Page 4 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

He did not wait for her response, barking an order to ready his men before walking to his stallion. She watched as he pulled himself into the saddle with a grace that shouldn’t have been possible with his size. Then, she walked forward, not wanting to give the guard beside her reason to touch her.

Once she was safely inside, the door was closed behind her. Less than a minute after being loaded in, the caravan moved. The wheels rattled on the streets, and without any pomp and circumstance, she was moving on to a new life.

“How did this happen?” Margo asked, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

As they traveled, the rain only became more violent. Thunder cracked, and wind wailed. They did not slow down, though. It seemed the riders were more than comfortable moving through treacherous weather.

How will I manage? I have only heard stories of the Highlands. I know that those could never capture my own situation. And Eleanor… What will happen to her now that I’m gone?

She had begun to drift off to sleep when shouts jerked her into wakefulness for the second time that day. Her heart pounding, Margo began to slide toward the closed window. Just as her fingers brushed against the edge, the carriage came to an abrupt halt, sending her straight onto the floor.

Her hip collided with the wall, a jolt of pain shooting through her leg. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up. Just outside the thin walls of the carriage, she heard the sharp clang of metal meeting metal. Swords were drawn, and each yell and grunt was one borne of battle.

The door was yanked open then, and Laird MacLeod was standing in front of her, serious and unyielding. Without a word, he roughly took hold of her, dragging her from the carriage. As soon as she got her footing, a flaming arrow whizzed past her head, embedding itself into the carriage wall.

“Run,” he told her, pulling his own bow from his back.

As Margo followed his instructions, he loosed a few shots in return. She focused on the ground, somehow managing to avoid tripping over the roots and sticks on the forest floor. The blood rushing in her ears was so loud she couldn’t make out the orders that Laird MacLeod was giving to her and his men.

When they got close to the same stallion that he had ridden away from her father’s manor, his hands found her waist. He lifted her with surprising ease and settled her into the saddle before climbing up behind her. His arms bracketing her body, he tightened his grip on the reins and dug his heels into the horse’s side.

As they shot away from the chaos, Laird MacLeod leaned in close and said, “I’m takin’ ye to the border.”

He said nothing else as he continued to ride the horse hard. Margo struggled to understand what had happened. Had it been bandits? Enemies of Clan MacLeod? Or something more nefarious?

Their flight did not slow down for what felt like hours. Laird MacLeod pushed further ahead, thunder rumbling above them and icy raindrops peppering her face like tiny needles. It was not until they came across a tiny village with an inn on the outskirts that he finally slowed.

“We will stay here for the night,” he said, nearly having to yell to be heard over the storm. “It is gettin’ dark. Ye’re soaked to the bone.”

Without another word, he dismounted. He helped her down, his hands lingering on her hips as he ensured she was steady. Somehow, despite how long they had been riding in the chilled air, his fingers were warm. Her breath caught, but before she could react, he let go of her.

Margo stood frozen for a moment as the Laird headed for the entrance. If it weren’t for the crack of lightning above them, she was not sure how long she would have stood there. By the time she caught up to him, he had already commanded the innkeeper's attention.

“One room then, sir?” the owner asked, brightening at the prospect of business. The entire dining room was empty, but a hearty, rich scent floating wafted from the kitchen.

“Nay, two,” Laird MacLeod said, glancing at the tables. “And two meals. I will also require boardin’ for me horse.”

The man lifted an eyebrow, but his voice remained bright when he said, “Of course.” He leaned back, plucking two keys free and passing them to Laird MacLeod. “I will take your horse to the stables, sir. Please, take a seat.”

The Laird took the keys, handing one to Margo before he disappeared into the depths of the inn. She watched him go before settling at a table. A cook appeared almost immediately, placing a bowl filled with stew in front of her.

She ate her meal quickly. Then, she stood up and made her way to her room for the evening. Once inside, she stripped off her wet gown, carefully fanning the fabric out on a chair in front of the fire. Keeping her chemise on, she stood in front of the hearth, willing the last of the dampness out of her clothing.

“I should be tired,” she sighed, turning around to dry her back. “I don’t know what to make of what happened.”

She heard movement in the room next to her, shuffling around, moving items, opening and closing windows. It could only be Laird MacLeod. It was distracting, and though she did not want to dwell on it, the anger that she had pushed aside for the better part of the day came back in full force.

Her anger swelled when she heard him leave his room. She was not quite certain what compelled her to follow, but her feet were carrying her into the corridor before she could stop to think. When she did not see him, she continued walking until she came to the main room.

Sitting alone near the hearth, his shirt off, the firelight flicking over his sculpted muscles. Her breath caught, her mouth going dry at the sight of him. For a moment, she forgot her anger. But when he looked at her, when he spoke, it washed over her once more.

“What are ye starin’ at?”

CHAPTER THREE

Margo stared at Laird MacLeod momentarily unable to sort her words out. He had spoken without looking away from his side. When she stepped closer, she saw that he was stitching a wound shut, but it infuriated her that he couldn’t even spare her a glance.

“You will not even look my way?” she asked, not caring to temper her voice. The storm outside raged on; the thunder rumbling overhead seemed to mirror the storm of emotions brewing in her chest. “You came to my home demanding payment. You had a choice! You did not have to take me or my sister.”