Page 4 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
I’ll show him.
Her brother was a clever man, she knew, but she still could not shake the feeling that he had made a grave mistake by entrusting Doughall Scott with her care. The very thought of that man made her stomach churn and twist.
Doughall was likely at the castle by now. Freya had left a note behind, explaining her intentions, but he would no doubt be surprised to find her missing.
Good.
She shuddered at the thought of being left behind with that bloodthirsty brute. Out here, surrounded by the darkening woods, seemed much better than spending one moment in his presence.
Safer, certainly.
Doughall was older than her, and she had always feared him, even when she was a young lass. It was hard, impossible even, to imagine him as anything butan diabhal—the devil. With each passing year, he had grown more and more ruthless. How her brother could ever considerthatman a friend was beyond what she could understand. Adam might trust him, but she did not.
As the sun fully dipped below the horizon, she made it to the edge of a loch. Loch Dubh. She knew this land well, not by sight, but by memory. She had spent countless hours studying the maps of MacNiall lands and those that surrounded it. The hills, roads, and bodies of water were etched into her mind. But now, for the first time, she was seeing it before her.
“Shall we stop, Seileach?” she asked her mare, gently scratching her between the ears.
Freya carefully and slowly slid down from the saddle, her hand still clutching the reins as she led the mare to the rocky shore. Though the sun had set, dusk had not yet given way to true night; there were still traces of light across the sky in shades of purple and pink, those same colors dancing over the soft ripples of the water.
She stood at Seileach’s side, her hand stroking the mare’s well-brushed coat. Her gaze moved upwards, noting the first stars that appeared in the darkening sky. It would be a clear night, she could tell. A part of her wondered if she should stop for the night, rest for a bit before continuing. But she knew that if she wanted to reach her brother, she would have to press on. The stars would guide her, like lanterns above.
We’ll rest for a few moments and then continue.
Kneeling by the water’s edge, she cupped her hands and splashed the cool water on her face, hoping it would steady her some more. But as the water dripped from her skin, a sound made her heart skip a beat—the not-so-distant sound of creaking branches behind her.
Seileach’s ears twitched at the sound, and she huffed, lifting her head toward the tree line. Freya knew her horse well, and the sweet beast was rarely spooked, but something had her on edge.
Freya’s stomach twisted as she straightened, straining her ears as she held her breath.
The night was still, but she knew that she wasn’t alone.
Two men emerged on foot, their faces hidden by the dim light. One was tall and lean, and the other was stout. They slunk along the ground the way a cat might hunt down a mouse. Behind them, a third man came into view, his silhouette towering over them on horseback.
A chill ran through her, turning her blood to ice.
Seileach remained at her mistress’s side, but her gentle demeanor was giving way to fear. She shifted restlessly, the whites of her eyes visible as her nostrils flared, steam rising.
Freya gripped the reins tighter. There wasn’t enough time for her to attempt to flee, at least not on horseback across such a stony shore, but perhaps she could buy herself some time. She drew in a breath, racking her brain for what to say, but before she could find her voice, the man on horseback spoke.
“It’s all yer fault.” His voice was a growl, but the sound… it was almost familiar, as if she had heard it once before.
Her heart thundered in her chest as she took a step back, forgetting about the water at her heels. Her boots and the hem of her dress were soaked through, the cold water lapping at her. Her heart raced as her eyes flickered between the three men, watching as they revealed their gleaming blades.
There was no room to run, no way to fight.
“What do ye want?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
She needed to keep them distracted—just long enough to think of an escape, of anything that might save her.
But they did not seem interested in talking. The taller one, who was wearing a twisted grin, elbowed his shorter companion, his lecherous gaze roving over her.
“Can we have a wee bit o’ fun with her first?” he asked.
The stout one grunted in agreement. “She’s bonny, aye?”
Freya’s stomach churned, but she did not dare let it show on her face. Her hand, still gripping Seileach’s reins, curled into a fist, her nails digging into her palms, though the pain barely seemed to register. Her panic was rising, the weight of just how helpless she was like an anchor rooting her to the spot. She could not let them see how close she was to crumbling.
The man on horseback shrugged, his indifference an arrow to the gut. “I dinnae give a damn what ye do with her, as long as she isnae breathin’ after.” His voice dripped with malice, clearly meaning it.
