Chapter 2

"This is yer last warnin'," the tall man said, his eyes locking onto hers.

Nora glared back at him, a retort ready on her tongue, when the shorter man stepped beside her. His presence loomed like a shadow in the soft light of the forest. Before she could react, he had wrapped a rough length of rope around her middle, twisting and binding her arms tightly to her sides.

The scream that escaped her was shrill, piercing the air, but it only lasted a few moments before a rag was shoved into her mouth. With swift efficiency, the shorter man managed to secure the makeshift gag in place, tying a length of questionable fabric around her face. Nora's screams and cries were reduced to muffled whimpers as she tried to steady her breathing.

"Finally." The short man sighed, holding his bloodied hand up. Nora had done a decent number on him, her only regret was that she didn't bite off a finger or two. "Do ye think it's her, Hamish? A lot of work for this."

Hamish, the tall one, shrugged. "I daenae ken, but she looks it."

She struggled at first when they pulled on the rope, dragging her along as if she were a dog. It didn't take her long to decide that she must bide her time and wait for the perfect moment. Her mind raced with thoughts of defiance, of what she would do to escape, and her fingers itched for the small dagger concealed in her boot.

"Come along, lassie." The short man sighed as she stumbled.

The men stopped walking just long enough for her to regain her footing, an uneasy feat for someone unable to use their arms. Nora trod carefully, or as carefully as she could. Of course, she wasn't overly anxious to find out where they were going, but her options were limited.

She focused on her breathing, trying to keep the panic that would knock the air from her lungs at bay, though the feeling lingered in her chest. She could tell that her braid had come loose, for the wavy blonde strands were a mess around her shoulders and down her back. Her skirts were torn and mangled, her boots feeling more and more loose with each step.

As they led her through the trees, she kept her eyes on her surroundings and turned her ear to listen for the faintest hint of help. She did not know who these men were, or why they had taken her in such a way, but something in her gut told her she was no match for them. Nora knew she could not fight them off, but she might be able to outwit them.

The short one tightened his grip on the rope, closing the distance between them. Stumbling over fallen branches and gnarled roots, the forest floor was unforgiving beneath her feet. She kept her eyes trained on the path ahead, cursing inwardly as her gown continued to catch in the shrubbery and tear.

"Hold her steady, Robert," Hamish said to the shorter man.

Robert grunted in response.

As they emerged into a small clearing, she froze in place.

Three horses grazed peacefully in the dappled sunlight, their sleek dark coats gleaming. One glanced up, chewing as she blinked, before turning its head away. But it wasn't the horses that caught her attention. It was the man with his back to them.

He was tall and well-built, with broad shoulders and strong-looking legs. His kilt, the same dark shade of green, fit him as if he was made to wear it. With a sense of dread coiling in the pit of her stomach, Nora watched as he slowly turned to face them. His cold gaze settled on her.

She stared back, refusing to bend.

Who the hell are these men?

She suddenly felt a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her forward roughly. She cursed into the gag, the sound muffled, as she stumbled forward. Her balance betrayed her. With a thud, she hit the ground, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs.

As she struggled to catch her breath, a shadow crept over her. Her eyes were met by a pair of boots, and slowly she looked up the man's body. From his feet to his gaze, she took him in as he hovered before her.

His features were illuminated by the soft light filtering through the trees. A strong jaw lined with stubble, a scar on his chin that seemed to catch the light. But it was his eyes that stole her attention—cold and gray as stone, regarding her in a way that sent a shiver through her entire body.

Gracefully, he knelt before her. "Are ye Nora, the healer?"

Her breath caught as he reached forward, his hand hovering for a moment before slipping to the back of her head. He untied the fabric that held the gag in place. His fingertips brushed against the back of her neck, his touch surprisingly gentle, leaving a trail of static in its wake.

She spat out the gag the moment it loosened.

Her eyes flicked up to the handsome man. Her stomach was in knots, and her mind was racing with thousands of unanswered questions. Just how did this strange man know who she was? And why did it seem that he had sought her out?

"Who wants to know?"

The man's lips twitched with a hint of a smirk, as though her question was amusing. His expression did not change though as he continued to stare back at her.

She knew she must tread carefully, for she had no idea what the men wanted from her, and Nora had no desire to find out. With every fiber of her being, she fought to maintain control of her rising panic, willing herself to remain calm and composed—but that mask was faltering.

Summoning her courage, she spoke in a steady tone despite her quivering muscles and churning gut. "Who are ye, and what do ye want?"

The man regarded her with indifference, his expression cold and unyielding. At first, she wasn't sure he would answer her, but then he tilted his head to the side and said, "I am Leo Barclay, Laird Buckhan."

It's him… the Wolf. The Laird of Buckhan. Madadh-allaidh.

Nora, already rooted to the spot, felt herself turn to ice as she watched him draw his dirk from its sheath. Her heart thundered in her ears, and her breathing quickened. Closing her eyes, she thought of her sisters, of her house, and of Jamie, who would all be awaiting her return.

To her surprise, she did not feel the sting of the blade, but rather the loosening of the bindings around her torso. The rope fell away from her arms, and slowly she moved her hands to steady herself. As she brought herself to a sitting position, she opened her eyes.

‘Tis now or never.

Without another thought, she pushed herself to her feet, her body twisting away from Laird Buckhan. Her eyes scanned the tree line, looking for the easiest means of escape, as her heart pounded so loud that she was sure he could hear it.

In an instant, she took off towards the only opening she could see, her muscles burning as she propelled herself forward harder than she ever had before. Branches lashed at her skin as she sprinted through the tree line. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder, seeing the Laird rising to his feet, his gaze fixed on her.

"Ye can run, but I will always find ye!" his voice boomed behind her.

Ye can try.

As she hurtled between the trees, the branches reached out like grasping claws, snagging her gown and pulling at her hair. Nora did not stop, she could not stop. With each stride, she felt the forest close in on her, and she could only pray that it would conceal her just enough.

Her mind raced with thoughts of Mrs. McLeod, who had been left alone in the meadow, and that was when Nora slowed down. Her heart was pounding in her ears, the blood rushed to the surface of her skin, and her chest burned as she gasped for breath.

A part of her demanded that she continue to flee, to put as much distance between herself and that man, but the other half, more commanding, urged her to return. Could she somehow avoid the men and alert Mrs. McLeod? Had they already captured the fiery woman?

Nora came to a stop before a large, thick trunk of a tree. Her chest heaved as she leaned forward, palms pressed against the rough bark, and she grappled with what to do now.

I need to go back for her.

Closing her eyes, she cursed under her breath and then turned around. As she looked up, her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach dropped. Shaking her head in disbelief, she stared back at Laird Buckhan.

Aside from surprise and fear, she was met with something unexpected. It was a flash of a thought, coming and leaving as quick as lightning, but it had been there, nonetheless. As much as she hated to admit it, she was also unnerved by just how incredibly handsome he was.

She pressed her back against the tree, her gaze meeting his head-on. With each step closer to her, she could see his chest rising and falling as he drew quick, shallow breaths. If he had run after her, he did not appear to be showing it.

"Why did ye stop running?"

Nora frowned, not daring to tell him about Mrs. McLeod. If the other woman had been captured, she would know of it soon enough, but if somehow she had evaded these men… well, perhaps there was some hope.

"I asked ye a question." His voice was more demanding, less patient.

Nora raised her chin, struggling to keep the disdain from showing on her face. She clenched her fists in a vain attempt to maintain some sense of composure and to conceal the tremors. Never had she been so scared before.

She quickly thought of her dagger, hidden in her boot. But before she could crouch to draw it, Laird Buckhan stepped closer, his large frame casting a shadow over her. He leaned forward, his hands now pressed against the rough bark of the tree on either side of her head. There was nowhere to go, nothing she could do but stare back at him.

"What do ye want from me?" she demanded.

His eyes narrowed. "Ye will be me guest at Buckhan Castle."

"Yer guest or prisoner?"

For a moment, he looked as if he might answer her question, but his expression turned colder. His eyes still held hers, unyielding. Nora wanted nothing more than to look away, but she could not. A mix of fear and awe washed over her. She was captivated by him.

"For one month, that is all I ask. Then ye will be free to go wherever ye please, and I shall give ye whatever ye ask of me," he spoke slowly, deliberately, each word sinking like a stone into her mind.

"I willnae go with ye," she hissed. "Ye damn lunatic."

He raised an eyebrow. "I cannae say I have been called that yet."

It suits ye well enough.

"Now, if we are to make it to Buckhan Castle before the end of the night, we had best return to me horse," he said in a flat tone.

"I already told ye?—"

Laird Buckhan was so close now that she could feel his hot breath against her face. His lips seemed to hover dangerously close to her own. Those cold, stone-cold eyes bored into her mind, body, and soul. This man was dangerous, in more ways than one.

"I am nae givin' ye a choice, lass."