Page 6 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
As Doughall rose to his feet, she glanced around with wide eyes, fumbling for the spectacles she had lost in her fall. She found them among the pebbles and put them back on, grateful to discover that they were not broken or cracked.
The shore of Loch Dubh was eerily quiet, save for the lapping of the waves and the breeze rustling the leaves. Her restored vision found a cloaked man who had not been there before, standing over the motionless body of the stout assailant—now a lump with a lance sticking out of him.
“He got away,” Doughall said in a flat tone, almost annoyed.
The cloaked man nodded. “Ye want me to hunt the bastard down?”
“Nay,” Doughall answered, his voice low.
Freya’s breath hitched as he held out his hand to her.
Why is he here?
Her head was spinning. Doughall’s attention seemed to settle on her, those eyes boring into hers deeper than she would like. Reluctantly, she took his hand, and with no effort at all, he pulled her to her feet.
Her ribs were sore, her breath seeming heavier as she stumbled forward slightly. Freya steadied herself, refusing to rely onthe man at her side. Everything around her was a blur, an overwhelming haze.
She looked over the scene once more, her gaze skimming over the bodies on the ground before turning to the two horses grazing on the grass bank above the shore.
“Seileach!” she screamed as realization washed over her, weighing her down as she whirled to look around her.
Her heart felt as if it had been gripped by an iron fist, tightening and clenching with each frantic glance.
“Seileach?” Doughall raised an eyebrow.
Freya drew in a breath and looked up at him, unable to stop the tears welling up in her eyes. “I need to find me horse,” she said in a firm tone, a tone thattoldhim that she would not leave without her mare. Usually, she struggled for words, but at this moment, they came easily.
She stepped away from that devil of a man, moving toward the tree line. Bringing her fingers to her lips, she whistled, the sound piercing the night. She paused, turning her head to listen.
Nothing. Again.
“Find her damned horse,” Doughall commanded, his voice sharp but not hiding his annoyance.
The cloaked man moved toward his own mount, hoisting himself up with ease before disappearing into the woods.
Frantically, Freya continued to whistle, the sound becoming more desperate and uneven. She was certain she would never stop, not until there wasn’t a breath left in her chest, if not for the pair of strong hands that gripped her shoulders. She looked up at Doughall, grateful for the shadows that hid her current state.
“I have to find her,” she whispered.
“I have sent me man-at-arms to find the horse,” he stated coldly, his eyes boring into hers again. “We need to return to MacNiall Castle, lass.”
Freya drew in a shaky breath.
This was all a mistake… I shouldnae have come. Why did I think I could do this? And why, why did it have to be him who found me?
“I willnae leave me horse behind, Doughall Scott. I willnae?—”
“Ersie will bring yer horse back.” His voice was unwavering, sharp as a blade. Doughall’s fingertips dug into her skin, firm but careful. It was clear that he knew his strength, knew that he was much larger than her. “Ye and I will return, now.”
“Please,I need to find?—”
“It’s an order, lass.”
Freya glared up at him, her chest heaving.
An order?
For a brief moment, she felt it—that same small spark that had caused her to leave the castle in the first place.
