Page 1 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
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“This is madness!”
Bruce Murray, the heir of Clan Wilkinson, was raging.
Emily worried the wedding guests might hear her brother on what should have been a joyous day.
As she stood in her wedding dress, waiting to be summoned, her father and brother joined her. They were all now standing in the back room of the kirk before the bells began tolling. She feltsick.
Her father’s grey eyes were locked onto hers in silent solidarity.
“He is right,” Laird Wilkinson said urgently. “Emily, ye dinnae have to go through with this. We can find another way.”
“What way, Faither?” she demanded.
There was a soft murmuring of voices outside as the wedding guests took their seats. It would not be long before she left her beloved family forever.
“We’ll fight him,” Bruce insisted, walking back toward her. His handsome face was white with anger, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He grasped her hands in his, his green eyes, just like her own, entreating her to reconsider.
Emily shook her head. “We cannae fight him, Bruce. Ye ken that very well.”
“What do I ken?” Bruce cried. He let her go and began to pace. “We have enough men to fight him if we plan the battles strategically.”
Emily watched the war machine in her brother’s mind come alive. He was a gifted soldier and a loyal man. Ever since she had told him of James’s proposal, he had been arguing the case for war. She closed her eyes as his arms began the familiar dance, gesticulating madly as he made his case.
“We have fewer men, ‘tis true, but between ye, me, and our faither, we have brains enough to stand against this tide. His men will have to travel for many days to reach us. There could be a siege—we could hold him off. We have allies. Let them come.”
He turned, his eyes flashing. He had run his fingers through his thick golden hair so many times that it looked wild as his eyes flicked between Emily and their father.
“Will ye nae say somethin’, Da?” he demanded, but Laird Wilkinson only raised his hands despairingly.
“Bruce, it is nay use,” Emily whispered.
Her brother lunged at her, gripping her hands again, his eyes shining with tears. “Ye willnae even try? Ye cannae marry him, Emily! He’s the worst man I ever kenned.”
“Aye?” she said bitterly. “And if I dinnae, he will kill ye both. We are outnumbered by the Stewart army twenty to one. Da kens it, I ken it?—”
“But—”
“She’s right, Son,” Laird Wilkinson’s deep voice rang out. It was, and had always been, a voice of unwavering authority. Emily had never heard him sound so somber. “Laird Orkney is many things, but he is, first and foremost, a warrior. It pains me to admit it, but nay strategy in the world can enable us to win against him.”
“I willnae let our people suffer a siege,” Emily added firmly. “I ken that this is torture for us all, but we have nay choice, Bruce!”
Her brother clenched his fists at his sides and shook his head. Stalking to the fireplace, he placed both hands on the mantelpiece, flexing them against the stone as though to break it in two.
“I cannae bear it,” he muttered.
“Ye must bear it,” Emily stated. “We all must. He has made his bargain, and he has us in the palm of his hand. Perhaps we may have the strength to fight one day. I can only pray I’ll be rid of him then, but until that time comes, the weddin’ must go ahead.”
She felt fear burning in her chest, but she would not show it. Bruce was headstrong and angry, while she was rational. She knew very well the risks—what she would have to give up. She would do it a thousand times over to protect her family and her people.
A fresh wave of fear coursed through her at the thought of her clan. So many of them turned to her in times of need—not to mention the servants in the castle, who had treated her as their mistress since she turned eighteen.
What will they all do without me? How will they cope when I am gone?
“At least let me give ye away,” Bruce muttered, dragging her back to the present. “Ye cannae walk down the aisle alone.”
Emily raised her chin defiantly. “Nay. I shallnae be given away when I am nae truly leavin’.” She lowered her voice to a sharp whisper. “I will never be loyal to him. I will never bow to him. Believe me, Braither, when I tell ye that I will fight James Stewart every day for the rest of me life until I have nay breath left. He will regret the day he forced me to be his wife—that is me solemn vow.”
