Page 3 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
As she drew level with him, he took her hand as she fought the urge to snatch it away. He did not offer his own and wait for her to take it. He grabbed her fingers like she already belonged to him.
She took in another deep breath, his clammy palm holding her own with an iron grip. As the priest turned away to face the altar for the opening prayer, Emily could feel Laird Orkney looking at her. She glanced at him and tried not to grimace.
“Ye look beautiful, me bride,” he said quietly, for her ears only. “I am eager to get ye out of that dress.”
She did grimace then. “I will never be yers—I would rather die.”
“But it willnae be ye who suffers if ye dinnae give me what I want,” he said ominously. “Ye and I will have a long life together. If ye try to escape me, I’ll destroy everythin’ ye love.”
She clenched her jaw, her left hand gripping the fabric of her dress so tightly that she could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips.
“Be a good lass and do as ye’re told, and all of this will be smooth and easy.” His voice dripped with mirth, and Emily held back the violent urge to stomp on his foot.
The priest turned. He was a portly man with piggy eyes and a red hue to his skin. He did not even look at her but smiled at Laird Orkney warmly, as though officiating a forced wedding was quite ordinary.
Please, if anyone is listenin’, let this weddin’ be stopped,she thought desperately.
“In the presence of Almighty God and these witnesses,” the priest began, “we gather this day to solemnize the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony?—”
“I wouldnae do that if I were ye,” came a booming voice from the back of the kirk.
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War cries rang out behind her, and Emily turned around in total shock.
Suddenly, soldiers were all over the kirk, attacking James’s men where they stood. They were huge, beefy warriors, overpowering everyone in their path.
Her eyes darted around, trying to take in everything at once, but it was the man at the bottom of the aisle who truly captured her attention.
He was enormous. On his shoulders was a thick layer of fur resting over a tight leather tunic. A tartan sash was fastened with the brooch of his clan, which gleamed on his shoulder. Long dark hair fell about his neck, with dark stubble covering his jaw. His arms were bare, and she could see a spider’s web of scars on them, starkly white against his tanned skin. His eyes were fixed on Laird Orkney, dark and filled with rage.
Emily instinctively took a step back. As she did so, his piercing eyes found hers, and she froze in place. Hardly able to take in a full breath, she drank him in.
In an instant, he was moving. Great thumping steps brought him level with her in a few short strides. Laird Orkney hollered furiously as two enemy soldiers gripped him by the arms and forced him to his knees.
Emily looked up into the chiseled, angry face of the newcomer and decided now would be a good time to move. She lurched sideways away from him, but he was quicker than her.
His arms came around her waist, and she was spun around on the spot. Something was tied tightly around her wrists.
“Unhand me!” she screamed as she was lifted over a massive shoulder.
She was rendered utterly immobile by an enormous hand on her back. She gasped in shock as the same hand patted her on the backside as though she were a dog that had done its master’s bidding.
“I’ll kill ye for this,” Laird Orkney bellowed, wrestling against the men who still held him down. His eyes were murderous and dark, and he was breathing heavily.
“Och, aye?” The stranger sounded unconcerned. “Ye plannin’ to do that now, or shall I wait for ye to get up?” he asked with a sneer.
But to Emily’s surprise, Laird Orkney sprang into action.
He raised one knee, spun about, drew a knife from his boot, and sliced at one of his captors. The man bellowed, stepping back as Orkney planted a fist into the other man’s jaw. In a moment, he was on his feet, sword in hand, turning to the newcomer with renewed vigor.
Emily rocked sideways violently as the man holding her wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her in place. He had his sword in his hand, too, as the Lairds faced off against one another.
“Ye are in nay position to make threats,” the stranger spat.
Emily could see he was right. Every one of James’s men had been overpowered, and no one in the congregation looked as though they would fight for him.
In a panic, she twisted around to see what had become of her father and brother. Fear sliced through her as her gaze fell on them. Bruce had put up a fight and had a cut beneath his eye. They were both kneeling beside one another, watched over by two enemy men, swords pressed to their throats.
