Her chest suddenly felt tight, and she struggled to breathe. She felt somewhat like a caged bird, and all she wanted was to be free of this match, free of her father’s control, finally free to live her life on her own terms.
Someone save me.
Her silent prayer came with the sting of tears pooling in her eyes as the hopelessness of her situation sank in.
If she married Lord Westall, there was no guarantee of freedom. She would no doubt wither away until she was a mere shadow of herself.
Save me, please!
As if hearing her prayers, the chapel doors crashed open, and they all turned in shock to see men storming in with swords and… kilts?
Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, but at least she could breathe better now that Lord Westall had let go of her arm.
“What do you lot think you’re doing?” he bellowed. “How dare you interrupt my—” His words died in his throat when the men parted to reveal a larger man walking forward.
Even though Violet wasn’t the target of his fiery gaze, she still felt the heat from where she stood. It was a wonder Lord Westall was capable of standing under such a powerful glare.
She placed a hand on her stomach and tried to take a deep breath past the crushing tightness of her corset, but moving turned out to be the wrong thing to do, as the man’s dark gaze turned to her.
Now, underneath his gaze, she saw just how intense it was, and fear filled her. Her heart thudded unsteadily as her feet turned heavy, almost feeling rooted in place. She wanted to run, but he was sure her body wouldn’t move even if she tried. She had wanted her wedding to end, but not at the cost of her life.
The tension in the air was heavy, and no one dared to move, although she vaguely saw the Countess of Burnwick burying her face in her hands.
“What is the meaning of this, brigands?” Lord Westall cried, obviously having a desire to lose his life. “Do you know what wedding you have interrupted?”
“Me men and I arenae brigands, Lord Westall,” the man spoke, his voice as cold as steel and just as hard. “I am Laird Ruaridh Sinclair of Clan McLeod.”
Lord Westall scoffed. “What business do I have with you,barbarian? How dare you cross into our lands bearing arms? Are you looking for war?”
The Scotsman didn’t fly into a fit of rage as his men did, but his eyes went cold enough to make his men rein in their tempers.
“I havenae come seekin’ a war, but a war ye will get if ye daenae return what ye have taken from me,” he threatened, walking forward.
In the ensuing silence, his footsteps echoed, the rhythm matching the pounding of her heart. He came to stop at the foot of the raised platform, where she stood beside Lord Westall.
At least now her groom had the sense to take a step back in the face of danger.
Now that they stood facing each other, Violet wanted to laugh at how the sheer masculinity of the Scotsman overshadowed the pompous airs Lord Westall put on. It made her wonder why she had been so nervous to run from him.
“I have nothing that belongs to you, brigand,” Lord Westall sneered. “Begone at once.”
“Ye have me daughter, and I will forgive yer trespassing if she is returned to me immediately.”
Violet turned to look at Lord Westall with surprise. He kidnapped a child? Was there no depth too low for him to sink into?
“I do not know what you speak of,” Lord Westall said, looking guilty.
The Scotsman stepped forward, and the action said more than any threats he could have made.
“Do not presume to threaten me in this hallowed house, brigand. I’ll have you—” Lord Westall broke off when the Scotsman clamped a hand around her arm.
Violet stiffened both at the shock of being touched by a stranger and the roughness of his large palm.
“What do you think you’re doing? Unhand her at once!” Lord Westall barked.
Violet tried to wriggle out of the Scotsman’s hold, but he pulled her to his side with one easy motion, stilling her struggle.
“Give me me daughter, and I will release yer bride to ye,” he stated calmly.
