Page 32 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Hellion (Auctioned Highland Brides #4)

Lydia stared out of the windows at the gathering clouds, watching the landscape of Scotland pass by.

Even in bad weather, it was beautiful. It seemed like years since she and Hannah had arrived on their first day.

She sighed, remembering the moment she had first seen Callum riding toward her on the back of his horse. He had seemed so big, imposing, and unknowable.

Now, the mere thought of him brought an ache to her chest.

Even traveling with the guard on the back of her carriage, she did not feel safe. Perhaps she would never feel safe again without him with her. The miles of road ahead seemed interminably long.

Whatever will Father say when I return?

The thought of arriving back at her parents’ townhouse filled her with dread. Her mother would be happy to see her, Lydia knew that, but she would also be disappointed that she had not remained in Scotland.

To the Duchess, any marriage that could give Lydia her freedom would seem like something worth fighting for.

Lydia didn’t know what her father would say when she arrived. He would likely not look or speak to her at all. The burden of her care had been passed to another, and he would not be pleased by her return.

The prospect of seeing Tommy was a happy one, but it was lessened by the memory of the girls.

I hope they are safe and Moira is not mistreating them.

The carriage rumbled on, the ground more uneven underfoot as they came toward the edge of a large loch that opened out beneath the rumbling skies.

Thunder cracked above her head just before a fork of lightning rent the sky, and Lydia opened the curtains that covered her window to look at the gathering storm clouds above.

It was getting dark, the evening closing in, and as another flash of lightning flared outward in a fork, her eye was caught by something on the hills ahead.

Was that a man on horseback?

Her excitement built when she saw that it was a huge black beast, just like Callum’s, and the man on its back was large like the Laird.

But Lydia’s excitement soon turned to fear when another horse appeared behind the first. There were two of them, and in the flare from another lightning flash, she could see the swords glinting as they cantered toward them at speed.

There was a shout from the driver, and the carriage began to speed up, the horses’ hoofbeats increasing as the jolting, rocking motion became more intense.

Lydia held onto the walls of the coach, looking around for anything she could use as a weapon.

She had her travel case in the cab, and inside was her mother’s lavender brooch. Bending forward, she flipped open the lid and drew it out, releasing the sharp pin and holding it between her fingers.

There was more shouting, and the whistling sound of an arrow.

Lydia screamed as it ripped through the side of the carriage, the sharp point coming to rest inches from her eye.

There was the clash of metal from outside as they thundered on, and Lydia sat still, staring outward, hoping and praying that the guard would be able to fight them off.

There was another shout from above, and then the carriage began to slow. As it came to a stop, the door was wrenched open, and a burly man with a dark beard and sharp, piercing eyes was illuminated by another flash of lightning.

“We have her!” he hollered.

Lydia tried to get as far from him as possible as he reached into the carriage to grab her.

She clawed at his arms, his thick fingers clutching for her, dragging her out and into the rain.

All she could hear was the huffing breaths of the man holding her; there was no other sound at all.

Shouldn’t there be sounds of fighting?

She looked around desperately for the guard until her foot struck against something on the ground as she stumbled forward. Looking down in horror, she saw the guard dead at her feet, a knife in his heart. The driver of the coach was slumped forward, too, an arrow in his shoulder, moaning in pain.

Lydia fought for all she was worth.

I am alone. There is no one here to save me now. I must get away!

She kicked out hard between the man’s legs, and he made a soft groan of pain as his fingers released her.

The other man screamed at him to hold her, reaching for her as the rain tumbled down between them, blurring Lydia’s vision.

His fingers were inches from her hair, about to drag her away, a knife in his hand. She stabbed upward and into his arm with the sharp pin of the brooch, and he screamed in pain.

Recoiling from her, he swore, using words she had never heard in polite society, and Lydia took her chance.

The carriage had come to a stop beside the wide shore of the lake, but there were thick trees about one hundred meters away. If she ran, she might be able to make it before the men recovered themselves.

Picking up her skirts, the water weighing them down so heavily she could barely move, she began to run.

The ground beneath her feet was slick with rain, the water pooling on the surface as the torrential downpour continued.

Lydia could see her breath forming in clouds ahead of her as she ran with all her might into the trees.

I have to get out of here. I do not have Callum to protect me now.

She stumbled, falling forward into the dirt, water coming up and coating her face as she clawed at the ground.

The rain was falling heavily, and she struggled to stand, weighted down by her dress, but eventually, as her silken shoes came off, she could grip the ground with her toes and pull herself up.

It could not have been more than a minute before she had reached the tree line, but it felt like hours.

Too afraid to look back, she kept moving through the thick bracken and ferns on the wood floor.

Finally, as she reached a thick trunk of an oak tree, she risked a glance behind her.

The carriage was almost entirely obscured by rain, the sheets of it traveling sideways across her vision as she squinted into the dark to see if the men were pursuing her.

There was no sound other than the pattering of the raindrops, and Lydia knew this was the most dangerous time.

She could not see nor hear them. If they were pursuing her, they could come upon her by surprise and kill her straight away.

Leaving the shelter of the tree trunk, she struck off toward the hill. There were plenty of places she could hide in the woods.

Shivering in fear, she kept moving, but after a moment she could hear snapping branches behind her.

“Ye have nowhere to go, lassie, I would say ye give up,” came a rasping, horrible voice, as Lydia turned to find the bearded man only a few feet from her.

His stance was casual, his clothing far more practical for the thick foliage, boots solid and thick as Lydia’s own feet bled against the tangle of twigs beneath.

She turned back, intending to run in the opposite direction, but let out a cry of dismay as burly arms appeared in front of her, plucking her effortlessly from the forest floor as the other man appeared beside her.

“Bring her back to the carriage; we’ll kill her and the driver, and sink them in the loch,” the bearded man said.

“I’ll enjoy endin’ yer life, ye little witch. That’ll teach ye to stab a man in the dark,” a voice murmured in her ear, and Lydia shivered as he gripped her tightly.

Lydia struggled as much as she could, but the second man was far larger than the first, burly and muscular. She was unable to free her arms enough to strike him and could only kick her legs uselessly outward as he dragged her through the trees.

The rain had lessened as they emerged, falling in lighter, pattering droplets all around them and over the surface of the lake as she was dragged back toward the carriage.

Lydia bit down hard on the arm that held her, and he swore, but only squeezed her more tightly.

“Let’s finish this!” he shouted, and the bearded man turned back, a knife catching the light as he stepped forward.

“Moira Lawson sends her best regards,” he said with a smirk, bringing the knife to her throat.

Lydia felt the sharp point nick her skin and closed her eyes, immobile as she was and unable to fight back.

“One more move and ye’re both dead,” came a familiar, deep voice.

Callum only heard the cries as he stopped at the loch to give Seamus some water.

He had paused after over an hour of constant galloping, refusing to believe that Lydia was dead, the fear gnawing at his heart with every step.

As Seamus began to tire, they came upon a lake. The rain had been in fits and starts, the storm following him from McCarthy’s castle, but now it was dense, and the deluge had soaked him and the horse right through.

He had been still for only a few seconds, calculating the fastest direction of travel, when he heard the cry. Even over the rippling water disturbed by the rain, he heard it. A voice he would know in a crowd of thousands.

Spurring Seamus away, he galloped in the direction he had heard it, the rain driving into his vision, making it impossible to see.

As he rounded the edge of the lake, he could just see the lights burning on the outside of the carriage.

There was a dark shape on the ground where the guard lay dead at his feet. The driver was slumped forward in his seat, too, but even as he watched, the man rose, holding a blade weakly in his hand, ready to fight, despite the arrow in his shoulder.

“It is Laird Murray,” he said hastily before the man saw him for another attacker. “Where is Lydia?”

The driver slumped forward again, one trembling hand pointing toward the woods in the distance.

As Callum squinted through the rain, he could see movement coming out of the tree line. His blood boiled when he saw two burly men carrying his wife like a common criminal out of the woods.

Those men will die today.

Dismounting, he made his way through the grass alongside the lakeshore, hearing the two men arguing with one another as Lydia fought for her life.

He could have thrown a knife through the air and dispatched one immediately, but with the weather as it was, he could not be so sure of his aim, and he did not wish to put his wife at risk.

The men came to a stop, one holding a dagger to Lydia’s throat, and Callum rose from the shadows, a knife in each hand, as Lydia’s wild gaze met his.

“One more move and ye’re both dead.”

One of them turned in surprise, his chest exposed and as easy a target as Callum had ever had.

He threw the knife without thought, without any hesitation, and watched as the man sank to the floor on a quiet sigh.

The other gripped Lydia more tightly, backing away from him, looking for an escape.

“Ye can go anywhere ye like. Ye willnae get far. Ye were dead the second ye touched me wife.”

Understanding dawned in the man’s eyes.

“Laird Murray,” he whispered, his words drenched with fear as he threw Lydia away from him and pointed his blade at Callum’s heart.

“Ye are a fool, lad. And I will take pleasure in killin’ ye.”

The other man pulled a short sword from his belt as they began to circle one another. Callum glanced quickly at Lydia, ensuring she was at a safe distance from the man.

Their gazes collided, her mouth open in shock as Callum gripped his blade more tightly.

The shadow ahead of him snarled as the man raised his sword, bringing it crashing down against Callum’s. He was small, but strong, the impact reverberating along Callum’s arm as he sliced his own blade down and away.

His attacker lunged forward, blade cutting upward as Lydia gasped, and Callum brought his sword down hard on the knife. The shape of it spiraled away, buried in the ground as his opponent kept advancing.

The short sword in the man’s other hand swept upward, colliding with Callum’s again and again as they sliced at one another. The great sweeping arcs of the blades coming together echoed all around them as the night drew in.

The man’s eyes were wild, and it did not take long for Callum to get the measure of him. He was a decent fighter, but trained for simple efficiency, not finesse.

With a roar, Callum pulled his blade up in a low arc, slashing it across the man’s torso. There was a sharp hiss as the man buckled forward, his blade still held ahead of him, swiping at the air uselessly.

“I hope she paid ye a handsome sum for yer life,” Callum murmured darkly, and as the man looked up, gaze wide and terrified, Callum stabbed his blade through his chest.

His opponent collapsed against the sodden ground beneath and, after a low moan of pain, stopped moving entirely.

Lydia let out a sob of relief, and Callum was at her side in a moment, wrapping one arm around her and holding her close.

“Are ye hurt?”

She shook her head. “N… no. I am all right.”

He bundled her into his arms, holding her close, smelling the familiar scent that surrounded her. He was beyond grateful that the most important person in the world was finally safe.