Page 4 of Kidnapped By her Highland Enemy
The lass’s name is Maisie Hendry, daughter of Laird Gunn. If ye want to stop any attempt to kill ye, she is the way.
Oliver’s words rang in Lucas’s ears as his eyes traced the lass’s feminine curves at her waist. A spark of desire radiated throughout his body— and for a moment he forgot that she was the daughter of his enemy.
Three days ago, when Oliver had given him the idea, Lucas had thought it foolish but the more he thought about it, he realized it might be best. If he took the lass, it would stem any action from the clan because the attacker would know Lucas knew about the plan.
He had sent Oliver to investigate the source of the threat but even if it had been fruitful, he had decided to act anyhow. At the worst, if this threat came to nothing, he would make amends, but he was not going to sit around and wait to be attacked.
He had not told his father about the threat either but had told him he would be going on an extended hunting trip. Every time Lucas set foot out of the castle, the guards were pulled in to booster their defenses. He might be impulsive but not that much to put his people in danger.
Oliver too had appointed his second, Lachlan, to take care over the guards and do whatever was necessary to hold the fort defended.
“Are ye sure about this, me laird?” the third of his party, a lanky warrior named Ian Russel, whispered in Lucas’s ear.
“Aye,” Lucas said, his eyes still fixed on the lass as she emerged from the water like a lady of the mist. “We can stall any attack if we have her. She is the only heir of the clan, a fact I’m told miffs the laird off to nae end. His wife could only birth one bairn, and against all hopes, a lass came instead of a lad.”
“Unlucky man, that one,” Ian snorted.
“I wouldnae say that,” Lucas replied, as he admired the lass in front of him. “Are the horses ready?”
“They are,” Ian replied. “Oliver is minding ‘em.”
“Good,” Lucas nodded. “And now, this is our part. On my word, grab the other lass and I shall take the Lady Hendry.”
“Are ye going to take her from the river?”
“Nay,” Lucas said, more than willing to let the lass dress after her bath. “We have time.”
Patiently, he waited for the lass to leave the waters and don her chemise, her thin, wet shift clinging to her body like a second skin. As she set foot on the riverbank, he said, “Now.”
Without hesitation, Lucas dropped from the ledge, right into the shallows of the brook, his boots sending a wave of water over his trews. The lady spun just before he grabbed her wrist, and swinging her up in his arms, he hoisted her over his broad shoulder like a sack of meal.
A mirroring squeal from over his shoulder told him the other lass had been apprehended as well and when the lass on his shoulder realized what was happening, she screamed.
“Let me go, ye miserable swine!” she yelled, beating as his back with both fists. “Let me go! Me faither will have yer head on a platter for this!”
“Matters nae to me,” Lucas snorted as he took off into the woods to where the horses waited. “By the time he gets word, ye’ll be long gone.”
The horse raised his nose as Lucas came near and in a smooth motion, Lucas grabbed the reins and launched onto the stallion’s back. The lass was still hollering for help, but Lucas did not mind. He had made sure the Dunn sentries and soldiers were stationed on the other half of the property, putting out a fire he had set to distract them.
“Let me go,” Maisie began to beg as she realized no help would be coming. “Please, let me go. I willnae tell anyone, I give ye me word.”
“I daenae bargain with hostages,” Lucas taunted her just before he tightened a cloth over her lips and tied it behind her head.
“Mlmm mph gm.”
“I willnae release you,” he said.
As the warhorse leaped across the inline like a mountain goat, Lucas shifted the lass, so she was sitting crosswise on his lap. The arm around her midsection flexed just a bit to bring her even nearer and his chin rested atop her wet head.
She struck his chest, making Lucas laugh—her dainty fist must be smarting after trying to harm him. Many a warrior had tried and failed to batter his chest.
“Nice try, lassie,” he snorted. “I ken that was a tickle.”
Lady Hendry smelled of junipers and heather, and her hair, brushing his cheek and chin, was soft, but this was all he knew for sure. Was she a hellion or was she a mouse? Was she smart or was she dull as chalk?
Her slight back was pressed against his chest and stomach and her soft rump was pushed against his groin, surely not intentionally, but reflexively, he guessed. Her breasts, surelyunencumbered by such nonsense as stays or lace or any other restrictive item, rested in plump invitation against his forearm.
They were far enough from her family land and heading a good way north that he felt comfortable in releasing her gag.
