Page 48

CHAPTER TWO

R unning to her horse, Sorcha quickly jumped on.

She wasted no time before galloping down the path, heading back towards the keep and thanking God that she had not strayed too far from it.

But before long, she heard another set of hooves behind her, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that the man was already pursuing her.

Tugging on the reins, Sorcha urged her horse to go faster and faster, pushing it to its limits.

Despite their combined best efforts, though, the man was gaining on her, getting closer and closer with every stomp of his horse’s feet.

Still, Sorcha was confident she would have made it, if only it hadn’t been for the three men who jumped in front of her out of the shadows of the woods.

They, too, were on horseback, and she doubted it was a coincidence that they were there.

They all had to be working with the man pursuing her.

The three of them formed a wall in front of her that was impenetrable.

Even if she had tried to ride past them, she would have collided with at least one of them, and that would only risk leaving her and her horse injured.

Besides, her horse reared, too spooked to continue down its path, and for a moment all Sorcha could do was hold onto the saddle and the reins with all her might as she tried to stay on top.

Frantically, she looked around her, desperate for a way to escape.

She could see none. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and her breath came in short puffs, her mind buzzing with all the terrible scenarios she was coming up with.

She didn’t know what those men wanted from her, but there were a few things that came to mind.

How will I get out o’ here?

The keep was still too far. Even if she had tried to scream for help, none of the guards would have heard her. Her only hope was to find a way through, but that, too, was extinguished when one of the men reached for her and tossed her right off the saddle.

Sorcha landed with a thud on the ground, her breath rushing out of her lungs.

For one terrible, painful moment, she could neither breathe nor move, and she thought that would be the end of her.

Soon, though, she regained her strength and pushed herself up to her feet, stumbling as she tried to escape once more.

Perhaps it was better this way; perhaps without her horse, she could weave through them and run through the woods back to the keep.

That was precisely what she did. Instead of following the path, she dashed into the thick forest, hoping the trees were thick enough for the riders not to follow.

Every time she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the three of them still there, watching, and her heart soared with the hope that she could truly make it back in one piece.

All she needed was to push herself a little longer, even if her lungs burned and her legs ached from the effort.

But the next time she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the man from the clearing pursuing her once more, this time on foot.

He was fast; much faster than her, his feet covering the same distance in half the time it took her.

Sorcha couldn’t help but cry out in fear as the man gained on her once more, before finally grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into a complete halt.

Sorcha screamed and thrashed in the man’s grip, kicking her legs out as she tried to get him to let go of her.

Despite her slender frame, she was a strong woman, but she was still at a disadvantage against such large men.

Her captor’s arms were like a vice around her, so strong that his grip was cutting off her air.

Each mad kick of her legs, each struggle only served to hurt her, the man’s hands leaving bruises behind on her skin.

“While I’m enjoyin’ chasin’ ye, I dinnae wish tae hurt ye,” the man said, yelling to be heard over her shouts. “It’s time fer ye tae stop an’ be a good lass.”

As he spoke, the man dragged Sorcha, still screaming and kicking, back to the group, where the other men waited with rope and rags.

Upon spotting the items, Sorcha’s will to escape only strengthened, and she thrashed like a rabid animal in the man’s arms, throwing her weight around in a desperate attempt to force him to let go.

At his whistle, two of the other men grabbed her, effectively immobilizing her despite her best efforts.

With one of them holding her arms and torso and the other holding her legs, there was nothing she could do but scream for help—but even that stopped when her first captor shoved a rag in her mouth, effectively silencing her.

Her throat was hoarse. Bruises already bloomed over her skin, making every movement painful. As the man bound her hands behind her back and her ankles together, Sorcha’s strength evaporated, leaving behind only the husk of who she was.

She couldn’t fight anymore; even if she did, there was no point. There was one of her and four of them. No matter what she did, she could never escape their grasp.

As the man grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, Sorcha huffed around the rag in her mouth as she was jostled.

The man placed her precariously over his saddle before climbing on and adjusting her, so that she was leaning securely against his body, and as she was wriggled around and moved like a doll, Sorcha realized her hands and feet were only loosely bound—not loosely enough for her to run, but loosely enough to be gentle and leave no marks.

A considerate kidnapper… just what I needed.

“Time fer us tae return,” the man said as he began trotting down the path away from the keep. “They’ll be lookin’ fer her soon.”

Sorcha wanted to say that yes, indeed, someone would be looking for her, but she couldn’t utter a single word with that piece of cloth in her mouth. Still, she grumbled around it, trying to make herself heard, only for the man to ignore her completely as they rode through the dark forest.

One moment tumbled into the next, until Sorcha didn’t know where they were or even how much time had passed since they had left the estate.

As they rushed through the darkness, the wind still whipped her cheeks and made her eyes water, but the man was a solid wall of warmth against her.

Not only that, but he had made sure to wrap his cloak around them both, giving Sorcha another layer of clothing to protect her from the elements.

What kind of captor treated his victim like this? What kind of brigand made sure that the woman he had kidnapped was warm and comfortable?

But this man didn’t look like a brigand at all, and neither did those who were with him.

He carried himself with grace, with the air of someone who had grown up much in the same way she had.

Now that her panic had subsided, since the men didn’t seem interested in killing her and had refrained from touching her in any inappropriate ways, she couldn’t help but wonder who this man was and what he wanted to do with her.

He’s… handsome. Very much so.

It struck Sorcha as a strange thought to have in the middle of being kidnapped, but there was no denying the man’s allure.

Even in the dim light of the moon, his features stood out to her, his attractiveness difficult to ignore.

The fact that he had taken her from her home against her will, though, was more than enough to overshadow his good looks and instantly fill Sorcha with hatred for him.

There was one thing she knew for certain; he was no brigand, or at least not an ordinary one.

After what seemed—and must have been—hours of riding, a castle appeared in the short distance.

It was nothing like Macduff’s Castle, though.

Where their keep stood tall and gleaming in the sun, this one seemed decrepit, on the edge of collapse.

Parts of the roof were missing. Stones from the walls had fallen off and were piled up near the structure around the corners.

Even in the dark, the plants that surrounded it seemed neglected.

The man and his three companions came to a stop in the courtyard.

Sorcha was unceremoniously pulled off the saddle, only for the man to slash off the rope around her ankles and drag her inside.

Sorcha had no choice but to follow; she was pulled along like a puppet, her legs numb after the ride and her entire body aching from the exertion and the cold.

She hardly had any time to take in her surroundings.

All she saw as the man guided her through the corridors were more dilapidated walls, some of them decorated with faded tapestries and portraits.

The torches that illuminated their way were few and far in-between, casting large, looming shadows over the walls.

By the time they stopped in front of a large, wooden door, Sorcha found herself glancing over her shoulder again and again, as if expecting a spirit to appear through the cracks in the wall.

The man didn’t knock before entering the room and pulling her inside.

There was no one there save for one man, younger than the one who had captured her, but so similar in appearance that Sorcha could only guess they were closely related.

The man was hunched over the desk, a single candle illuminating the stacks of paper in front of him as he worked, but when he heard them enter, he immediately looked up.

Sorcha refused to be intimidated by him, and so she stared right back, as defiantly as she could considering her circumstances.

She didn’t know what these men wanted from her, but she knew that showing any sign of weakness would only worsen her position, and so she held her head high, refusing to cower.

“All good?” the man behind the desk asked, and at the other’s nod, he rounded the large piece of furniture to come stand closer. The entire room seemed to be furnished with expensive items that looked strange in this room and castle. Sorcha didn’t know what to make of the place.

“Nay trouble at all,” the man holding her said. “Well, she was some trouble, but we dealt with it.”

Sorcha turned to glare at the man for speaking about her like she wasn’t even there, though she supposed that was the least of her problems. When the other spoke, though, it took her a moment to focus on him instead.

“Miss MacDuff, me name’s Rory Comyn,” he said. “This is me braither, Laird Willelm Comyn. I can assure ye we mean ye nay harm, nay matter how it may seem tae ye now.”

Sorcha couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, grumbling around the cloth once more, only for her words to be muffled. With a swift move, Willelm removed the gag from her mouth, and Sorcha drew in a sharp breath, glad to be rid of the thing.

“What was that?” Rory asked her.

“I said,” Sorcha began, rolling her shoulders back, though it hardly helped with the difference in height, “it doesnae seem like it.”

“That’s why he said it may nae seem like it, love,” Willelm said, and for a moment, Sorcha was so shocked at the pet name that she could do little other than stare at him in disbelief with her mouth open.

Naturally, that only allowed Willelm to continue with his lies.

“Nay harm will come tae ye if ye listen, we promise. Ye’re here because this is the only way tae force yer family tae negotiate with us an’ stop destroyin’ our lands. ”

That was even more preposterous than the pet name. Sorcha couldn’t help the humorless laugh that escaped her as she shook her head, unable to believe her bad luck.

“Ye must have confused me with someone else,” she said. “Me family would never dae such a thing.”

“Miss Sorcha MacDuff,” Rory said. “We ken precisely who ye are an’ ye best believe we ken what yer family is daein’.”

When she heard her full name, Sorcha’s mouth snapped shut, her mind rushing through his words. Surely, her family couldn’t have done such a thing. Surely, those two men were mistaken.

“Me family would never destroy anyone’s lands an’ especially nae without a good reason,” she said.

But her words only prompted a laugh from Willelm, who shook his head in disbelief.

“What is so funny?” Sorcha asked through gritted teeth.

“Well, yer parents are clearly hidin’ plenty o’ things from ye,” Willelm said. “Our people are sufferin’ an’ they ken the truth. Yer family has been attackin’ us fer too long an’ we willnae stand fer it.”

“They wouldnae?—”

“Aye, I heard ye the first time,” Willelm said, cutting her off. “Yer family would never dae this, sure. So, what would ye call burnin’ an’ pillagin’ another clan’s lands?”

Sorcha couldn’t believe her own ears. Her family was kind and fair. Her father was a good laird and man. Never before had she heard anyone complain about his decisions, and she was certain that these men were either wrong or that there was a good reason why her father was doing what he was doing.

“Well, what have ye done tae me clan?” she demanded. “I’m sure me faither has a very good reason tae attack ye, if what ye’re sayin’ is true.”

Rory parted his lips as if to speak, but it was Willelm who spoke first. “We dinnae wish tae hear any o’ yer reasons, as ye call them. All we’re interested in is showin’ yer family that their decisions have consequences.”

Consequences… they promised tae nae hurt me, but they very well could.

And alone as she was, in a strange place, with strange men, there would be no one there to help her.

“An’ how long dae ye expect me tae stay here?

” Sorcha asked. Surely, they couldn’t keep her there forever, or even for as long as it would take to end this misunderstanding—because it had to be a misunderstanding.

There was no way she would ever believe her father had done the terrible things they claimed. “When dae I get tae go home?”

“Go home?” Willelm asked, as if the mere notion amused him. “Ye’re nae goin’ home any time soon, lass. Ye’re ours now.”