“I… I will give her back to you, but you must give me time.”
“Time willnae be granted to ye,” he insisted. “Bring her here, now.”
“She is at my estate,” Lord Westall argued. “It will take me some time, but after the ceremony, I will send her in a carriage to?—”
The Scotsman turned to leave, dragging Violet along with him. She was too stunned to argue, considering Lord Westall’s insistence on wrapping up the wedding ceremony at such a dire time.
“You cannot take my daughter!” her father protested, jumping to his feet, but he fell back onto his seat at a cold glance from the Scotsman.
Violet wanted to scream in frustration. Was no one really going to stop him from taking her?
She tried to yank her arm free, but he held firm.
“If ye want yer bride, ye will bring me daughterunharmedto the crossing at Yorkshire tomorrow,” he ordered, not turning back.
“I will bring her to you, but I cannot let you leave with my bride,” Lord Westall insisted, and Violet turned to see him taking a step back.
She scoffed as she was dragged, but she didn’t intend to make it easy for the Scotsman to do so. If the men who should protect her were too cowardly to do so, she would fight for her freedom.
“Unhand me!” she snapped, trying to pull free from his grasp.
He turned to her then, and for a split second, she wondered if he was going to hit her. She stiffened, but what he did in the next moment surprised her.
He pulled her forward in one easy motion, and she found herself lifted and thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As if that wasn’t scandalous enough, his hand curled around the back of her thighs to steady her.
Of all the insulting things she had had to endure!
She began struggling with all she had, pounding his back with her fists, but he held fast and continued walking out of the chapel.
“Let go of me at one, you brute!” she growled. “How dare you treat me this way? This is entirely rude and uncouth! Set me down at once!”
He set her down, but before she could protest, he pointed to his horse. “Ye can either mount it yerself, or I can throw ye over the saddle,” he muttered. “Choose.”
“I will do no such thing!” she gasped. “I want to return to?—”
He picked her up, set her on the saddle, and mounted behind her in the same breath, effectively caging her in his arms.
She stiffened at his closeness, her face flaming when he kicked the horse into a quick trot, effectively putting them closer. She tried to keep herself sitting upright, but it was hard to do with the constant motion.
She tried hard to ignore the broadness of his chest against her back, the stiffness of his posture, and the way her body was acutely aware of his.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat and sagged back in protest. His answering groan was a welcome sound.
Good. She intended to hurt him.
“You cannot keep me prisoner,” she muttered under her breath. “I will leave as soon as I get off this horse.”
But it seemed he heard her, because he chuckled deeply, the vibrations traveling through her.
“I would enjoy seeing ye try.”
2
By the time they reached the Scotsman’s makeshift camp, Violet’s back and buttocks ached. It wasn’t as though she was not used to traveling, but she was unfamiliar with riding, and the long stretch of the journey combined with the deathly tight grip of her corset had made it the most uncomfortable few hours of her life.
Perhaps this was the reason her father had been against her learning to ride all this time.
She was thankful when the Scotsman helped her dismount, and didn’t even protest that he had lifted her as though she weighed nothing more than a tea tray.
