Page 9 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

CHAPTER THREE

"Lady MacKinnon!" Finn's voice, urgent and close. "Are ye hurt?"

"I—I dinnae ken." Alba tried to move and gasped as pain shot through her shoulder. The door—now above her since the carriage was on its side—was wrenched open, and Finn's weathered face appeared, illuminated by the moonlight.

"Can ye climb out? Quick now, lass, we need tae⁠—"

An arrow took him in the throat.

Alba screamed as Finn's eyes went wide with shock and he fell backward, disappearing from view. The sound of fighting erupted around the overturned carriage, steel on steel, men shouting, the wet thud of blades finding flesh.

"Dougal!" Alba called out, her voice shaking. "Dougal, what's happenin'?"

No answer came. Only the sounds of battle, growing closer.

Alba's hands were trembling so badly she could barely grip the edge of the doorway, but she forced herself to move. She had to get out, had to run, had to⁠—

A hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her through the opening.

She stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to wrench herself free. Alba scrambled backward, her boots slipping on the damp grass as she tried to put distance between herself and her attacker.

"Easy now, lass," a rough voice called out. One of Torquil's men stepped into the moonlight, his sword drawn. "Nay need tae make this difficult."

Alba spun and ran.

Her skirts tangled around her legs, slowing her down, but fear gave her speed. She crashed through the underbrush, branches tearing at her hair and face, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Behind her, she heard shouts—multiple voices, multiple men. They were spreading out, cutting off her escape routes.

"There!" someone yelled. "She's headin' fer the trees!"

Alba veered left, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. If she could just reach the forest proper, lose them in the darkness⁠—

A figure stepped out from behind a tree directly in her path. Alba tried to stop, to change direction, but her momentum carried her forward. Strong arms caught her, and she screamed, kicking and clawing with everything she had.

"Feisty little thing, arenae ye?" the man grunted, trying to pin her arms.

Alba drove her elbow back into his ribs with all her strength. He cursed and loosened his grip just enough for her to twist free. She ran again, but her foot caught on a root and she went down hard, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs.

Before she could recover, hands grabbed her shoulders, hauling her upright. She fought wildly, screaming into the night, her nails raking across someone's face.

"Christ! The wee bitch drew blood!"

"Just hold her still!"

Two more men appeared, and now there were too many hands, too much weight. Alba thrashed and kicked, connecting solidly with someone's knee. The man howled and stumbled back.

"Enough!"

The voice cut through the chaos like a blade. The men holding Alba went still, though they didn't release her.

Torquil MacLean emerged from the shadows, his expression dark with fury. He walked slowly toward her, and Alba renewed her struggles, trying desperately to break free.

"Let. Me. Go!" she snarled, her voice raw from screaming.

"Such spirit," Torquil said, almost admiringly. He gestured to his men. "Bring her."

They started dragging her back toward the road, and Alba dug her heels into the ground, making them work for every step. She twisted, bucked, threw her weight in every direction, but there were too many of them.