Page 2 of Kidnapped by her Highland Enemy

“ A re ye sure we should be doing this, miss?” Heather asked Maisie as they slipped out of one of the castle’s back doors. “The battle ended only last night. Surely it is nae safe to be wandering about in the woods?”

“Tis only the loch,” Maisie defended her reasoning as she and her maid headed down the hillside to the pool of water. “There are guards all around. We need nae worry.”

The sheep and cattle dotting the lower green hills were a fraction of the Dunn livestock as the bulk of their holdings lay beyond the meager wood and beside the greater part of the loch in the distance. Mist had risen from the waters and now crept up the banks towards the castle.

That morning at an early meal, her father had been even more outraged at the loss and belligerent with any person who dared to speak with him.

Maisie, foolishly, had decided to talk to him about the castle’s defenses and his furious words had cut her deep enough that she had been forced to hasten away from the room, with barely half her meal eaten.

“Faither is outraged that we’ve lost again,” Maisie muttered.

“I just daenae ken why he is still engaging in battles with the Dunns when it’s clear they are superior in all manner of war.

I asked him why he willnae offer peace instead of continuing this feud, but he tells me I am a woman and me feeble mind cannae ken how much pride has been stripped away from him by these losses. ”

“Ah,” Heather mumbled vaguely.

“If ye lost so many times, wouldnae ye decide it’s high time to make peace instead of continuing with these fruitless scrimmages? We gain land and we lose it, they gain sheep and they lose them. What is the point?” Maisie huffed.

The path down to the river was bordered with plenty of trees and foliage that would keep her hidden; they would be safe during her morning swim. As they got to the loch’s edge, she dropped her bag and dismantled. Clad in only her chemise, she waded into the crisp, chilly water.

Maisie continued to grumble about her father stubbornness while doing away with her chemise and bathing. Dipping under the surface, she emerged with the water dripping down her wet hair and trailing droplets down the supple curve of her spine.

Crouching in the ledge, downwind from the ladies in the loch, Lucas allowed his gaze to trace the maiden.

In the shade, her skin looked as soft as spun silk, the soft swells of her lily-white breasts, topped with dusky rose nipples made rosier by the chilly water.

Her flat abdomen led to the slender curve of her hips, and her waist—it was even smaller than he had imagined.

The lass’s name is Maisie Hendry, daughter of Laird Gunn. If ye want to stop any attempt to kill ye, she is the way.

Oliver’s words rang in Lucas’s ears as his eyes traced the lass’s feminine curves at her waist. A spark of desire radiated throughout his body— and for a moment he forgot that she was the daughter of his enemy.

Three days ago, when Oliver had given him the idea, Lucas had thought it foolish but the more he thought about it, he realized it might be best. If he took the lass, it would stem any action from the clan because the attacker would know Lucas knew about the plan.

He had sent Oliver to investigate the source of the threat but even if it had been fruitful, he had decided to act anyhow. At the worst, if this threat came to nothing, he would make amends, but he was not going to sit around and wait to be attacked.

He had not told his father about the threat either but had told him he would be going on an extended hunting trip. Every time Lucas set foot out of the castle, the guards were pulled in to booster their defenses. He might be impulsive but not that much to put his people in danger.

Oliver too had appointed his second, Lachlan, to take care over the guards and do whatever was necessary to hold the fort defended.

“Are ye sure about this, me laird?” the third of his party, a lanky warrior named Ian Russel, whispered in Lucas’s ear.

“Aye,” Lucas said, his eyes still fixed on the lass as she emerged from the water like a lady of the mist. “We can stall any attack if we have her. She is the only heir of the clan, a fact I’m told miffs the laird off to nae end.

His wife could only birth one bairn, and against all hopes, a lass came instead of a lad. ”

“Unlucky man, that one,” Ian snorted.

“I wouldnae say that,” Lucas replied, as he admired the lass in front of him. “Are the horses ready?”

“They are,” Ian replied. “Oliver is minding ‘em.”

“Good,” Lucas nodded. “And now, this is our part. On my word, grab the other lass and I shall take the Lady Hendry.”

“Are ye going to take her from the river?”

“Nay,” Lucas said, more than willing to let the lass dress after her bath. “We have time.”

Patiently, he waited for the lass to leave the waters and don her chemise, her thin, wet shift clinging to her body like a second skin. As she set foot on the riverbank, he said, “Now.”

Without hesitation, Lucas dropped from the ledge, right into the shallows of the brook, his boots sending a wave of water over his trews. The lady spun just before he grabbed her wrist, and swinging her up in his arms, he hoisted her over his broad shoulder like a sack of meal.

A mirroring squeal from over his shoulder told him the other lass had been apprehended as well and when the lass on his shoulder realized what was happening, she screamed.

“Let me go, ye miserable swine!” she yelled, beating as his back with both fists. “Let me go! Me faither will have yer head on a platter for this!”

“Matters nae to me,” Lucas snorted as he took off into the woods to where the horses waited. “By the time he gets word, ye’ll be long gone.”

The horse raised his nose as Lucas came near and in a smooth motion, Lucas grabbed the reins and launched onto the stallion’s back.

The lass was still hollering for help, but Lucas did not mind.

He had made sure the Dunn sentries and soldiers were stationed on the other half of the property, putting out a fire he had set to distract them.

“Let me go,” Maisie began to beg as she realized no help would be coming. “Please, let me go. I willnae tell anyone, I give ye me word.”

“I daenae bargain with hostages,” Lucas taunted her just before he tightened a cloth over her lips and tied it behind her head.

“ Mlmm mph gm .”

“I willnae release you,” he said.

As the warhorse leaped across the inline like a mountain goat, Lucas shifted the lass, so she was sitting crosswise on his lap. The arm around her midsection flexed just a bit to bring her even nearer and his chin rested atop her wet head.

She struck his chest, making Lucas laugh—her dainty fist must be smarting after trying to harm him. Many a warrior had tried and failed to batter his chest.

“Nice try, lassie,” he snorted. “I ken that was a tickle.”

Lady Hendry smelled of junipers and heather, and her hair, brushing his cheek and chin, was soft, but this was all he knew for sure. Was she a hellion or was she a mouse? Was she smart or was she dull as chalk?

Her slight back was pressed against his chest and stomach and her soft rump was pushed against his groin, surely not intentionally, but reflexively, he guessed.

Her breasts, surely unencumbered by such nonsense as stays or lace or any other restrictive item, rested in plump invitation against his forearm.

They were far enough from her family land and heading a good way north that he felt comfortable in releasing her gag.

“I beg ye,” she said instantly, “Let me and me maid go free.”

“Nay,” Lucas said as his horse cleared the apex of the hill and headed to the seaside, half a day’s ride for him and his men.

She began to shiver. “Why are ye doing this? I havenae done anything against ye. Who are ye?”

Lucas considered telling her his name but decided to do that when they were far away from the two clans’ lands.

“I’ll tell ye if ye will be quiet for the next three hours,” Lucas promised. “Can ye do that for me?”

She swallowed and while fear rested rife in her golden eyes—rimmed with the longest lashes he had seen in a while—she nodded. “Good lass.”

Huffing, she turned her head away and flattened her lips and Lucas knew she was biting back a few choice words. So, she was a hellion . Oddly, he felt alight with glee; he was going to have fun with this one.

“Where are we going?”

“Now, what is the joy in telling ye that?” he said. “I kent all ye highland lassies love a little o’ mystery from time to time. The journey isnae long, lass, but a wee nap’ll do ye well.”

“I shall talk yer head off unless ye stop treating me like I am a whelp,” she snapped. “I am two-and-twenty with more manners than ye, ye cur.”

Lucas threw his head back and laughed, long and loud. God’s bones, he was enjoying himself enough that the threat of his impending assassination was shuttled to the back of his mind.

“A while ago ye were beggin’ me to release ye, now ye are cursing me,” Lucas chortled. “Yer a spitfire, arenae ye?”

“Daenae call me a bairn or treat me like one,” she warned.

“Agreed,” Lucas replied.

Arriving on the seaside of Moray Firth, Lucas breathed in the salty air of the open North Sea. “Och, An Cuan Moireach , ye never change, do ye?”

Looking down on the lass in his arms, he smiled at her sleeping face.

The half-day journey had sent her to sleep, and he smiled, his eyes drinking in every delicate feature of her upturned face.

He marveled at the dark length of her light brown lashes, fluttering ever so slightly as she slept, and the rose-tinted translucence of her creamy skin.

He had never felt so drawn to any woman before, but with her, he could have met his match.

“She’s out like a candle in winter, innit?” Oliver asked as he angled his horse near Lucas’s.

“Aye,” Lucas looked down on the sleeping lass, oddly hoping to see the sharp sparkle in her eye when she woke.

He angled his horse up the lane to the seaside home where an old abandoned English house lay, standing on a spit of rock over a cliff.

His father had bought it years ago, in the quiet, to afford his family a secret place to stay if their enemies did get a hold over them.

Hewn from the same logs as the forest around it, the house had two two-story wings attached to the eastern end of the house and blue-gray stone walls that were as strong as they were beautiful, making it into some sort of a fortress.

The facade of the building was dressed stone, mullioned windows and reddish-gold bracken and dark green ivy that climbed the walls to the gardens that spilled over in a riot of color.

“The cellar is packed with food, aye?” Lucas asked.

“Aye,” Oliver said. “His lairdship made sure it will suffice us a sennight or more. If needs be, we’ll hunt, get fruits from the trees and bread from the village.”

“Hm,” Lucas said as he looked over to where Ian came trotting in with the other maiden on the saddle.

She did not look pleased, her face fixed with smoldering anger and fear. His mind doubled back on the moment he ordered his man to take the maid and he began to doubt if he had made the right decision. Looking down on the maiden in his arms, Lucas did away with his doubts; what was done was done.

Gently, he lifted from the horse and still held the lass in his arms. With her curves, she was as light as thistledown and her subtle scent still rested in his nose. He wanted to see the spitfire wake and to see her reaction to her new residence for the time being.

Oliver held the door open for Lucas to carry his precious burden through and up to the attic where most of the sleeping rooms lay and rested her on a made cot. Before he moved away, he checked the wooden windows to make sure the lass would not wake and try to escape.

He went back to the bed and gazed on her and wondered how much trouble he would get from such an angelic-looking young woman. Indeed, Maisie’s fair features shone with an uncommon beauty. Her brows arched delicately, her nose was straight and slender, her cheekbones high and graceful.

Her lips, plump and rosy—from the tight gag, he was sure— were curved in the faintest of smiles, and her light golden eyes, closed in sleep, were thickly fringed with dark lashes that fluttered ever so slightly against her creamy skin.

The only feature that gave a hint of her true spirit was the stubborn set of her chin.

“Daenae give me any trouble, lass,” he said before leaving the room. “It’s for the best.”

Dunn Castle

“Me laird!” Fergus rushed into his master’s meeting room. “She’s gone.”

Angus looked up, his thinning brows furrowing. “Who’s gone?”

“Yer daughter, sir,” the war chief said. “Our men were tending to a fire in the back fields, set by the damned Barclays we’re sure, and when we went to check on yer daughter, we only found her pack of riverbank. Her maid is gone too.”

The cup in the laird’s hands met the far wall with a shattering crack. “Those mangy, milk-livered bastards!”

As the laird made to get up, a messenger ran into the room, his face white with fear. “Me laird, this was sent for ye.”

Snatching the piece of parchment, he read. “ A traitor from yer home is planning to kill ye on behalf of Laird Barclay. Get ye into hiding .”

Fergus’s eyes narrowed as his hand dropped to the pommel of his sword. “What?”

Balling up the note, Angus lobbied it at the messenger. “It’s too late. They’ve acted and since they couldnae get me, they got me daughter. Those scunnered sacks of shite have gone too far now. We are at war .”