As men dismounted from both sides to properly fight their enemies, horses reared. Blades clashed with a sharp, metallic clang. The trees absorbed the sound, making each blow sound more precise and devastating. Amelia struggled against the guard’s hold, horrified.
It was her worst nightmare come to life, the thing she’d been trying to avoid ever since Darragh had started poking around in search of her name.
“Nay,” she screamed, thrashing against the oppressive hold. Her entire body acted as a weapon, her elbows colliding with her captor’s torso. She swung her legs wildly, both trying to land a blow and throw him off balance. “Nay!”
Just as her heel collided with the man’s shin, Darragh’s voice pierced through the roar of violence.
“Release her.”
It was deadly calm and in a register that she could feel in her stomach. The man behind her did let go of her, and she wasn’t sure if it was the command Darragh gave or the pain of the kick she gave him. But Laird Mackenzie was there, smoothly catching her before she could even think of running.
Darragh walked closer, three deliberate steps that seemed to resonate above the fighting around them. He didn’t say anything, but his message was clear. He wouldn’t be intimidated by Alistair Mackenzie, even if Amelia thought he ought to be.
As she tried to twist out of her father’s grip, she caught sight of his raised eyebrow. It was like he was a little more than inconvenienced by being ambushed. What infuriated Amelia the most, overrode her pain and made her swallow the part of her that wanted to give in, was the look of amusement she caught.
“The Golden Wolf,” Laird Mackenzie said, the name rolling off his tongue. He was looking straight at Darragh, and Amelia realized that golden wolves were more than just a motif he used for himself in art. She exhaled sharply when her father shook her and said, “Ye’ve taken possession of somethin’ that belongs to me.”
Darragh didn’t look away from him. “She belongs to nae one. Unless she wishes to.”
Amelia’s father chuckled softly, passing her off to the guard she’d just kicked. She still tried to break free, but her body was tired. The aches seemed to only grow deeper, more overwhelming.
“She ismedaughter, Laird Fraser,” Alistair said as he stepped forward, not bothering to look Amelia’s way.
The word landed clearly. It was undeniable, a biological stake of ownership. As it ricocheted through the tiny clearing, some of Darragh’s men hesitated. Her father seemed even more emboldened, as if what they were fighting for was righteous rather than a man’s desire to keep his daughter as a prisoner.
Darragh’s expression didn’t change, though. If anything, he stood taller, radiating a confidence that reached Amelia. She straightened her shoulders, her heart no longer muffling the sounds of activity around her.
“If she was yer daughter,” he said as he took a deliberate, threatening step toward Laird Mackenzie, “then ye should have treated her like one.”
Amelia sucked in a breath as her father’s stance seemed to harden. The air around him wavered with a poison meant to maim anyone who breathed it. When he responded, Amelia felt sick with rage.
“I did what was necessary.”
* * *
Darragh felt as if he might snap, turn into the wolf that Laird Mackenzie referred to him as. The desire to lash out was almost unbearable. This arrogant bastard woulddare?—
Amelia chose that moment to spit on the ground. Blood and phlegm bubbled together in the dirt. The action was so unladylike that it stopped the rest of the fighting, drawing everyone’s focus to the mounting tension in the circle of bodies.
“Ye sold me.”
The fury in her voice was barbed, but the statement wasn’t emotional. It was a fact. And even that didn’t move Alistair Mackenzie.
The man shrugged. It was just as mild as every other response he’d given. The cockiness wasn’t something he’d earned. Just a year ago, the man was so far in debt that most other lairds had written him off.
Inflated sense of self-importance. I never could stand men like him.
“I removed a liability,” Alistair said after a moment, turning to face Amelia. His gaze lingered like he was already assessing her value again. A beat later, she turned back to Darragh. “Me son is me heir. Her existence complicates matters. Landclaims. Alliances.” He waved his hand as he spoke, casual and dismissive. “Inheritance disputes from her mother’s line as well. It’s too much bureaucracy to explain to someone like ye.”
He paused then, waiting for Darragh to understand the dig. The haughty smirk on his face suggested he’d be pleased even if Darragh didn’t react. With a grunt, Darragh crossed his arms over his chest impatiently.
“Understand, Laird Fraser,” Alistair said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I’ve been cleanin’ up a wee bit of a mess. What I’m buildin’, well, it’s far too new. Fragile like a bairn. The girl is a legal problem waitin’ to destroy everythin’ I have from the foundation up.”
The confession settled over Darragh, igniting the flames of a feral beast in his belly. Then, he saw the way the words hit Amelia. She was trying to remain impassive, but the declaration hurt.
“So,” Darragh said, his fingers flexing before curling into fists at his sides, “ye tried to have her killed. Or worse.”
When Alistair smiled, it was without shame. He rested his palm on the hilt of his sword as his head tilted slightly. As Amelia’s struggles started anew, he said, “I prefer efficient solutions.”
