Page 1 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)
1
“ D id ye think that ye’d be protected? Safe?”
Alison felt sharp, cold metal pressing against her cheek. She tried to shrink back from the knife, but she could not go far.
Almost immediately, the back of her head struck the wall behind her. The wood of wherever she was being held dug into her shoulders, just as it had for the last three days.
Stinking breath, smelling of ale and something sour, invaded her nostrils, and her stomach lurched.
“Leave me alone,” Alison demanded, her voice coming out even and strong despite her fear.
Ye’ve been lucky so far. Dinnae forget that.
She used the words to reassure herself, just as she had done since the moment her captors had stolen her away.
“Ye’re a pretty, wee thing when ye act like a lady.” The man laughed.
For the first time since she had been brought there, Alison felt thankful for the blindfold. She did not want to see the look in the man’s eyes. She could already feel the way he regarded her—like a lamb to the slaughter. She did not need to see it as well.
It was the same voice she had heard earlier, asking the others about a ransom.
They kidnapped me to get money from me husband. The fools. Dinnae they ken that I havenae seen him since our weddin’ night? The only reason I even ken that the Laird’s alive is because the castle still receives updates on the war.
It was Alison’s turn to taunt him. “Ye’ll be waitin’ for a long time if ye think he’ll send ye coin to get me back.”
She had been barely more than a child when she had become the Lady of Clan Marsden, but in the solitude created by the Laird’s absence over the last five years, she had been given an opportunity to grow in ways she had never imagined.
Alison was no longer the shrinking violet she had been in her younger days. She had become a woman forged in stone.
I ken me husband willnae be savin’ me. So, I will save meself.
The pressure of the knife against her cheek increased, and she felt a small prick as the tip of it punctured her skin.
“What makes ye say that, lass?” the man growled, his rank breath suffocating her once more.
“I havenae seen him in more than five years.” Alison shrugged a shoulder, letting her words sink, appearing nonchalant despite her circumstances. “I wouldnae ken him if he stood afore me.”
“Well then, lass, that means we have nay use for ye.”
The tip of the knife moved down her skin, stinging as it threatened to slice her. Down her cheek it went, trailing a path over her jaw and down her throat.
Alison remained entirely still, not risking as much as a flinch while the weapon glided across her skin. The neck of her gown lifted away from her body as the man tugged on it with the knife.
I cannae die today. I must get back to wee Rosie.
At that thought, an image of her young daughter’s face flashed through her mind. Her heart lurched, and she clenched her jaw. She would get back to her daughter, one way or another.
She would find a way out of this.
“And if we arenae gettin’ the coin from yer husband,” the man hissed, a savage glee in his voice that sent chills across her skin, “I wonder what else we might be able to get from ye.”
He chuckled low in his throat, and Alison readied herself.
Once he is close enough, I need to make me move.
She would only get one shot. The moment she had a good grasp on where he stood, she was going to swing her head forward. If she hit him hard enough, there was a chance he might black out.
A chance I might make meself black out, too. But ‘tis a risk I’m willin’ to take.
She felt the whisper of his breath against her right cheek, the reek of him pervading her nostrils. No doubt he was leaning forward to get a peak down the front of her gown, which he was still holding open.
“I dinnae respond kindly to men who take without askin’,” Alison said, hoping to reel him in just a little bit closer.
The man laughed low in his throat; the sound sent chills down her spine. The little bit of oats and barley she had been fed—her daily ration—threatened to come up as the smell of his breath hit her.
“Is that so, lassie?” His tone was taunting, but it was closer than before.
This was her moment. She would not shy away, not now.
Keeping Rosie’s face in her mind, hearing her laugh, and promising herself she would see her daughter once more, Alison held her breath. She reared her head back, gritting her teeth.
“We already took ye by force. What’s one more t?—”
Just as Alison prepared to bring her head down onto his nose, a clatter broke out in the distance. It cut off the man’s words, drawing his attention. Suddenly, the air beyond where she was being held filled with the sounds of screaming men and whinnying horses.
The neck of her gown fell back into place, and the pressure of the knife eased entirely as the man moved away from her. The sound of him walking toward the door filled the small space, echoing off the walls, but it was quickly drowned out by another sound—heavy footfalls, announcing someone’s approach.
Alison’s heart was racing madly in her chest. Certain that anyone in the room with her would be entirely distracted, she used that moment to start fighting against the rope binding her wrists.
C’mon, lass . Now is yer chance. Ye can get away while they’re distracted, but ye must move quickly.
She wriggled her wrists back and forth, hoping to find some space between the tight rope and her skin where her hands might slip through. Cursing inwardly, she kept trying.
A scream filled the room. This time, it did not come from outside, but from within the room itself. And then, another voice. One that tickled the recesses of her mind with its familiarity.
“Get yer hands off me wife.”