Five: Flirt with someone.
Six: Kiss someone.
The carriage crossed the bridge, and her thoughts were immediately torn back to the present.
If Lord Westall didn’t renege on his agreement to bring the Laird’s daughter, she would be home and free by evening.
“Stay behind me, lass,” the Laird ordered. “Daenae show yerself until I say so.”
She frowned at being dismissed so suddenly, but she obeyed, not in the mood for an argument.
Lord Westall alighted from the carriage first, bringing a little girl down with him. Violet’s eyes widened at the fact that he had taken a girl so young.
The little girl had her father’s coloring and thick dark hair, but her eyes were a vibrant blue that shone with a cold fury matching the one in his eyes. Her young face was set in a serious frown that was entirely wrong for a face so young, but Violet was grateful to see that, for the most part, she was unharmed.
“I have brought your daughter, Laird McLeod,” Lord Westall called. “Where is my bride?”
“Send her over to me, and I will hand ye yer bride,” the Laird called back.
Lord Westall sighed and pushed the girl forward. She stumbled but didn’t fall, and with one final glare at him, she walked over to her father, who looked down at her.
Violet couldn’t see his face, but she saw his back hunch in concern.
“Are ye well, Keira?” he asked.
“Aye,” the girl answered, her eyes hardening. “He didnae hurt me.”
Violet felt immensely proud of her bravery and drew courage from that. If a girl so young could face captivity and not be broken by it, surely she could be bold enough to do the same.
“Good,” the Laird muttered, pulling her into his arms.
A broken gasp escaped the little girl then, the sound cutting Violet to the heart. The Laird pulled her closer, whispering in her ear.
The scene was so heartwarming that Violet almost felt her kidnapping was somewhat worth it. The fact that Lord Westall had caused such pain to a girl so young filled her with disgust and a determination to see her fate changed.
“Ye may come forward, lass,” the Laird ordered.
She came forward, clasping her hands together as she went and eyeing the carriage. She half hoped her father was inside, waiting for her.
She looked at Lord Westall, noting how his expression shifted from worried to disgusted. He took a step back, wrinkling his nose. She knew she looked a fright, but that didn’t mean he had the right to look at her like that.
She stepped forward, but he retreated, spitting on the ground just before her feet. “Harlot,” he sneered.
“I beg your pardon?” she sputtered.
“You heard me,” he answered. “I will not wed a woman who’s been used by another man.”
Violet felt her face flame with embarrassment and outrage that he would insult her thus.
“How dare you?” she hissed. “You have no right to question my reputation!”
“I have every right as your fiancé,” he snapped. “Just one night with this brigand and you failed to keep your virtue.”
“You—”
The Laird stepped in front of her, shielding her from Lord Westall’s gaze. “Ye accuse the lass unjustly,” he stated. “I havenae touched her, and neither have any of me men. We had a deal, and I am nae dishonorable as to touch her.”
“I do not believe you, Laird McLeod,” Lord Westall sneered. “And neither will anyone in the ton. If I take her back with me, I will be nothing more than a laughing stock in their halls, and I will not allow you to dishonor my honorable family’s name. It is clear your father feels the same. Otherwise, he would have come with me to collect you.”
