Page 6 of Jack (Highland Outlaws #1)

I sabella screamed, feeling the full weight of her captors, the pressure pushing her into the mud, holding her still.

She fought against her attackers, biting and flailing her arms and legs, but they persisted to stake claim to what was hers and hers alone—her body and virtue.

Fear devoured all reason in her mind. Her vision blurred.

Their heaving bodies blended into the thick trees overhead like one hungry claw bearing down upon her, ripping at her tunic, tearing at her soul.

But then the claw shrank away.

Suddenly, beams of sunlight slanting through the forest canopy warmed her face.

This was it , she thought. She needed to act!

Her body quivered with terror as she forced herself to lift her head and take a painful breath.

Then she saw what had drawn her assailants away—masked men on horseback.

Dressed all in black, they looked like ghostly shadows as they swung silver blades, which glinted red with the blood of her attackers.

She did not know who they were or where they’d come from, or even whether they were friend or foe.

At that moment, the only thing she knew and the only thing that mattered was that she was no longer pinned to the ground. Still, fear made her legs weak.

Now! It must be now!

Drawing a desperate breath, her eyes stinging with tears, she gritted her teeth and climbed to her feet.

Blades clashed. Men cried out in pain. Blindly, she raced away from the sounds of battle, toward the trees.

Her foot caught on something, and she fell.

Glancing back at what had slowed her down, her heart seized.

Thomas, the young man who had delivered her from her barren home with a message of birth, stared at her with unseeing blue eyes.

His throat had been slashed, and his life continued to pour from him into a growing pool of blood.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the horror.

Lungs burning, sweat and tears pouring from her face, she heaved herself up.

The clanging of metal on metal echoed in her ears while screams of pain pierced her heart.

Hitching her tunic and surcote high, she bolted into the woods.

Having found her stride, at last she took flight, pushing her legs to work harder.

Her side ached, her lungs burned, and her heart felt as though it was going to burst out of her chest. Still, she raced deeper into the woods.

But then a sound behind her ripped through the air and filled her with dread.

Horses galloped through the forest, tearing through the branches, and charging after her with relentless speed.

“Please,” she cried. “No!”

They were closing in on her. The ground shook. She screamed as her toe caught a thick root. Falling, she flung her arms in front of her face in defense against the approaching ground, but she never felt the hard earth.

Instead, she flew.

A powerful arm gripped her waist like an iron band and lifted her high into the air before tossing her onto the back of a mighty chestnut stallion.

The ground raced past as they charged through the forest. With every leap and turn, her stomach lurched, and she prayed to God for her suffering to end.

Closing her eyes, she fought against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her and clung for dear life to the tight leather cinch.

Just when she felt she could bear no more, the horse came to a halt, jarring her already tortured stomach.

Too frightened to move, she didn’t dare look up as her heart pounded in her ears.

But then her stomach twisted. “Please, no,” she whispered in desperation. An instant later, bile traveled up her throat, and a gush of vomit spewed from her lips.

“Sweet Jesus and Mary,” a deep voice exclaimed above her before strong hands gripped her waist, hoisted her off the horse, and placed her feet on the ground. But her weak legs immediately gave out, and she crumpled to the ground.

JACK DROPPED TO HIS feet beside the trembling lass, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. He looked to Quinn for help. “St. Augustine, what should I do?”

“Her stomach is upset from the ride and no doubt from her fear and the intensity of what just happened. There’s nothing to do but to wait for it to pass.”

Jack stood helplessly as she retched again. “I have to do something.”

“Give her something with which to wipe her lips,” Quinn urged.

Nodding, Jack seized his tunic and used his dagger to cut off a strip. “Here,” he said, offering the lady the piece of cloth.

Still bent over, she lifted her head slightly and looked up at him.

The terror he glimpsed in her eyes made his protective heart ache.

In that moment, he wanted to reach out and soothe her back and tell her everything was going to be all right—that she was safe now.

But when his fingers grazed her fine silk tunic, and her bejeweled fingers caught his eye, his heart hardened against her.

She was a highborn lady.

She lived her life treading on the backs of men like him. Even worse than that, she was English, loyal to a king who had slaughtered his parents and wee sister and destroyed the city of his birth.

“Wipe yer mouth and let’s go,” he said, his anger seeping into his tone.

She snatched the fabric from his grip and did as he bade.

Her frantic movements pricked his conscience.

He couldn’t remember ever having spoken so harshly to a woman.

When she straightened and turned to face him, he was taken aback by her gentle beauty.

Pale green eyes stood out in shocking contrast to rich, olive skin.

Her full lips trembled. He eyed her dirty wimple and wondered after the color of her hair.

She hurriedly wiped her hands before smoothing the cloth over her gown.

Her small pert nose wrinkled with disapproval at her slippers, which were spotted with mud and her own vomit.

Jack shook his head. The lass had been attacked and nearly raped, and she was fretting over her shoes.

Highborn ladies were all the same—selfish and shallow. She did not deserve his pity.

With a derisive snort, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her back up onto his saddle. But despite himself, he immediately regretted his rough handling of her.

As he swung up behind her in the saddle, Rory nudged his horse closer. “What are we going to do with her?”

Jack took a deep breath, then let the fullness slowly stream from his lips. “I do not ken,” he admitted.

Ian drew closer. “Jack—” he began, but Jack interrupted him.

“Stick to the bleeding code,” he snapped. “No names.”

“Sorry,” Ian said. “’Tis just that she’s scared.”

“Aye, she’s shaking,” Rory added and reached out to soothe the lady, but she jerked away from his touch.

“I ken she’s scared,” Jack snapped. “And ye’re not helping.” He turned to Quinn, whose judgment he could always trust. “What are our choices?”

Quinn shook his head. “We have few. She cannot stay here. We cannot take her to her family, nor can she come home with us.”

“The way I see it,” Ian said, drawing Jack’s gaze. “We have only one choice—the right choice. We must take her home.”

Jack rolled his eyes, even though he knew the gesture would be missed. “Do ye think we can just ride into Berwick and hand Lord Redesdale his filth-covered princess and ride away once more—no questions asked?”

“Please,” the lady blurted, drawing Jack’s gaze. “My father will reward you for my return.”

Jack watched as her gaze darted from his masked face to each of his brothers. She trembled in his arms. Once more pity struck his heart, only to be absorbed, an instant later, by a lifetime of prejudice. His compassion dissolved into anger. “Ye’re not part of this conversation, Princess.”

She leaned away from him. “Why do ye speak so harshly? Unless I’m mistaken, you just saved my life.”

Jack’s scowl was hidden behind his mask. “Aye, we did, but only because those savages attacked ye, but we’re not heroes—at least not to English nobles like ye. Ye should know that before we rescued ye, we were aiming to rob ye.”

The color drained from her face, and her eyes flashed wide.

“Let me go,” she cried as she struggled to free herself from his hold.

His grip tightened, pinning her flailing arms down with one hand while keeping the horse under control with the other.

“Enough,” he admonished. “Lest ye wish to tumble off this horse. The ground is a long way down, Princess.”

She ceased her struggle and glared up at him with accusing green eyes.

Jack looked again at his brothers, who were debating the merits of taking her home versus leaving her at a convent or respectable inn.

“Enough,” he interrupted. “We cannot take her home—I’ve no doubt we’d face arrest. Nor can we just leave her some place.”

“Why not?” demanded Rory.

“We could never assure her safe passage home, and we’d risk exposing our true identities.”

Alec, who had refrained from adding to the debate until then, drew his horse close to Jack’s and wordlessly handed him a strip of cloth. Jack raised a questioning brow at his brother as he took the fabric, but then he remembered his mask. “What’s this for?” he asked.

Alec shrugged with indifference. “Blindfold her,” he said, his voice impassive. “Then we ride.”

“Nay,” Ian interjected. “’Tis cruel.”

“’Tis our only choice,” Jack said, immediately understanding the wisdom of Alec’s plan.

“If she’s blindfolded, she can come with us while we figure out how to return her to safely her family, after which, she’ll have no means of guiding anyone back to our hideaway.

” Jack looked at Alec. “Trust ye to find our only recourse.”

Alec shrugged again, neither accepting nor refuting Jack’s praise.

Jack shifted his gaze to the lass. “So be it. Princess, ye’re coming with us.”

“Nay,” she said, jerking away when he tried to cover her eyes with the cloth.

It pained him to pin her arms to her sides again. He did not want to hurt her. “Cooperate,” he breathed in her ear. “This is the only way.”

The truth of his words seemed to sink in because she stopped fighting him.

Relieved finally to be underway, he called out to his brothers, “Let’s ride,” and drove his heel into his horse’s flanks.

His relief, however, was short-lived as fresh worries and frustrations blasted his mind.

The vicious intent of the lady’s attackers had been more than evident.

They had meant to cause her bodily harm—rape, mayhap even death.

This he did not doubt. Had they simply wanted her for ransom, he and his brothers would have ridden away from the scene, each with a clear conscience.

But none of them had been so fortunate. And now, by saving her life, he had put his own life and his brothers’ lives at greater risk.

After all, she was blindfolded and being held in his arms against her will.

Despite their good intentions, they had just abducted an English noblewoman.

Jack tightened his grip around her trim waist.

“Blast,” he muttered, wishing they had waited one more day before setting out on another mission to fill Scotland’s coffers.

Until that moment, he had robbed unsuspecting English nobles without regret.

After all, they had stolen Scotland’s land and were responsible for the death of countless innocents. But now, he was awash in regret.

“Blast,” he cursed again, feeling the weight of their misfortune bearing down upon him.

If only he had never set his sights on the carriage emblazoned by the Redesdale coat of arms, then he wouldn’t now be trying to decide what to do with the blindfolded English noblewoman trembling with fear in his arms.

Releasing a slow breath, he allowed himself to become one with the movement of the horse beneath him.

He loosened his tense grip on her waist and shut his eyes, swaying with the gentle gait of his steed like a sailor riding the swells of the sea.

Gradually, the surrounding forest disappeared, and he felt the peace of the rolling tides.