Page 1 of Taken by the Ruthless Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #6)

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“L et us out of here!” Tormod demanded, his voice rising with anger as he violently shook the bars.

“Tormod, please, ye’re scarin’ Poppy,” Morgana scolded as she cuddled her younger sister, pressing the child’s head to her bosom to muffle their brother’s screams.

“She should be scared,” Tormod snapped over his shoulder, before returning his full ire on the iron bars of their cage. “Ye heard the charges against ye. They mean to kill us.”

“Nae us… Just me,” Morgana whispered, the words tumbling from her lips.

She glanced down at the girl in her lap and tried to muster a smile. Poppy was trembling in her arms.

Morgana held her youngest sister closer, pressing her lips into a tight, thin line. If her glare could kill, her brother would be lying dead at her feet. But she had heard enough about death for one day. Rolling her shoulders back, she sat a little straighter and plastered on a smile to mask her uncertainty.

“Why did that old fart have to come down that alley? Curse the day that man laid eyes on ye. I wish we never crossed paths,” Tormod huffed as he slammed his hand against the bars as if to test their strength.

“We cannae question why things happened the way they did. There’s nay changin’ what has been. All we can do is move forward. And I promise ye all, I’m nae goin’ to let anyone die,” Morgana reassured.

“What if Eloise and Feya are already dead?” Poppy whimpered as she clung tighter to her.

As much as Morgana wanted to comfort her little sister, the truth was that she didn’t know what was to become of them or their sisters. Eloise could have easily slipped into a nook somewhere and was hiding. But where was Feya? She could be scavenging herbs, mushrooms, or even eggs out on the moors, for all Morgana knew.

But all Morgana could do was hope that Feya had long since escaped. The thought of her entire family being wiped out at once was too much for her to handle.

“They’re nae, and we willnae speak of such things. What do I always tell ye? Ye have to think good things. The world is filled with far too much evil as it is,” Morgana said, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

“How can ye sit there and just accept yer fate? Ye realize they’re framin’ ye, aye?”

“And what am I supposed to do about any of this, Ronnie?” Morgana turned to her sixteen-year-old brother, who was cowering in the corner of the cell.

There was no way to hide his fear; it was plastered all over his face. As much as Morgana wanted to pull him close to her, the ire in his gaze forced her to keep her distance.

“At least Tormod willnae go down without a fight,” Ronnie shot back as he rose and marched over to Tormod, curled his fingers around the bars, and began shaking them.

Morgana sat with Poppy, watching the spectacle. If they were to die, then she wouldn’t stop them from lashing out. As for her, she continued praying silently, begging for some mercy for her siblings.

Her chest tightened with sorrow as her gaze drifted to each of them. Tormod had barely become a man at just the tender age of nineteen. There was so much he could have done for this world. To think that his light would be snuffed so soon tore Morgana’s heart to pieces. Tears pooled in her eyes as she turned her attention to Ronnie.

“My sister isnae a killer!” he shouted, his voice cracking at the end.

A single tear slipped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. How he defended her with every ounce of his being. The sight of them was bittersweet.

“I dinnae think they care about that,” Tormod said as he dropped to the damp ground from exhaustion. “Ye ken, I really didnae think this was how I would leave this world.”

“It’s exactly how I figured I’d go,” Ronnie scoffed, following his brother’s lead and giving up his noble defense.

“That’s nae a very pleasant thing to say,” Morgana chastised, her brow furrowed.

“I figured one of ye would get me swingin’ from the gallows, or maybe as some warnin’ to our clan as the crows pick at my eyes,” Ronnie continued.

“Will ye stop,” Morgana hissed. “Can ye nae see that ye’re botherin’ our sister? Poppy is scared enough as it is, and ye shouldnae add to her fears.”

“Sorry, Poppy,” Ronnie grumbled, just as the clanging of keys against metal caught Morgana’s attention.

She leaned closer as husky voices drifted to her ears. The door was far too thick for any of the conversation to leak, but something about the urgency of the situation gave her hope.

The heavy door moaned in protest as it opened, and the sound made little bumps race over her skin.

“Cohen? What are—” Morgana started as she watched the Laird’s man-at-arms rush inside the cell.

Cohen had been an ally during her courtship with the late Laird McKenzie, always a friendly face among the clan. Yet, deep concern creased his brow and tightened his eyes.

Morgana held her breath as she waited for news of the council.

“We dinnae have much time,” he whispered hurriedly. “The council has convened.”

“And…?” Ronnie prompted, pulling himself up to his feet.

“Believe me when I say that I did everythin’ I could,” Cohen mumbled as Morgana’s eyes flicked to the guards entering the cell.

“Step aside,” one of the guards barked as he jabbed a wooden rod at Tormod, pushing him away from the door.

Morgana’s heart pounded in her ears as the air in the room thickened.

“Watch it—what do ye think ye’re doin’?!” Ronnie bellowed as the guards grabbed Poppy by the arms.

“Morgana!” she cried as she was pried from Morgana. “Nay, let me go!”

“The council will spare yer family.” Cohen’s voice rose over the chaos as Poppy squirmed and thrashed to free herself from the guards’ grip. “I convinced them that the children are innocent.”

Relief replaced Morgana’s concern. She let out a sigh as every muscle in her body relaxed.

“Thank ye,” she breathed.

Cohen stepped closer to her and wrapped his fingers around her arm, sympathy lingering in his gaze.

“I ken ye didnae do what they say ye did,” he said as he escorted her out of the dungeons.

The sound of her siblings’ pleas pummeled her like battering rams against a mountain. She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder. Seeing the pain on their faces would shatter her resolve.

No, if she was going to die, she’d meet death head-on, as an equal.

“Where are ye takin’ me?” she asked.

“The council decided that ye’re to be hung by the neck till dead,” Cohen answered, his somber baritone voice filling the corridor, his eyes downcast.

“Ye’re takin’ me to the gallows.”

“If ye ask me, that’s far better than bein’ beheaded in the courtyard,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

“Was that yer idea of mercy?” Morgana asked.

Cohen’s fingers tightened around her arm as they turned the corner. The light from the torches danced along the stone walls, and the smell of death wafted around Morgana, taunting her. The door opened, spilling dawn’s early light into the bowels of the castle.

As Morgana stepped into the courtyard, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes. There was no telling how long she’d been trapped in the dungeons. With no natural light to indicate the hour, it could have been anywhere from days to a week. Now that she felt the sun on her face and heard the blue jay squawk as it fluttered by, she wished she had more time.

“I’m surprised the council didnae set the gallows up near the study. Surely there are a few men itchin’ to see me hang,” she muttered as she heard the clamor of heavy boots behind them.

Glancing over her shoulder, Morgana spotted guards decked out in their finest battle gear marching toward her. It wasn’t their menacing presence that disturbed her, but the lack of people who’d come to watch her die.

She didn’t know if she should be pleased that no one wanted to witness her last moments or pity herself because no one in her life would come to bid her farewell.

“They didnae want to disturb the mournin’ period,” Cohen explained. “The gallows have been set up?—”

“Near the gate,” Morgana supplied as she spotted the crude wooden platform, along with the rope hanging from the arch of the gateway.

“I’ve made arrangements for ye to be buried in the next town over,” Cohen said. “I’ll nae let them defile yer body.”

Morgana’s heart fluttered wildly with each step. Despite only having Cohen at her side, she knew there’d be no point in running. Fleeing would only make them think she was guilty, and then what would become of her family?

No, she wouldn’t run. Not if it meant that the council of Clan McKenzie would spare her family.

“Morgana Gordon,” a councilman boomed the second she stepped up onto the platform under the archway.

Morgana looked at the tall, broad-shouldered regally dressed man. There was a sternness to his gaze that rattled Morgana’s to her bonesas he stepped up to take her from Cohen.

“Nathan.” Cohen hissed the name like a curse.

His grip on Morgana’s arm tightened, and for a moment, she wondered if he would hand her over to the councilman.

“For the murder of Laird McKenzie, we sentence ye to death,” Nathan announced, his voice devoid of any malice or prejudice.

Morgana glanced at the rope swaying from the stone archway, before her eyes drifted to the sky overhead. The white clouds swirled and floated by as if they were just as eager as some of the councilmen to see her hang.

“Do ye have anythin’ to say for yerself?” another councilman called from the back.

Morgana didn’t even know what she would tell these men. She stood accused of a crime she didn’t commit, but she’d already screamed until her throat was raw trying to plead her innocence.

“The Lord will see ye all punished for the murder of an innocent woman. I didnae kill my husband,” Morgana hissed defiantly as the executioner slipped the noose over her neck and tightened the knot near her left ear.

“On the barrel,” Nathan commanded as he jerked her over to him.

Morgana looked at the whiskey barrel with contempt. Was that to be used as her coffin? Would she have such a dishonorable burial?

Swallowing hard, she arched an eyebrow and climbed up on the barrel.

Nathan pulled the rope. The small fibers of the rope scratched and chafed the tender flesh under her chin as the executioner fastened her hands behind her.

“Ye’re short enough to make this quick,” he whispered in her ear.

She didn’t know whether he was trying to reassure her that her torment would be over soon or he was trying to tease her one last time.

“Just get on with it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Nay need to drag this out any longer than we need to.”

“Ye heard the lass,” another councilman grunted as he licked his parched lips.

The man’s wrinkled face reminded Morgana of the late Laird McKenzie. An icy chill raced down her spine.

Closing her eyes, she held her breath and waited for the barrel to fall out from under her.

“Halt!” a loud voice called out suddenly, eliciting a wave of accusations and protests among the councilmen. “What is this madness? I ken my faither was a devil of a man, but surely he’d never allow for such a display. And with a lass, nay less. Do ye have nay shame?”

“And just who might ye be? Ye have nay right to stop a matter of justice.”

Morgana dared to steal a glance through her long lashes. Fear siphoned her courage drop by drop as she watched the stranger jump down from his horse and hurry over to her.

The unexpected heat of his palms around her waist startled her, making her jump. However, that was all the motion the barrel needed.

Before she could get her footing back, the barrel slipped out from under, the rope went taunt, and down she went as gravity took over.

“Nae today,” the stranger grunted. In a flash, his arms were around her, holding her up before the rope could snuff out her light. “Cut her down, now.”

“On who’s authority?” Nathan demanded as Morgana felt the rope loosen around her hands. She rushed to pull the noose from her neck.

Cool, clean air filled her lungs as she slumped over the stranger’s shoulder, on the verge of passing out.

“Mine,” the stranger replied, glaring at Nathan with the same defiance. “Now, take the lass to my study. As the Laird of this clan, ‘tis my right to pass judgment.”

“That is Lady McKenzie, tried for the murder of Laird McKenzie. She is to hang till dead,” Nathan snapped.

Morgana’s heart stuttered as fear ripped through her. She dared to hoist herself up and steal a peak at him. Holding her breath, her eyes flicked to the stranger. His gaze was dark and austere, piercing through her.

Here was a man who quite literally held her future in his hands. All he had to do was squeeze hard enough and she’d snap like a twig.

“Justice must be served,” Nathan growled. “An eye for an eye.”

“Aye, and it will be, as soon as I can sort it out. Till then, the lass goes to my study,” the stranger insisted.

Out of the corner of her eye, Morgana could see Cohen rushing toward her, eagerly waiting for the stranger to release her.

“Yer study? I dinnae think I heard ye right,” Nathan scoffed as he stepped forward, ready to draw his blade.

“I’m certain I didnae stutter. Now, do as I say,” the stranger ordered.

No one moved but Cohen.

His hands curled around Morgana’s arms.

“Come along, quickly,” he urged, dragging her off the wooden platform. “We need nae tarry here.”

“Who was that?” Morgana asked as she stole a glimpse over her shoulder.

Her eyes fell on the stranger, lingering on him a moment too long. He was tall, with a well-trimmed beard and deep chocolate-brown eyes. There was an air of arrogance and pride about him that caught her by surprise. How could one look so formidable yet be able to handle her with such care and tenderness?

“Ryder Gordon,” Cohen answered, a tinge of fear lacing his voice.

“Who?” Morgana asked as she caught even the stoic Nathan cowering under the stranger’s commands.

“The new Laird McKenzie.”