Page 1 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

“If ye get the chance,” Gabriella whispered, “run for the cliffs.”

She squeezed Madison’s fingers, thinking to herself that they’d become nothing more than bones. Her eyes—bright on the day she had arrived, were now sunken—met Gabriella’s. Her bruised legs couldn’t carry her far today. The last escape attempt had cost her dearly.

“Stay strong, lasses. Whatever happens today… we must never become their bed slaves.” Gabriella’s voice faltered. Her parched throat betrayed her, just like everything else in this wretched place.

Sweat-soaked rags clung to her skin. The stench in their prison was a perpetual assault on her nostrils with every shallow breath. The wooden floor beneath her was dark with stains she refused to contemplate.

A whimper followed Gabriella’s words. Flora.

The poor lass hadn’t spoken a word in so long. Days? Weeks? It was hard to keep up. But not her eyes. Flora’s eyes sparkled with life, speaking volumes. Nothing could take that away from her.

Piper snorted from her corner. “Ye’re all mad if ye think there’s a way out.”

Despite her words, her jaw was set with the same defiance that had earned her extra lashings. Two months here hadn’t broken her spirit like it had the others.

Gabriella studied their faces in the dim light—Madison’s quiet resignation, Piper’s simmering anger, Flora’s naked terror. What did they see when they looked at her?

Her stomach cramped painfully, a reminder of yesterday’s moldy bread. That and some filthy water were their only meal every other day. Her arms were twigs that would snap in a strong wind. But her mind? Her mind was still hers.

“Listen to me,” she hissed, leaning closer to them, wincing at the effort. “They expect us to be weak. To accept whatever fate they’ve planned.” She forced steel into her voice. “We willnae give them that satisfaction.”

Madison shook her head slightly. “What’s the point, Gabriella? Where would we even go?”

“To our deaths if necessary,” Gabriella almost barked, her voice steadier now. “I’d rather die free than live as someone’s plaything.”

Everyone nodded.

This one piece of agreement had kept them united throughout this ordeal. Death would be better than the fate Lewis had decided for the four women.

The bolt on the door scraped open, the sound like bones breaking in the silence. Lewis stood there, lamplight catching the gleam of his yellowed teeth.

“Time for the hunt, lasses.” He had a lazy way of voicing his thoughts, which repulsed Gabriella almost as much as the way his eyes lingered on her chest. “The gentlemen are waitin’.”

His cold eyes appraised them as each woman struggled to her feet. The same eyes that had leered at her from across the tavern counter six months ago, right after he’d bought the place where she worked.

Lewis Hogg. Thin but muscular. Black hair framing a face that had haunted her nightmares ever since.

When Gabriella reached the entrance, sweet clean air rushed into her lungs after months of breathing only sweat and filth in a confined space.

She shut her eyes for a brief moment, enjoying how the mild wind caressed her skin.

But the moment she opened them, reality accosted her. Beyond the hills loomed the dark line of forest. Freedom. Or death. Either would be salvation. But would either be possible today?

Four guards flanked them. If she made a sudden break for it, she might be able to get into the dense area before they caught up with her. She just needed to run fast enough.

Count to three and run!

Just then, the sound of hooves caused all the girls to turn around, and Gabriella missed her chance. Eight men in fine clothes appeared on horseback at the field’s edge. Huntsmen.

Lewis bowed before addressing them in a voice that dripped with eagerness. “Welcome, gentlemen. Today’s prizes are especially fine.”

His words made Gabriella’s stomach churn. She caught Madison’s eye, then Flora’s. Piper’s chin was jutted, defiant to the end.

“The rules are simple. What ye catch is yers to keep.” Lewis’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Ye have until sundown.”

The ancient hunting horn sounded, its cry echoing across the valley.

“Run,” Lewis whispered in Gabriella’s ear. “Make it entertainin’.”

Time froze at that moment—hunters and hunted locked in perfect stillness. Gabriella felt her heart hammering against her ribs.

“Remember what I said,” she whispered. “The cliffs, if necessary.”

“I cannae run with this leg,” Madison murmured, her voice trembling.

“Ye have to, lass. Try and save yerself,” Piper hissed with forced confidence.

Her eyes darted toward the forest. Madison began to tremble. Flora’s eyes were wild with fear.

A horse shifting on its hooves broke the moment.

And then chaos. The four girls scattered like startled deer.

“There! The dark-haired one!” a man shouted from atop his horse.

“I’ll take the limpin’ one!” another called.

Gabriella ran to her right. It was further across the field but led to the densest part of the forest. If she could get inside, horses would struggle to follow. Her legs burned with each stride. Her lungs couldn’t seem to draw enough air. But fear is a powerful fuel.

“Dinnae look back. Never look back,” she told herself.

Behind her came the thunder of hooves. Men shouting. The other women screaming.

Gabriella forced herself to keep running.

A horseman crashed through the bushes on her right side, heading directly toward her path.

“Nay!” she gasped, veering sharply left.

She stumbled through roots growing above the soil. Thorns and stones tore into her flesh as she landed each desperate step.

“Christ’s blood!” she hissed as a thorn ripped through her skin.

At last, she crashed into the forest with all the force she could muster.

“Please,” she begged under her breath. “Please let me hide.”

This was her only chance to find a hiding place until dusk. She threw herself deeper into the foliage, ignoring the branches that tore mercilessly at her.

One ankle twisted, but held. But this agony was nothing compared to the thought of being used by a man who was likely to treat her as another animal he owned.

Just ahead, she sighted a half-rotten oak. It was huge, and she darted behind it, pressing her back against its coarse bark.

Blood thundered in her ears so loudly that she couldn’t hear her pursuers.

Behind her, heavy footfalls approached. A man’s voice called out, “Stop runnin’! Ye cannae get far.”

Gabriella froze, then, on instinct, ran rapidly in the opposite direction, moving sideways between tree trunks and ducking beneath branches.

Because she was running almost blindly, she rolled down the short, steep slope before she realized she’d fallen, and landed so hard that the air was knocked out of her lungs.

She lay motionless, accepting that this could finally be over. In a few moments, one of the huntsmen would catch up with her.

But instead of the sound of approaching boots, Gabriella heard fighting.

Oh God. They are fightin’ over who will have me.

She pushed herself up, realizing she might still have a chance.

Just a little farther. Just a little longer.

“Oof!” She lay there, dazed, staring up at patches of gray sky visible through the canopy above. Her body had reached its limit. She had nothing left to draw upon.

More twigs snapping. Footsteps approaching.

So this was how it would end.

Gabriella closed her eyes, waiting for rough hands to claim their prize. But then her father’s voice came to her, clear and loud.

“Our women have fire in their blood. Ye’re of tough stock, lass.”

“Get up!”

Her eyes snapped open, her fingers clawing at dirt and roots until she reached a fallen, moss-covered trunk, slipping into the space. She folded herself in, pulling up her knees until they were pressed against her chest.

She hurriedly drew ferns and underbrush around her, ignoring the spiders and beetles that scurried about at her intrusion. She preferred their company to a laird’s.

Stay awake. Stay silent. Stay hidden.

She held her breath as footsteps drew nearer. Closer. Closer still. The footsteps paused just above her hiding place.

“Where did ye go, lass?” It was the deep voice from before.

Her heart pounded so loudly that she was certain he would hear it. She pressed a dirt-covered hand over her mouth.

“I ken ye’re here somewhere.” A pause. “Come out. I’m nae one of them, lass.

Liar.

Of course he was. There hadn’t been anyone else except the Lairds and the organizers.

The forest fell silent save for her thundering heartbeat and his breathing. One minute stretched into two.

Will he never leave?

Something rustled to Gabriella’s left.

“There ye are.” His footsteps moved away, following the sound.

She released her breath slowly, carefully. The black spots had multiplied, threatening to swallow her vision entirely. Just a little longer.

Nightfall would come. The hunt would end. She had to hold on until then.

She would—

The world tilted again. The next thing she knew, she was being hauled in a grip that was firm and strong.

“Nay!” She thrashed with what little strength she had left, even though she knew it would be nothing against the iron grip around her waist. “Let me go!”

The arms only tightened, lifting her off the ground. Her feet dangled uselessly, her back pressed against something solid and warm. A chest. A man’s chest.

“Stop fightin’,” his voice murmured near her ear. Low. Resonant. Not cruel like Lewis’s, but firm. Commanding.

She twisted anyway, summoning the last dregs of her strength. Her elbow connected with his ribs. She hoped it would be enough to make him loosen his grip, but he didn’t even grunt.

“I said, stop.”

Something was different about his tone. There was no anger there. Not even the gleeful sadism she’d learned to expect from the men who visited the tavern. Just… certainty. This man was clearly accustomed to being obeyed.

His other hand firmly grasped her shoulder, stilling her struggle.

Despite everything, despite knowing what awaited her, something in that steady hold calmed the wild panic in her chest. His hands didn’t wander. Didn’t grope. They simply held.

Gabriella sagged against him. With her head against his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of him. He had a strong jaw, with thick, brown waves that framed features set in grim determination rather than triumph or lust.

Even in her exhaustion, she caught his scent—a mixture of pine and leather that was strangely comforting after months of damp prison air.

None of it mattered. He’d caught her. She belonged to him now. Whatever small comfort she found in his manner would vanish soon enough.

“Just kill me,” she whispered. “Please. Have mercy and be done with it.”

His breath stirred her hair as he leaned closer.

“I got ye, lass. I willnae let anyone hurt ye.”