Page 27 of The Cruel Highlander’s Healer (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #1)

PROLOGUE

NINE YEARS AGO

S omeone grabbed Holly’s shoulder from behind. The pretty yellow ribbon she’d been admiring fell to the ground as she was roughly spun around. She didn’t get a chance to see her attacker’s features before she was dragged out of the store and into an alley. A smelly sack was put over her head, making her gag whenever she took a breath.

Still, Holly took a deep breath and screamed, even as she fought against the attacker’s hold. It was of no use. She figured there were at least two of them, one on each side.

“Keep her steady!” a man’s voice sounded. “We dinnae want to draw more attention than we already have.”

“If ye eejits waited until she was out of the store, we wouldnae have had to worry about her makin’ too much noise!” the second man said.

Their words only added to Holly’s fear, so she put even more effort into struggling against them.

“Shut her up, will ye!” the first man ordered.

Holly let out another scream, the stench of the sack over her head nearly making her vomit.

Something slammed against the side of her head. Pain exploded, and then, her vision darkened.

* * *

Excruciating pain stabbed at the side of Holly’s head. With a groan, she reached up and touched the wounded area. Wetness coated her fingers. She opened her eyes and brought her hand down, noticing the blood staining it.

“Och! What happened?”

Her voice sounded raw and hoarse, as if she hadn’t used it in a while. Or as if she’d been screaming.

She stiffened and took in her surroundings. She was in a dark room, but there were a couple of lit lanterns providing a small glow. One was on an overturned wooden barrel next to her, which was why she’d been able to see the blood on her hand. The other was across the room, on the floor.

She couldn’t make out much detail, but she knew this wasn’t her bright and cheery bedchamber at home. This place was dark and dank, and it smelled of must and mildew.

Holly looked down and realized she was tied to a chair. A thick rope ran around her middle, securing her to the chair, while two others wrapped around each of her ankles and then around the chair legs.

Terror threatened to consume her.

“Where am I?”

Her voice was stronger this time but still hoarse, and her throat hurt a bit. Her head ached something fierce, and her memories were cloudy.

Holly closed her eyes and concentrated. She’d been in town with her father. While he went to the stables to look at the new horses that had arrived the other day, she had gone to look for new ribbons for her hair. Whenever they’d go to town, her father always let her get a new ribbon.

Holly winced as memories came flooding back. She’d been kidnapped! Frantically, she started struggling against her bonds, but they were too tight. She leaned over as far as the rope around her middle would allow and tried to reach the ropes around her feet. A groan of frustration escaped her when only the tip of her finger touched the rope, no matter how hard she strained against her bonds.

She froze as the sound of a key being inserted into a lock reached her ears. Someone was coming! Panic had the edges of her vision blurring.

Should I pretend to be unconscious? Are they here to kill me?

The door creaked open, and loud footsteps followed. Getting closer. Her breathing changed and somehow matched the pattern of footsteps until she was breathing so fast that she was in danger of swooning.

“Let’s see what we have here,” a rough male voice said.

Holly kept her eyes squeezed shut, but when a calloused hand gripped the tender skin under her jaw and forced her head up, her eyes flew open.

The man holding her chin stared at her face. His dark brown eyes roamed over her features, growing tighter by the second. He let go of her jaw as if it burned him, then raised his gaze above her head.

“Ye eejits!” he roared. “Do ye ken who ye have brought me?”

Two men suddenly appeared in front of Holly. One was short and round, with a balding head and bushy eyebrows. The other was the exact opposite—tall and thin, with long, greasy hair and a full beard.

“Just a lass from the marketplace,” the shorter man answered, his eyebrows high on his head in bewilderment.

“A lass from the marketplace,” the man who Holly assumed was the leader said, his voice full of disbelief and frustration. “Nay, eejits. This lass is none other than Holly Taylor!”

The two men looked at each other in confusion.

The leader let out an exasperated sigh. “She belongs to the Taylors, a very well-to-do family.”

The bald man’s expression cleared, and he grinned, showing a missing front tooth. “Then she will fetch a fine price at the brothels!”

Holly paled, and her heart started beating so hard beneath her breast that she was certain it was going to explode from sheer fear.

A brothel?

A chill ran through her body.

I ’ m nae even sure what a brothel is, just enough to understand that it is very bad and somethin’ I want to avoid at all costs.

“We cannae sell her to a brothel,” the leader growled. “Someone will surely recognize her, and then they’ll come after us. She’s too much of a risk.”

The taller man rubbed his dirty beard with an equally dirty hand. “We could return her.”

The leader’s eyes went so wide that Holly could see the red lines in the whites. “Are ye daft? She’s seen our faces. Her family, and likely the whole of Scotland, will descend on us like hounds on a rabbit!”

The men were quiet for a moment as they considered their options. Holly wanted to speak up and promise not to reveal who kidnapped her, but somehow she knew her promises would make no difference. It was mortifying and terrifying to sit there, though, and listen to these strangers contemplate what to do with her.

“I guess there’s nay other choice but to kill her,” the leader said, his tone firm but laced with a good amount of regret and irritation.

Holly opened her mouth to try and reason with them, but suddenly the door burst open and crashed against the wall. It slammed against the wall so hard that dust broke loose and floated down around them.

“Where’s me daughter?”

Suddenly, Holly felt hope fill her.

That’s Faither’s voice! He’s come to rescue me!

“Holly? Are ye all right, child?”

Holly turned her head and craned her neck as far as she could to try and see her father. At the same time, he rushed toward her, then dropped to his knees next to her.

“Och, Papa! I’m so glad to see ye! Can we go home now, please?” she cried, struggling against her bonds with renewed effort now that her father was with her.

“In a minute,” he said, then stood and faced the three men. “Peter Mitchell,” he seethed at the one Holly assumed was the leader. “I should have kenned ye had somethin’ to do with this. How dare ye abduct me daughter!”

While Patrick Taylor talked, the other two men tried to sneak away, but he shot them a glare, and they stopped in their tracks.

“Now, see here, Taylor. This has all been a misunderstandin’,” Peter tried to cajole.

“So ye meant to kidnap another poor lass instead of me daughter?” Patrick demanded, but he kept his voice low and steady.

Peter Mitchell glanced at Holly and then turned his gaze back to her father. His eyes narrowed. There was no acceptable answer, and he knew it. Slowly, he stretched his hand down his side and unsheathed a dirk.

“Papa, watch out!” Holly cried, a split second before Peter lunged at her father.

Patrick dodged the blade but suddenly found himself being attacked on all sides. The other two men came at him, their fists flying. Holly wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t look away. She watched in horror as her father fought against the three men.

The bald man threw a punch at her father’s stomach. It connected, and Patrick doubled over, the air whooshing out of his lungs. The taller man clamped his hands together to make one large fist, then slammed it on the back of Patrick’s head while he was still bent over.

Patrick grunted and fell to his knees, but then quickly rose to his feet. Holly was amazed at how quick her father was. He threw punch after punch and even used his legs and feet to fight back. He snapped the neck of the bald man, and the sickening sound made Holly grimace.

The taller man charged at Patrick next but met his fate when his foot caught the man in the gut and he went flying backward, his head crashing against the stone wall. Blood pooled beneath him, his surprised gaze frozen in death.

But the two men had served to distract Patrick.

Peter Mitchell snuck up behind him and stabbed him in the back. Patrick grunted, then turned around and pulled his own dirk, stabbing Peter in the throat. Peter gurgled his last words before falling to his knees, then face-first onto the floor.

Only then did Patrick collapse.

“Nay! Papa!” Holly screamed, finally breaking free from the rope around her waist.

She quickly untied the ropes around her ankles and rushed over to her father, falling to her knees beside him.

“Papa! Papa, talk to me!”

Patrick Taylor raised a trembling hand and cupped her cheek. He smiled slowly, but then his hand dropped, and his eyes clouded over.

“Nay! Papa, dinnae die! Dinnae leave me!”

But it was too late. He was gone.

The driver rushed into the building, his face white. He looked at the scene before him and squatted down beside Holly. He reached out to touch her shoulder but then quickly pulled his hand back. He couldn’t look at Patrick.

He didn’t say a word. He stood and waited for Holly to look up at him before gesturing with his head for her to go outside. She did as she was told. Her body moved as if someone else was using it. She got into the small wagon, sitting in the front, for she knew what would go in the back.

Harold, the driver, exited the building with her father in his arms. Her father looked so small and unreal as Harold carried him to the rear of the wagon and lowered him down. Holly stared straight ahead, letting out a small whimper when the wagon rolled down.

Harold got in the front beside her, not saying a word. Even the horse pulling the wagon had its head down, as if it knew what had happened. Each bump in the road numbed Holly. Each clip-clop of hooves felt like a hammer against her heart. She looked at the driver once on the way back and saw that he was crying, too.

When she finally got home, Ivy, her mother, ran out of the house, the relief at seeing her evident on her face.

“Holly!” Ivy cried. She lifted her skirts as she ran to the wagon.

Holly climbed down and pulled her mother into a big hug, both of them crying.

Ivy broke the hug and looked around, her eyebrows drawn down in confusion. “Where’s yer faither?”

Fresh tears leaked from Holly’s eyes. She glanced at the back of the wagon and then at her mother.

“Papa saved me,” she said quietly.

Ivy paled, shaking her head, crying just as Holly cried. She walked around to the back of the wagon and started screaming. Holly could only sob louder for what had happened. She didn’t know how they would deal with life anymore.

“Papa saved me,” she muttered. “Papa saved me.”