The man was blond-haired and bearded, and his kilt bore the brown and yellow of his clan, whose name just barely escaped her. She had seen him countless times over the years, but she didn’t think any particular meeting with him was of note.
Since he was missing the lower half of one of his left leg, there was a very good chance that she was going to be able to outrun him. But the sword and dirk on either side of his hips would make that more difficult.
There wasn’t a single man inside the hall who wasn’t experienced on the battlefield as well as the hunting grounds. To his drunken eyes, she was likely just another doe in need of conquest.
“Is that right? Yer faither?” He chuckled. “See, there are a fair few rumors going around that hint ye have a lover or two that might be more likely to accompany ye out here instead.”
He took a step toward her, hooking his thumbs into the belt holding his kilt in place.
Emily took a reflexive step back toward the railing of the balcony. The distance from where she stood down over the sloped hill that the keep had been built on would be far too steep a drop for her to toss herself over the railing.
“I wanted to offer me humble services to a handsome lady such as yerself,” he continued, close enough now to trail a finger down her sleeve-covered bicep. “Since ye daenae want marriage, ye clearly want something else. I can satisfy ye.”
So, this is what everybody thought of her? The truth at the heart of the rumors?
Emily immediately shoved the hurt that his words caused, the insult, down as deep as she could push it in such a short time. Her jaw set in anger and irritation as she glared up at him.
“Daenae touch me.” She yanked herself away from his unwanted touch and attempted to step around him.
Which was apparently the wrong thing to do to a drunken man.
He matched her step immediately with a narrow-eyed glare. “Why nae? Are ye insultin’ me?”
“None of me betrotheds hadeverlaid a hand on me!” Emily spat with every inch of venom that she could muster.
The Laird clearly didn’t believe her, judging by the huff of laughter that he gave. He reached over easily, his long arm closing the slight distance that she had managed to put between them. His hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her back, caging her smaller frame with the bulk of his.
She attempted to angle her hips so that she could pull back her leg, fully ready and prepared to knee him where the sun didn’t shine, but she couldn’t lift her knee under the bulk of her skirts.
“Getoffme!” she shouted, no longer afraid of being overheard, as she was worried more about being left out here a moment longer with this man.
Whatever damage was done to her reputation from being alone with him couldn’t be all that bad, considering the damage that she had done all on her own.
The Laird snickered and reached out, holding her by the waist and attempting to quell her thrashing, and it gave her the opening that she needed. She stomped on his booted foot with everything that she had in her, making him flinch, and her knee connected with his crotch with not inconsiderable strength.
It all happened so fast.
Almost in the span of a blink, the man fell, howling as he crumpled to the ground, his sword’s scabbard scraping across the stone. She attempted to side step him, but his hand shot out, locking around her ankle and pulling.
Her body jerked sideways, tipping toward him, and her blood ran cold.
Nae like this.
She wasn’t one who usually liked to call out for help. She knew that she could be stubborn. But her survival instincts took over.
“Help!” she screamed, unsure if she would even be heard over the bagpipes filling the Great Hall.
The Laird pushed himself up with his hand still around her ankle, crawling with a grimace on his face and the desire to hurt her oozing off every inch of him. She struggled, tried to wriggle away, pushing and shoving at him as best as she could, calling for help… when it all just stopped.
The weight keeping her on the ground was lifted off of her like it was nothing, the body hurled away as a low snarl cut through the night air like it was the only sound that existed. He spoke so low and soft, with such warning in his voice that it sounded like thunder over the music and conversation.
“We daenaetouchwomen when they daenae wish to be touched.” Kaden pushed the older Laird up against the curved side wall of the closest turret, the stone scraping against his tartan and snagging. He pinned him against the wall with a forearm against his throat. “Do ye understand?”
Emily picked herself up slowly, using the stone wall as leverage, her lungs struggling to suck in air as she watched what was happening with wide eyes.
“She was asking for it!” the Laird seethed.
Her whole body flushed hot with rage. “I wasnae!”
