Page 34 of The Highlander’s Hunted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #2)

34

“ T here, M’Laird!” Flynn yelped, jabbing a finger down the hill.

The sun was slowly rising over this troubled corner of Scotland, the light not yet robust enough to illuminate every detail of the landscape. But Hector had seen the figures at the same time as his man-at-arms—one scrambling out of the river, the other only just wading into the water.

Though he couldn’t make out the first figure’s face or any distinctive features, he recognized her by instinct.

Without a word, he took off down the hill, running faster than he had ever run in his entire life. He ran as if he were the last soldier standing, and the enemy leader was right ahead, unaware of what was bearing down on him.

“Ye willnae escape me, Katie Blake!” a rough voice cut across the moorland, spiking through Hector’s chest. “I will have ye! Ye cannae outrun me!”

Hector put all his strength into his powerful legs, hurtling down the slope, at constant risk of losing his footing. But some unseen force was guiding him, keeping him upright, keeping him balanced as he rushed to where Katie was in the midst of a sprint of her own. Coming toward him as he was coming toward her, though it seemed she hadn’t yet seen him, with her gaze turned over her shoulder at her pursuer.

“I’ve waited too long!” the other man bellowed, making it to the other side of the river and hauling himself out to give chase. “Ye willnae reject me again!”

Hector saw red, using that anger as additional fuel as he steadily closed the gap between himself and Katie.

At last, she turned to look in his direction… but the shock of seeing him had a halting effect on her—the very last thing Hector wanted, with that man so close to her. It was enough for her pursuer to almost catch up.

“Run!” Hector bellowed.

Snapped out of her surprise, Katie lurched forward, her lean legs stretching back into a sprint. But the terrain was difficult, and the incline wasn’t helping, and though Hector was running as fast as he could, he didn’t know if he could reach her before the other man did.

At that moment, an arrow whistled past Hector and sliced through the air, passing Katie and her pursuer. But the latter saw it, the warning giving him pause.

And with that fleeting reprieve, Hector collided with his bride, catching her around the waist, sweeping her off her feet… but only so he could move her out of the way.

He set her down and kept running, drawing his sword.

“M’Laird?” her pursuer choked out, panic in his eyes, his face blanching.

In an instant, the cretin twisted around, attempting to run back the way he had come.

“It was… her!” he screamed between ragged breaths. “She came… to me ! She tried to… seduce me ! I was goin’ to bring… her back to the castle! I was goin’ to… bring her… back to ye!”

“That’s nae what I heard,” Hector shouted back, gaining on him as they approached the river.

The two men hit the water at the same time, Hector’s hand snaring the back of the other’s collar, dragging him to the riverbank. Throwing him onto the mud, Hector stood over him, sword still in hand.

Coughing and spluttering, the coward put up his hands. “I wasnae doin’ anythin’, M’Laird. I was tryin’ to bring her back to ye.”

“What’s yer name?” Hector snarled.

“L-Lewis Harrison, M’Laird,” the man stammered out. “Just a… humble miller. Dinnae harm me, M’Laird.”

Hector raised his sword. “I dinnae like liars, Lewis.” He glanced over to where Katie stood, now joined by Flynn. “Did this man mean to cause ye harm, Katie?”

Katie nodded slowly.

“Is anythin’ he says the truth?” Hector asked.

Pale as the swans that were waddling down into the river, Katie shook her head.

“Run back to the castle, lass,” Hector instructed. “Dinnae stop. I dinnae want ye to see this.”

Trembling as she hiked up her skirts, Katie did as commanded, hurrying toward the distant tree line. Flynn went after her, leaving Hector to deal with the problem alone.

“Ye’ll regret ever so much as lookin’ in me bride’s direction,” Hector hissed as he swung his sword downward.

But Lewis, sly as a weasel, rolled sharply to the side at the last moment, the blade cutting nothing but dirt. A moment later, the miller was lurching to his feet, sprinting for his life along the riverbank.

“Ye’re a lyin’, connivin’, vicious harlot!” Lewis snarled after Katie’s retreating figure. “I should’ve killed ye! I should’ve brought that wretched cottage down on yer head! I should’ve drowned ye as ye swam!”

There could be no mercy for such a man. No mercy for anyone who dared to make such threats against Hector’s bride. And no mercy for the man who had spied on her against her knowledge.

It was him. He’s the ghost I’ve been huntin’…

Hector gave chase, though the miller was obstinate in his desire to survive. As the man ran, he picked up rocks from the sloping bank and hurled them back at Hector. None hit their mark, and if they had, Hector wouldn’t have noticed—a red mist had descended on his very soul, his blood up, his task decided.

Indeed, the conclusion had been set in motion hours ago, when he had taken off after the shadow by the pools. This time, the trail would have no opportunity to go cold.

Undoubtedly realizing that he couldn’t outrun Hector, Lewis stopped and turned, grabbing a moss-covered branch and raising it like a sword.

“Ye should’ve kept runnin’,” Hector grunted, swinging his claymore.

It cut through the branch as if it were made of paper, the severed top half falling to the ground.

“ I deserve her, nay ye,” Lewis hissed, lunging at him. “ I’m the one who has waited patiently. Ye cannae have her!”

The man was large and muscular, but what he had in physique, he lacked in skill. Hector sidestepped and caught Lewis around the neck, slamming the miscreant into the ground.

Lewis flailed and scratched and punched and kicked, doing everything within his power to break free again, wheezing all the while through winded lungs. But he was no match for the pure fury of Hector Kaysen.

With his hands around Lewis’s throat, Hector put his entire weight into the press, holding the man’s gaze as he waited for the light to go out of it. He had to do it quickly, before panic pushed power into Lewis’s blood, making him a more formidable opponent. Hector had seen it plenty of times in battle, a downed man fighting back with the strength of ten men to save his own life.

“I’ll… relish tellin’ her… that ye died at me hand,” Lewis rasped, his voice little more than a gurgle.

With that, the burst of strength came. Lewis’s hand shot between Hector’s arms to grab him by his throat in return, nails scratching at flesh, trying to find his grip. And with a shove from the miller and a squeeze of that bastard’s strangling hand, Hector lost the advantage.

“I’ll be the one tellin’ her that she doesnae… have to worry about ye anymore,” Hector snarled, his head pounding as Lewis’s hand tightened around his throat.

Doing the only thing he could, he surged upward, wrenching himself free of the miller. He swiped his broadsword off the ground to deliver a final blow to the man who would have stolen his bride away.

But Lewis was already lumbering to his feet, his face scarlet as the blood rushed back, his eyes dark with vengeance. “I’ve always… thought we ought to have a new laird,” he choked out. “A man of the people, nae a… lout like ye, who thinks… he can take what isnae his. Who thinks he can take what’s mi?—”

Hector swung his blade in a perfect arc. Lewis reflexively brought his arm up to defend himself, apparently forgetting what a sword of that caliber could do.

The limb suffered the same fate as the branch before, but the miller barely seemed to notice as he lunged, brimming with a familiar bloodlust that made pain a distant thing, out of reach.

With the only hand he had left, he aimed a punch at Hector’s nose. Hector ducked it and swung his blade again, catching him across the stomach.

Lewis’s eyes fluttered in shock as the sword bit deep. And as Hector drew the blade away with a flourish, the ‘humble miller’ lost all momentum, his lunge becoming a stagger, becoming a fall, becoming a thud face-first into the dirt. His blood began to pool around him, nourishing the soil and painting the wild grass crimson.

“She was never yers,” Hector hissed, crouching down.

Wary of any movement, he grabbed the miller by his blond hair, lifting his head to make certain he was dead. There was no vengeance in those eyes anymore, no light of any kind.

At that moment, the sound of applause echoed down the hill, prompting Hector to turn as he wiped his blade on the grass.

To his irritation, he spotted Flynn sauntering down toward him. His man-at-arms had not followed Katie, had not helped escort her back through that arboreal labyrinth, preferring to keep watch over his Laird instead of his soon-to-be Lady. True, Hector had not ordered him to, but he had assumed it was obvious.

“Ye let her wander off alone?” Hector snapped, heading down the riverbank to clean the blood off himself.

Flynn shrugged. “I had me bow, M’Laird. If ye got into any trouble, I wanted ye to have support.”

“I didnae need yer support.” Hector dunked his head under, quickly ridding himself of any stain Lewis might have left behind. “Deal with that body. Bury it, toss it, do whatever ye want with it—just do it before the village starts wakin’ up.”

Flynn bowed his head. “Aye, M’Laird. And ye—what are ye plannin’ to do?”

“Never mind that,” Hector replied, wading out of the river, adding fresh droplets to the dew-soaked grass as he mustered the last of his strength for his return to the castle, and the only person who mattered.

Is that tree familiar? Have I been this way already?

Katie muttered her frustration to the forest, her ears strained for the tiniest sound, her heart hammering in her chest. Although Hector had told her to return to the castle, and she wanted nothing more than to be back there, she was intensely aware that things might have gone awry by the river.

It had looked like Hector meant to kill the conniving man, and would quickly, but she had recently learned that Lewis was far craftier than he appeared to be. And as Hector hadn’t pursued her into the woods yet, she couldn’t help but worry.

All she could do was keep going, hoping that, eventually, she would find the right path to Castle MacKimmon.

I wish that Flynn had stayed with me at least.

The man-at-arms had told her to go on alone, that he would catch up with Hector. But time was ticking on, and still, there was no sound or hint of anyone in the woods with her.

Taking a moment to catch her breath on a fallen log that seemed familiar, she wished she had some water for her dry throat.

He came to find me… Even though he must have thought the worst, that I’d fled from him, he came to find me.

She covered her heart with her hand, overwhelmed.

Just then, a twig snapped, the sound of it as deafening as a lightning strike. Her head whipped around, squinting into the perpetual gloom of those woods, the morning light not yet strong enough to fully pierce the canopy.

Something was moving a fair distance away, lumbering through the undergrowth. Heavy footfalls, not at all like the surprising stealth of Hector. All the times he’d chased her through these woods, he’d never made a sound.

Fear propelled her to her feet, certain it was Lewis coming to capture her, to make her marry him or do something worse to her.

She took off on aching feet, her heart in her throat, making it harder to breathe. Her legs would surely give out, but she had to at least try to get to safety. She would not be that man’s wife. She refused.

Weaving through the trees, head whipping this way and that, uncertain of which direction to take, she clocked the distant rise of steam.

The pools…

Not paying attention to where she was stepping, a root had tangled around her foot, trying to hold her in place, and as she fought to free herself, she heard a voice call out, “It’s just me, love.”

She froze.

“I didnae tell ye to stop runnin’,” the voice added, with a surprising note of humor.

Heart pounding twice as hard, she managed to free herself from the root and duly broke into a run once more. Slower than before. Slow enough for the owner of that voice to fulfill her desire—she wanted to be caught.

The labored footfalls continued behind her, gaining on her, and as they got closer and closer, she could barely draw breath. Not from fatigue or fear, but from utter, overwhelming relief.

A moment later, strong arms slipped around her waist, pulling her tight against a broad chest.

Hector’s head dipped to her shoulder, and he whispered, “Got ye.”

She struggled to turn in his arms, fighting against the grip of those immense muscles, her hands reaching up to touch his beautiful face, to skim her fingertips across his scars, searching for more. Finding none, her heart beating out of her chest, she rose on her tiptoes, eager to press her lips to his and confirm that he was real.

But Hector grabbed her by the arms, holding her at arm’s length, keeping her from achieving that kiss of sweet reunion.

“Are ye hurt?” he asked, his brow furrowed as his eyes searched her, roving over her clinging dress—still wet from the river—to inspect her for injuries. “Katie, did he do anythin’ to ye? Did he…”

His jaw clenched, his breath hitching on the suspicion. His eyes glittered with feverish anger, barely contained, as if the mere thought could make him tear a tree to splinters.

She shook her head. “Me legs are cut to ribbons by all these briars and thorns, but nay harm befell me from Lewis’s hands.” Her breath hitched as she gazed up at the man before her, the man she had so wrongly doubted. “Had ye arrived any later, I dinnae ken if I could say the same thing. The priest had been summoned.”

“What?” Hector hissed, his hand coming up to cradle her face.

Voice shaking, all of the fight draining out of her now that she was safe in Hector’s arms, Katie told him everything about what had occurred that night: the pieces of Lewis’s plan that she had inadvertently helped to put together, trapping herself in a dangerous position.

“I suspect he has been watchin’ me every move since the day ye first caught me,” she said, shaking her head. “And I ken that Rhona has played a part. I… heard her in yer chambers, Hector. I thought ye… were together, and I… let her get in me head. I thought the reason ye wanted a fake marriage, the reason ye wanted to keep yer distance, was so ye could… enjoy as many other lasses as ye pleased.”

“She was very convincin’,” she murmured, feeling so very stupid. “I think Lewis made her promises. He told her he would marry her, once he’d sold me off to a French merchant. When, really, it was me he planned to marry, against me will. Honestly, I… cannae help but pity the lass.”

Hector’s lip curled. “Ye shouldnae. She’s nae worthy of yer pity. If she truly thought what she was doin’ was part of a plan to have ye sold off, then she deserves to be dropped in a bear pit covered in honey.”

Katie mustered an awkward laugh, gazing up into his still-blazing eyes. “I’m sorry, Hector. I’m sorry that I ran without leavin’ a… a message for ye or somethin’.” Her cheeks flamed. “I ken when I’m wrong, and I’m nae too proud to admit it. I let meself be tricked when, really, what business is it of mine who ye… lie with? Ye’re offerin’ safety and security and opportunity for me siblings, and if ye want to lie with other women, then?—”

He put his hand over her mouth, a laugh rumbling in the back of his throat. The first genuine laugh she had ever heard from him.

“Are ye done?” he asked, a smile brightening his face, cooling the anger in his eyes.

She nodded slowly.

“Good, ‘cause there willnae be other lasses, just as I dinnae want to hear of other lads,” he told her, his intense gaze making her shiver. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want ye, and now, lass, I’ve finally caught ye.”

He kissed her then, silencing any lingering doubts with the hot graze of his lips, giving her what she wanted.

Katie didn’t hesitate, pulling herself flush against him as she kissed him back, her breath tapering into a gasp as he gripped her around the waist and squeezed her closer, as if he couldn’t have her close enough.

How could I have been so daft as to run from this?

She kissed him harder, gripping fistfuls of his shirt, running her hands through his hair, needing him with every fiber of her being.

And as he hoisted her up into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist in a familiar vise, clinging to him as if he were the only safe haven in a terrible ocean.

However, her eyebrows rose in surprise when he loosened his hold on her for a moment, leaving her to grip on alone, and she heard the clink of his belt unbuckling. Not that she was against it. Far from it. But the swiftness wasn’t what she’d expected.

A throaty chuckle escaped his lips. “Dinnae get too excited,” he murmured. “I plan to take me time. But ye dinnae need yer back covered in those thorn scratches too.”

He whipped out the ream of plaid and laid it down on the mossy earth, and with the makeshift blanket in place, he lowered her to the ground.