Page 66 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Caroline leaned forward onto the horse’s neck and urged the beast forward. If she put herself between the man and the road, she might be able to get out of the trees and outrun him. The stallion swerved to miss a large tree and Caroline discerned the edge of the woods up ahead. She kicked the horse’s ribs and he lunged into a gallop as the trees thinned. She ducked a low branch. He leaped over a rock, then another before they broke into the open.

A second later, a blur shot onto the road almost beside her. Caroline hugged the stallion’s neck so tightly she could feel the animal’s dense sinew contract with each mighty stride. Tension cramped her muscles, but she forced her body to remain relaxed in the saddle, at one with the beast’s fluid gait.

Dear God, she hadn’t been gone from Strathmore long enough for anyone to miss her. Her attacker could rape her—or worse, kill her—and no one would know before it was too late.

Chapter Twenty

Taran stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle, with a nod to William and Huntly, who waited mounted beside him. He kicked the chestnut’s ribs. The massive horse jolted forward, the men close behind. Fiona appeared in the stables door.

“Taran,” she called as he neared.

He didn’t slow.

“For God’s sake,” she raised a pistol that had been hidden from view at her side, “you will need this.”

As they flew through the doorway, Taran recognized the triple barrel flintlock pistol he’d given her for her thirteenth birthday. He had taken the two pistols from his desk drawer, but the triple barrel pistol fired three shots without needing to be reloaded. If he ran into trouble while fetching his wife home, the pistol would be a strong advantage.

His gut clenched at the thought of Caroline alone on the road, and he pulled back on the reins. William and Huntly slowed. He gave them a nod, turned the stallion back, and stopped alongside where Fiona now stood outside the stables. She extended the pistol towards him, barrel pointing into the empty space of night. Their gazes met as he reached for it.

“Do not give me that dark look, Taran. You bullied her just as you did me, and she is no more willing to put up with it than I was.”

“Fiona,” he began, then stopped. She had hit too close to the truth. For all his sister’s faults, she read him well.

That Caroline was willing to seek refuge with the uncle she loathed made Fiona’s accusation all the more gut wrenching. Caroline had left no clue as to her destination, but the moment the stable master reported that his boy had seen her slip from the stables on horseback, Taran knew she was headed back to Newcastle—and her uncle. William had confessed his conversation with her. Taran had been furious, but the truth was, it was his anger at finding her in the gardens with William that had chased her away, not William’s ridiculous need to meddle.

Taran should have told her he knew she was Aphrodite and been done with it. He told himself she wouldn’t be able to face him if she knew he knew, but the truth was he had derived perverse satisfaction out of watching her grapple with the question of when he would puzzle it out. Taran stuffed the pistol into his belt, having already stowed the other pistols in the saddle holsters.

“Any news,” he said to Fiona, ignoring a tightening in his chest. “Anything. Send word.”

“She has been gone no more than a quarter of an hour,” Fiona replied. “Barely enough time to get off Blackhall land. And your wife is no fool.” No, Taran thought. I am the fool.

* * * *

Caroline’s horse flew across the road, the silent blur of darkness an eerie contrast to the thunder of hooves that barely drowned out the fierce pounding of her heart. She wasn’t far from Strathmore. Surely she would encounter someone before the rider caught her? Her horse’s warm breath curled into cool night air. The rider drew closer on the left. Caroline gasped and veered right. A powerful arm shot around her waist and yanked. She grabbed for the pommel, but he swerved away from her horse, dragging her from the saddle.

Pain sliced up her injured arm, but her cry was muffled when he mashed her face against his shoulder. Caroline kicked her dangling legs against the horse’s ribs. The beast bellowed in unison with the man’s curse. She swung a fist, making painful contact with the hard line of his jaw.

“Little bitch,” he cursed.

His grip went slack and she dropped to the ground, the impact ricocheting through every fiber of her body. Knife-like pain pierced bone deep into her wound. Her head thudded against moist ground. She cringed against the pain, tried shoving into an upright position, but her head felt heavy as lead. A large figure appeared over her.

She squinted up at the hulking form. “Have you lost your mind? My husband will have your head for this.”

He seized her arm and yanked her to her feet.

“Unhand me,” she wrenched hard to free her arm.

Nausea twisted her stomach, her knees weakened and her surroundings spun. The man muttered something indistinguishable and swung her into his arms. Bile filled her throat. She shoved at his chest, but her arms seemed to be made of cotton. He started forward, heading for his horse. Panic tightened her throat. If he intended to rape her, why not do the deed here, or maybe drag her into the woods? Caroline batted ineffectually at him, but he only grunted. They reached the horse.

“Fool,” she snapped. “My husband is the Viscount of Blackhall. He will kill you.” The man gripped the pommel and, her still in his arms, mounted.

He urged the horse into motion. “You are the fool.” His cultured voice startled her. This was no average highwayman. “You could not simply marry Blackhall and leave well enough alone,” he added.

Caroline froze. She didn’t know this man. But he knew her, knew she was newly married. This wasn’t opportunistic malice, but rather planned treachery. He pulled up alongside her stallion, grasped the reins, and snapped his horse’s reins. They broke into a trot.

The ground beneath her whirled. Caroline fought dizziness. “What did I not leave well enough alone?”

“Do not play innocent.” He snorted. “You are just like your father.”