Page 121 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander

Damon swung himself onto his horse, his entire body humming with urgency.

He had wasted enough time.

God help anyone who tries to stop me.

The ride toward Brahanne was swift, the urgency pounding in his chest like a war drum. The night had long given way to early morning, the mist curling low over the ground as he and Ryder pushed their horses harder, faster. Every second wasted was another second Lilith was ahead, slipping further from his grasp.

Suddenly, the path narrowed, forcing both men to slow down.

“Christ!” Damon spat out, anger dripping from the corners of his mouth as he ducked under low-hanging branches and his horse dodged the tree trunks.

Ryder cast him a sidelong glance, his horse galloping alongside Damon’s. “Ye think she’s in trouble, Damon, or just bein’ stubborn?”

Damon’s grip tightened on the reins. “If I kenned that, I wouldnae be after her like the devil himself was on me trail.”

Ryder smirked, though there was tension behind it. “Ye ken she’s got a mind of her own. Maybe she just needed time.”

Damon exhaled sharply, his eyes locked onto the road ahead. “Time for what?”

“To make ye suffer a bit.”

Damon shot him a glare, but Ryder only chuckled.

“Ye deserve it,” he added. “What was it ye said to her? That she was a distraction?”

Damon’s stomach twisted. He didn’t need to be reminded of his mistakes. “I didnae mean it like that. I dinnae ken what I said.”

Ryder snorted. “Aye, but ye said it just the same.”

Damon gritted his teeth. “She wouldnae leave without a reason.”

“Nay,” Ryder agreed. “Which means we had better find out what that reason is.”

They were nearly out of the narrow paths and about ready to spur their horses to a full-on gallop as they crossed into the open stretches of land near the Brahanne border when the first arrow struck.

It whizzed past Damon’s head, missing him by inches before embedding itself deep into the ground beside his horse’s hooves. The beast reared, its nostrils flaring, but Damon yanked the reins hard, steadying it just as a second arrow sliced through the air.

“Ambush!” Ryder roared, turning his horse around.

Damon’s instincts took over, his sword drawn before he even had time to think. Shadows emerged from the tree line ahead, their forms solidifying into armored warriors—these wereSinclair men. The gleam of steel caught the pale morning light as the attackers surged forward.

“Come on then, ye bastards,” Damon growled, spurring his horse forward.

The clash of steel rang out as the first attacker came within reach. Damon swung hard, his blade slicing through flesh and bone, the man’s scream barely audible over the thunder of hooves.

Another came at him, swinging a heavy axe. Damon ducked low in his saddle, the blade narrowly missing his head. He retaliated with a brutal slash across the man’s stomach, sending him tumbling to the dirt.

Ryder fought beside him, his sword flashing in quick, deadly arcs. He took down two men with practiced efficiency before an enemy spear caught him in the side. He let out a sharp grunt, the wound shallow but enough to slow him.

“Ryder!” Damon shouted, cutting down the man who had struck him.

“I’m fine,” Ryder gritted out, though blood soaked into his tunic. “Keep goin’!”

Damon wanted to stop, to make sure, but the fight wouldn’t allow it. He twisted in his saddle, parrying a blow thatnearly hacked his arm off. Every move he made was focused, calculated.

Get through, get to her.

His desperation mounted with every second. He had no time for these Sinclair dogs. He needed to break through. He needed?—