Chapter 3

As she was carried out of the kirk, Emily marveled at the normality of the world around them.

It was a grey day, the sun barely managing to peek through the clouds. Yet, after the chaos in the kirk, it was strange to be in such idyllic surroundings.

She was still fighting like the devil. The arm around her waist was infuriatingly strong and unyielding. She wondered what he might do if she kicked him in the head.

“Stop fightin’ me, lass.” His voice was incredibly deep, as if it had been forged in the heart of a mountain. “Ye belong to me now. It is best that ye accept yer fate.”

“Put me down this instant!” she shouted, and in answer, he hefted her more forcibly over the broader part of his shoulder.

“It isnae personal, lass. Ye were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Och, aye. Well, so were ye!” she shouted, squirming like a worm in his grasp as he cursed. “Ye dinnae ken who ye are dealin’ with.”

“I ken full well of that dobber’s reputation. I’ll nae be intimidated by him.”

“I meant me!” she cried, twisting and turning, trying to bite the arm that held her.

Suddenly, there was a great commotion in the kirk, and Bruce sprinted outside. He had his sword drawn, blood running down his face. As soon as he laid eyes on Emily, he ran at full pelt toward them.

Emily felt the man beneath her tense up as he heard the footsteps coming up behind them. Unsheathing his sword, he turned, slicing it mercilessly through the air. Did he believe Bruce was one of Laird Orkney’s men?

Bruce staggered back, caught off guard by the speed of the attack. There was a long cut across his chest from the tip of the blade.

“Nay, Bruce. Nay! Put me down!” Emily screamed.

She redoubled her efforts, but it was no use. Even in her playfights with her brother, she had never felt strength like this. She did not consider herself weak, but this man was in a different league.

She looked despairingly back at her brother, who was doubled over, holding his chest. His fingers were soaked in blood. Her father emerged from the kirk, running over to him and examining the wound.

Before she knew what was happening, she heard the snort of a horse beside her head. Looking to her right, she met an enormous eye with long, elegant eyelashes and found herself face-to-face with her captor’s stallion.

“Get on the beast,” came the angry command.

He set her on the ground, and she tried to dash out of his reach. With a grunt, he sheathed his sword and wrapped his free arm around her torso. She was pinned and unable to move.

“Either get on this horse, or I’ll carry ye like a sack of potatoes all the way to me castle. It’s several miles, and ye’ll beg for the saddle by the end of it.”

That voice .

It was so low that she could feel it in her very bones. She shuddered as his arm tightened around her torso. Looking back at her brother, she was relieved to see he was standing beside their father. His léine might be soaked with blood, but he was upright and alert. They were both watching her in despair.

Behind them, her captor’s men were flooding out of the kirk. If she had thought them outnumbered by Laird Orkney’s forces, that was nothing compared to this.

“Well?”

Emily scowled at her kidnapper. “I will never do as ye say. I despise ye!”

“I’m devastated, lass. Now, are ye gettin’ on this horse, or will I have ye over me knee the whole way?”

Emily considered her options frantically.

Can I let this man take me?

Her brother and father were no match for him. If they attempted to rescue her, she had no doubt they would be killed.

With a bitter taste in her mouth, she realized she had little choice but to comply with the man’s demands.

“Alright.”

He lowered her slowly to the ground. Her eyes barely came up to his navel. She felt a jolt of panic as he pulled a small knife from his boot, but he merely used it to cut her bonds.

Rubbing her wrists, she didn’t delay in climbing onto the horse. It was a beautiful black beast, just as enormous as its rider. She struggled to find purchase on the stirrup, her foot unable to reach it. Eventually, huge hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her into the saddle.

It was a gentle motion, nothing of the roughness he had employed when he held her. She frowned down at him in surprise, but he was now glaring back at her family in warning.

He lifted himself onto the horse in one smooth movement, swinging a huge muscular leg behind her. It was a cool day, and the breeze was brisk, but his body was hot like a furnace.

She looked back at her father and brother.

“Dinnae follow us,” the Laird barked.

As his men ran out of the kirk like ants scurrying over the hillside, he gripped the horse’s reins, and the beast reared back on its hind legs. Emily felt a guilty rush of pleasure as a strong arm secured her against the wide body behind her, and they galloped away across the Highlands.

A little while later, they were trotting over the heather. The horizon stretched vast and open before them, boggy moorland surrounding them on every side.

Throughout the ride, Emily had been keeping an eye out for ways of escape, and she was fairly certain she had found one.

To her left, a copse of woods stretched toward the edge of a hill. If she could run to it, she was sure she would be able to hide out until nightfall. After that, she would make her way back to her father’s castle and see what would become of them all.

“Stop squirmin’,” her kidnapper chided as his arm tightened around her again.

“Ye have me on this horse against me will—what do ye expect?”

“For ye to do as I say,” he murmured.

“I have nay intention of doin’ that. In fact, as soon as I can, I shall escape ye,” she stated, with more confidence than she felt.

“Ye are half me size,” he replied. “How will ye get away?”

He sounded weary, as though it was tiresome to point out something so obvious.

Emily felt her irritation spike at being so quickly dismissed. He clearly didn’t see her as any kind of threat.

“I am nae so helpless as ye may think. I could kick ye between yer legs.”

At that statement, she felt his arm loosen ever so slightly around her, and she took her chance.

Flinging her leg over the horse’s neck, she launched herself from the saddle. She was expecting him to grab her easily, but she had taken him by surprise. He cursed colorfully as she landed on her feet and began running toward the copse ahead of her.

The ground was more uneven than it had looked from the horse’s back, and ferns and heather peppered the boggy patches. Before she had taken more than a few steps, she was ankle-deep in murky, black water.

She waded as fast as she could toward the clump of silver birch trees and kept going even as she heard the horse galloping behind her. To her annoyance, the horse slowed to a walk beside her as she struggled.

She looked up at the man’s brooding gaze. He made no attempt to pull her back into the saddle. Her shoes were soaked in icy water, and her skirts began to absorb the rest as she felt herself become weighted down.

She continued doggedly, refusing to give in. The patient horse walked beside her casually, mocking her attempt at putting any distance between them.

As she reached the trees, she used the trunks to pull herself out of the peaty earth and gave a small cry of triumph.

“Congratulations. Now, what are ye goin’ to do?” the man asked from behind her.

To her dismay, the ground ahead was no better. The water was much deeper here and transformed steadily into some kind of marshland. She surveyed it for a little while, trying to find the best route.

She turned to look back at the man. His bulky body was utterly relaxed, leaning forward on the pommel of the saddle, waiting for her to make her decision. The Laird seemed entirely unconcerned by her flight.

She clenched her jaw and stepped down into the marshes. More cursing followed behind her as she began wading through the water, but she knew she had made a mistake as soon as she started. The water was up to her waist, and the mud beneath her feet sucked her down at every step.

Something sharp speared her leg. She cried out in pain and then yelped as a giant hand plucked her from the water and lifted her effortlessly back onto the horse.

She struggled, soaked to the skin, out of breath, and furious.

“Let me go, I have to get back!”

He roughly turned her around on the saddle, forcing her to look up at him. There was a grimace on his face now.

“Ye’re so eager to get back to yer betrothed, is that it?”

“Take yer hands off me.”

“Nay,” he said sternly. “What will it take for ye to realize that ye belong to me now? Ye dinnae have any choice in what ye do from here on out. I make the rules, and I make the decisions. Is that clear?”

“Nae in the slightest,” she retorted. “I willnae do the biddin’ of a man who kidnapped me without a word of explanation on me weddin’ day.”

He scoffed. “Some husband James Stewart would have made.” Then he added, almost to himself, “I didnae ken he had it in him.”

“Let me go.”

“Ye’re injured.”

“I dinnae care.”

“Me castle isnae far.”

She paused, staring up at him in amazement. “Y—yer castle?”

“Aye. Now ye’re less eager to run, I see. Adam Kane, Laird MacNiall, at yer service.”

“At me service, is it? I dinnae care for yer services if this is how I am to be treated,” she grumbled.

“Ye have a mouth on ye,” he muttered.

“Aye. It’s as fierce as yer grip.”

“Listen,” he said in exasperation, “ye may want yer betrothed more than any man in the land, but for now, all ye have is me. Yer words, yer body, even yer breaths belong to me.”

“I dinnae belong to anyone but meself. And I will find a way to escape once there isnae so much bog about me skirts.”

He snorted. “So desperate to marry, are ye?”

“If I dinnae, he would kill me family! That’s if ye didnae already kill me braither,” she snapped.

With that, she turned to face ahead and didn’t look back at him again.

The Laird had a darkness to him that called to her on a level she didn’t understand. His huge hands and dominant voice made her want to do anything he asked. It was an immediate visceral reaction to being in his presence—and a confusing one. She’d never felt this dizzy, this distracted by a man before.

What would it be like to be commanded by him? To be ordered to do his bidding?

What if he ordered me to touch him?

The idea of placing her hands on all that hard flesh sent a shiver down her spine. Emily pushed away the thought, clenching her fists.

This man just kidnapped me, and now I’m dreamin’ about him as though he is me betrothed.

She scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the horizon.

“I only scratched yer braither, ye wild creature. He will be fine,” he said casually. “I dinnae kill people unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

She sat in stony silence, hoping he was right. The sight of Bruce’s hand covered in blood wouldn’t leave her mind.

“Are ye listenin’ to me?” he asked. She made no answer, and he huffed out a breath. “Give me an answer, or I’ll put ye over the saddle like a coney I’m bringin’ to the kitchens.”

“Aye, I’m listenin’,” she muttered.

“I’ll take care of James Stewart, lass, ye hear me? He’ll nae be a threat to ye after I’m finished with him. But in order to be able to do that, I need ye to stay with me for a little while.”

“Ye mean ye have to kidnap me for a few days until he’s stupid enough to try to get me back?”

“I was thinkin’ somethin’ more permanent than that, lass,” he stated.

“Like what? Leavin’ me in yer dungeons to rot?”

“Nay—makin’ ye me wife.”