Page 36 of Laird Of Her Heart

Sucking in a breath, she slipped from the tent and skittered through the shadows of the night. But for the snores rising from the tents, and from the lone guard by the fire, it was quiet. She made her way along the tree line to the spot where the horses were tethered. Keeping one eye on the sleeping camp, she untied them one by one, and then led them to the south.

Perhaps it was a foolish plan, stealing their horses. But if God was with her—and she had to believe he was—they would not find where she’d hidden them until it was far too late to make the meeting at Urquhart. Or at the very least, cause them to miss the massacre.

She couldn’t contemplate the thought of losing Dominic. Not now that she knew him as a person, as a man. Her heart could not bear it.

It had been bad enough that she’d mourned his death when he’d only been a sketch to her. If he died in the bloody attack of the Camerons, she would simply not want to continue living.

And if her betrayal cost her his esteem, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make. Hell, had to make.

He had to survive.

She needed him to.

Dawn was just breaking as she made her way back to camp. She should not have been surprised to find it in an uproar. Dominic was pacing and Declan was roaring and the men were skittering around in a flurry.

Some of them caught sight of her and a cry rose up.

She was glad she’d circled around, through the woods to the south, to throw them off the scent. Perhaps when they began looking for the horses, as they would, they would head in the wrong direction.

Declan stormed up to her, his fists tight. His expression was furious. She lurched back at his approach, certain he meant to punch her. But he did not. He spit through clenched teeth, “What have you done?”

She pressed her lips together.

This enraged his fury.

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What have you done you Cameron bitch?”

“Declan.” Dominic’s tone was flinty and cold. “Unhand her.”

It was a relief when those hard fingers released her, but her trepidation flared as she glanced at Dominic. His fury was under control, but barely.

“She stole our horses!”

“Technically, I hid them.” Probably foolish, but she felt the distinction was relevant.

Dominic stared at her; she hated the hint of disenchantment in his eyes. But she had to ignore it. She had to. It was for the best. “Why did you do that?”

“You know why, Dominic. I couldn’t let you go.”

“That again?” Declan blew out a snort. He raked his hair. “Bluidy hell, Dominic. I told you we should have tied her to a tree.”

“Aye. You did.” Oh lord. His tone sent shivers through her belly. He turned to her, indomitable, cold, hard, but his voice was incongruously gentle. “Where are the horses Maggie?”

“I hid them.”

“Where?” This, from Declan.

She forced a smile, although one was not called for. “The point of hiding things is not telling where you hid them.”

He lunged at her. He nearly reached her, but Dominic held him back. He shot a dark look at each of them, one after the other.

“Send the men to find the horses,” he snapped at his brother. She can’t have taken them far. “And you?”

She blinked at his vehemence.

“You come with me.”

CHAPTER EIGHT