. “I can’t live the life ye have chosen for me. Let me be free … let me be happy with the man I love.”
Lachlann’s breathing hitched. He stepped forward, reaching for Adaira’s arm, but a strong hand clasped around his shoulder and hauled him back. He twisted to see Taran behind him. The warrior’s scarred face was grim. “Leave her,” he warned, his voice low. “Let Adaira finish this.”
Malcolm MacLeod’s slate-grey gaze narrowed. “He’s aFraser,” he spat. “Why did ye have to fall in love with one of them?”
