Page 4 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
If anyone hurts me family, I’ll kill them meself.
She was wrenched from her thoughts as she lurched sideways—the two men began to fight one another. Laird Orkney stood on the step above the aisle and had a slight height advantage. But the other man had strength beyond Emily’s wildest imaginings. He brought his sword down in a clash of steel as they circled one another.
She tried to free herself, but the arm around her waist was as solid as granite.
The two men lunged at each other, metal colliding as they stabbed at each other viciously with short, jerky movements. Emily couldn’t help but be impressed as her captor defended himself effortlessly, even with her weight over his shoulder.
Laird Orkney cursed as his opponent’s sword descended in a great arc and sliced into his arm. He fell back against a pew, blood spurting from the wound.
“Next time, it will be yer neck,” came the angry voice of her captor.
She cried out as he lifted his shoulder, jostling her.
“It looks like ye’re nae marryin’ this man today,” the stranger said. He turned to face Laird Orkney, and Emily twisted to see what they might do.
Laird Orkney was sprawled across the pew behind him, blood spreading down his arm in a dark stain. “Who are ye?” he demanded. “What are ye doin’, interruptin’ me weddin’?”
At those words, the newcomer lifted his sword and rested the blade on Laird Orkney’s throat. “How dare a dyin’ man ask for me name?” he replied mockingly, stepping up to him without a trace of fear. Emily almost fell to the floor. “If ye want yer bride back, ye will return me sister to me.”
His sister?
Looking down at Laird Orkney, Emily saw the confusion flicker across his face. It wasn’t difficult to believe that he had a different woman in every clan.
“I dinnae ken what ye’re talkin’ about. I dinnae ken yer sister!”
“Her name is Laura, and ye ken her very well.”
James’s eyes grew wide with recognition. It was clear he knew who this Laird spoke of, but his lips twisted into a snarl. Emily wondered sorrowfully if the girl was dead.
The kirk spun about her as the man holding her turned around and walked down the aisle. His men were still fighting, and the smell of blood hung heavy in the air.
I have exchanged one nightmare for another.
“If anyone tries to stop me, yer Laird dies, and so do ye!” the stranger shouted.
The faces of the congregation all around them were fearful and subdued. Many men and women leaned away from him as he passed.
He must have been six foot five; his height had dwarfed even James. Emily could be badly injured if she fell from this height with her hands bound behind her back. Nevertheless, she kicked madly as he reached the back of the kirk.
Her captor turned once more, looking back at James. Laird Orkney was bloodied and beaten, leaning against the pew, watching him go.
“Remember what I said,” her captor called to him, “ye’re runnin’ out of time.”
As he turned and walked through the dark opening of the kirk and out into the pale sunshine, Emily fought for all she was worth.
“Compose yerself.” His voice had softened dramatically. It held a quiet command that reverberated through her whole body. His arm loosened just a little, his words low and intimate as he pulled her body against him. “Ye’re mine now.”
3
As she was carried out of the kirk, Emily marveled at the normality of the world around them.
It was a grey day, the sun barely managing to peek through the clouds. Yet, after the chaos in the kirk, it was strange to be in such idyllic surroundings.
She was still fighting like the devil. The arm around her waist was infuriatingly strong and unyielding. She wondered what he might do if she kicked him in the head.
“Stop fightin’ me, lass.” His voice was incredibly deep, as if it had been forged in the heart of a mountain. “Ye belong to me now. It is best that ye accept yer fate.”
“Put me down this instant!” she shouted, and in answer, he hefted her more forcibly over the broader part of his shoulder.
