Page 2 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

It cannot be true!

Margo took a shaky step forward, peering into the trunk. She knew that her father was unkind, that he was not above pulling underhanded tricks, but she did not want to accept that he would willingly plunge a whole clan into destitution. Yet, the evidence was right in front of her.

“Me Laird!” a gruff, male voice called, getting closer as it climbed the flight. There was the sound of struggle accompanying it’s owner, heels hitting the stairs as someone tried to break free. “I’ve found a girl hidin’ beneath the staircase.”

“No…” Margo whispered, recognizing the little whimpers of fear.

Several seconds later, another rugged Highlander appeared. His hand was tight around Eleanor’s small arm. The eleven-year-old girl struggled against him, trying to break herself free. Each time she tugged, the man’s grip tightened.

“Let her go!” Margo said, the words escaping her before she could think twice.

Laird MacLeod’s eyes snapped back to her. He narrowed his gaze, assessing. He lifted his chin dismissively without an ounce of patience. It was obvious he wanted her to back down, but she could not; not when Eleanor was trying to stifle her noises of discomfort.

A sob tore from her throat, bringing Laird MacLeod’s attention back to Eleanor. Her tiny body trembled, and her eyes found Margo’s. As Margo walked forward, her feet moving without her permission, he spoke once more.

“Release her,” he ordered with a wave of his hand. As soon as the guard let go of Eleanor, the child sprinting into Margo’s arms, Laird MacLeod turned back to their father. “I have come to give ye a chance to make this right, Lord Abbott. I will sign yer lands back over to ye, and ye will return the gold that ye swindled me clan out of.”

Margo’s father laughed, though she heard the underlying edge to it. “I should remind you that I possess something far more valuable than coin,” he said, the fake smile still on his face. “I have connections. Influence. Daughters.”

Margo stiffened. Eleanor buried her face into Margo’s side. Hot anger coursed through her, but she knew better than to interrupt again. Laird MacLeod seemed to be getting angrier by the second.

“Look at my youngest daughter,” Benedict continued, gesturing at Eleanor. “She’s only eleven, but she’s the daughter of a Duke. When she makes her debut in a few years, half the bachelors in London will be competing for her hand. A formal betrothal now would secure an alliance between our families.”

“I don’t want to,” Eleanor whispered, her voice so quiet only Margo could hear it. “Please don’t let him. Please.”

“By the time Eleanor comes of age,” their father continued, each word he spoke driving a knife deeper into Margo’s heart, “trade routes between England and the Highlands could be established, lands exchanged. The debt would be forgotten. Both families would benefit, don’t you think?”

“A girl willnae provide me clan with stability,” the Laird said. “I’m nay askin’ ye for anythin’ more than the money me people paid ye.”

“The lands are worth much less now,” Lord Abbott said. “And you will find her dowry more than fair.”

Margo pulled Eleanor tighter against her body, slowly inching them away from their father. She had never seen him like this, so blatantly offering his daughter to save his own behind. She did not know how to react, or if there was anything she could do other than watch.

“I willnae take a child,” Laird MacLeod said coldly, his frown severe.

Her father seemed to flounder for a moment. Then, he said, “Not now, of course. It’s merely a promise. A contract. The girl will come of age soon enough.”

An unreadable expression flashed across the Highlander’s face. An anger unlike any she had ever felt before built behind her breastbone. Neither of these men could believe that this was acceptable.

It’s despicable! To offer a child for coin. To consider marriage to a child… I cannot allow it!

Margo stepped in front of Eleanor, shielding her sister from the eyes of the men surrounding them. “If a daughter is required,” Margo said, clear and confident with both fury and protectiveness, “take me instead.”

I do not care if I am not worth enough. If one of us must go, it will be me.

Everyone’s gaze fell on her. She did not make herself any smaller, carefully covering Eleanor further. Her father was the first to recover, returning his attention to Laird MacLeod, who was watching Margo as if she were a rare animal.

“She is considerably less valuable due to her age, of course,” her father said to the Laird, “but perhaps Highland standards differ from those in London.”

Laird MacLeod’s eyes never left her. It was unsettling, driving the anger to a higher boiling point. There was more to it, though. Fear and humiliation curdled in the pit of her stomach. As Eleanor’s sobs filled the corridor, the taste in Margo’s mouth went sour. It was a stark, sickening realization, and if it weren’t for her need to stay strong for her sister, Margo thought she may have already fainted.

Father is perfectly willing to sacrifice either of us if it profits him. And this Highlander is willing to take either of us as payment.

CHAPTER TWO

The entire manor fell silent. All Margo could hear was the furious rush of blood in her ears and Eleanor’s gasping cries that she was desperately trying to stifle. Laird MacLeod’s eyes were locked on Margo.

Clearing her throat, in perfect Gaelic, her accent carefully constructed by her mother’s instruction, Margo said, “Pòs mi. Tha i ro òg.”