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Ellie stood at the altar in the small chapel, a dagger against her ribcage and two fierce-looking warriors holding each of her arms, and fought to keep the contents of her stomach in place.

She couldn’t hear anything above the roar in her ears, but as the wedding ceremony was taking place in Latin, she had a suspicion she didn’t need to hear anything.

Actually, she had that suspicion when the priest asked her to repeat her vows, to which she emphatically said, “No, I do not take him to be my husband!” and the priest merely shrugged and continued on.

The dagger had dug a little bit deeper after that, so she kept silent and tried not to give in to the panic coursing through her veins.

The wedding wouldn’t hold up in modern times. But she had to get back to modern times first, and her time traveling companions were nowhere in sight.

Ellie could only imagine Gwen’s fear at her disappearance. She knew if their places were reversed, with she not knowing Gwen’s whereabouts, she’d be frantic.

O’Connell, for his part, looked resolute.

He made eye contact with her a few times, but while her gaze was pleading, his was hard and unyielding.

And, as he had whispered warnings to her twice thus far, she knew he was going to take her directly to his chamber, where her two special guardsmen friends would watch as he forced her to—

Oh, God. Just the thought had her shaking so hard she could barely stand.

While she was not religious by nature, she’d been praying in earnest since she walked out of the great room earlier.

She’d prayed throughout the long walk from the great hall to the chamber where she’d been locked, then through the dark hour when she was left alone without anything but a chair to sit upon.

When O’Connell (and his oh-so-friendly team of prison guards) came to fetch her, it was eerily still outside in the inky black of night.

There was no sign of twilight or dawn…just her, a knife at her back, the laird, and the men whose grips on her arms were sure to leave bruises.

If that was the worst she would sustain during this ordeal, she promised to whatever higher power that was listening that she would be grateful.

Alas…when he’d locked her into that small room, O’Connell had promised her through the door that by dawn, she would be “so well-used no man would ever want ye.”

She had vomited at that point, and plotted escape after escape, but her kidnapper made that impossible with the iron lock on her door and giant men with sharp swords.

“Ye are worth more to me as a wife than dead,” he growled her. Then he followed that with, “But if we don’t marry, you’re better off dead by my hand than alive by my clan’s.”

She wasn’t quite sure what he meant, and she really didn’t want to find out.

Their torches barely dented the unending blackness in the chapel. The windows remained dark as well, as the moon was hidden deep behind clouds in the sky. A few people were seated in the pews, apparently enjoying the spectacle and serving as witnesses to their laird’s marriage.

One pious soul sat with his head lowered, his unruly dark blond hair catching the torchlight.

Ellie focused her gaze on him, rather than the unmoving man in front of her, wishing that he would stand up for her.

Or anyone, really. Some lone, brave soul would stand up, shaking his fist in outrage. “Stop!” he’d yell. “She said no!”

Then the scary brute in front of her would look at his clansman and give a sage nod.

“You’re right,” he’d agree, then have her escorted back to the MacWilliams, where Reilly or Colin would take her home immediately and she could then curl up in her flat, pull the covers over her head, and pretend it had all been a dream.

She would give anything to have her life back.

The priest gave some sort of sign over her head, and apparently that was enough for O’Connell. He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the door of the chapel, but, in a final, last-ditch effort to preserve herself, she dug in her heels.

Literally.

She pressed her heels into the hard dirt of the chapel floor, but it didn’t have the intended effect. He yanked her forward, toppling her face-first into the ground. She landed on both forearms and her belly, so no true harm was done, but it took her a moment to catch her breath.

In all her years of life, she never thought she’d be face down in the middle of a medieval chapel, guards with sharp daggers behind her and a soon-to-be rapist standing over her. Terror seized her anew.

“Looks like your intended isn’t exactly a willing bride.” The slow drawl took Ellie’s breath away a second time, and she risked a glance up.

Even though she knew it wasn’t directed at her, the fury on Colin’s face was so terrifying that she almost peed her pants .

Materializing from the shadows of the chapel walls and filling the door in front of her, men stepped forward, the sounds of metal swords being dragged from their scabbards echoing in the dead of the night.

More torches flamed to life, and Ellie, from her limited viewpoint on the floor between the pews, was speechless at the number of men in her line of vision.

She was also a little embarrassed, because if she turned her head just slightly, she’d be kissing the dirt. As they seemed to be there to save her, she tried not to dwell on that. She also tried to stop shaking, but that appeared to be a lost battle.

Colin stepped forward, his voice even and sword drawn. “Release her.”

“O’Rourke, ye are too late,” Dylan crowed, though his voice wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been hours earlier.

Ellie tried to get to her knees, but O’Connell pressed his boot on her back, forcing her down again.

He added triumphantly, “I’ve witnesses from three different clans—including your own, it seems. She’s my wife now, and she belongs to me. ”