Her heels left a path in the dirt as he pulled her toward his stallion. Even though she knew there was no point to it, she fought harder. Her heart sank as she managed to land a targeted blow with her elbow, and he didn’t even flinch.
Me injuries… me rest… they’ve stolen me strength.
As he prepared to hoist her onto the saddle, his gaze flicked back toward the direction of the Fraser lands. It was brief, lingering barely long enough for Amelia to catch it, but there. She went still, the fight in her stopping as her mind began calculating, her gut churning with a sick realization.
“After the two of us square that away,” Alistair said, speaking as if he wasn’t about to tie her to his saddle, his tone casual and conversational, “I do believe the young laird and I have a matter to settle.”
Like a bowstring pulled too tight, Amelia snapped. The fire broke from her chest and melted away the fear that had frozen her in place. She managed to take two steps away from him, feeling wild. He watched her, an eyebrow raised as his men tightened the circle around the two of them. His fingers tightened around her forearm, the pressure from the tips aching all the way down to her bones.
“Please,” she pleaded, the word ripping from her chest suddenly. The force of it seemed to catch everyone off guard, all of them stopping to stare at her as though she might do something unpredictable. “If ye mean to spill blood,” she said, her voice shaking with rage and fear and a desperate desire to save the keep, “then do it here.”
As her father stared at her, his expression unreadable, Amelia lifted her chin and set her jaw. He took a slow, measured steptowards her. She didn’t back down. She didn’t fear for her life but for all of the ones he was set on destroying without reason.
“Kill me and be done with it,” she said, swallowing hard. Somehow, she managed to steady herself, her tone deadly when she finished with, “Ye will leave him out of this. If someone must pay for me… for me actions… for me existence… let it be me.”
* * *
“Ahead,” a scout called, already riding back hard from his sweep. “Riders in the distance, Laird Fraser.”
Darragh acknowledged him with a grunt, already following the trail that the scout had placed in front of him. His mare moved with greater purpose. Even she sensed that what they were doing now was much more important than a hunt for leisure.
As the scout fell into place at his left side, Darragh caught the first signs of riders having been through this area. Parts of the ground were flattened. Lower branches were broken off the trees. One trunk bore the mark of a knife, either left so someone could find their way back or to send a message.
On me lands. I’ll send a message of me own. Hand delivers it.
“I caught sight of two groups of them,” the scout reported. “Both headin’ toward the same central location. That’s where we’re goin’ now.”
“Aye,” Darragh growled, pushing his mare to go faster, leaves hitting his face, wind whipping his hair and the horse’s mane. “Blow the huntin’ horn when we arrive. Gather our guard.”
As Darragh crested the hill, the trees opened up a bit. It wasn’t quite a clearing, but a stage in the center of thick forest. The first thing he saw, hanging proudly and drawing attention to the undulating crowd, was a banner bearing a green stag.
Rage hitting him like fire, he urged his mare forward. His hands tightened on the reins, the leather creaking in his palms, as he took in the scene and strategized his next moves. Men everywhere, all of them circling around… something.
A girl. They were standing guard, though it really looked like nothing more than watching, as two men forced a girl onto a saddle. She was fighting, kicking, and making a low, desperate noise. Even though her hands were bound, she was still using her elbows and shoulders as weapons.
“Amelia,” he growled.
Seconds later, the hunting horn sounded. It was a singular, biting note that cut through the forest like a blade. Almost immediately, he heard the approach of the riders searching nearby, responding to the call.
No longer able to think about anything but gettinghislass away from her captors, Darragh shot forward. Branches whipped past him as he rode hard. The horn blared again, getting further away with each moment.
He didn’t register it as anything more than noise in the background. Each and every one of his senses was focused on the image of Amelia fighting two men twice her size for her freedom. He couldn’t get to her fast enough, and his hands ached to tear into the flesh of the bastards touching what was his as if they had any right to her.
This is the last mistake any of them will ever make. Amelia is under me care. Permanently.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The struggling didn’t stop as her father and his man-at-arms tried to get Amelia onto a saddle. She used her missing weight to her advantage as her father tried to shoulder her upward. Twisting in the opposite direction, she tumbled out of his reach and into the dirt.
At the same time that the two men began to curse, there was a burst of noise from the south. Riders, dozens of them by the sound of it. She winced, a noise that was a mix between a whimper, a laugh, and a groan. The fall was devastating in the intensity of the pain it brought.
Something may have broken. She didn’t have time to take stock, though. Another quiet cry of pain left her lips. She rolled to her back and sat up, tears of exertion making tracks down her cheeks.
The distraction, the battle cries, and the shrill horn weren’t random. There, leading the charge of irate, determined lairds,was Darragh. His hands were fisted in the reins, his mare moving smoothly beneath him. His eyes were locked on her, steady and intense. The fire engulfing his entire being started and ended in his piercing, blue irises.
Acting on blind instinct, Amelia’s body surged forward. On a primal level, she recognized him as her protector, even if he’d just walked into the very situation that she had been trying to keep him from. She was only able to take two labored steps before a guard grabbed hold of her, attempting to pull her away from the chaos.
The rest of Laird Mackenzie’s men reacted instantly. While men from the keep stormed their area with their swords drawn, her father’s men were pulling weapons of their own. They met at the midway point in a cacophony of steel and animalistic cries.
