Page 2 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

CHAPTER TWO

" I sla," Morag said quietly, "are ye fast?"

"What?" The maid's brown eyes went wide. "M'lady, why would ye?—"

"Answer me. When ye run, are ye fast?"

"Aye, I run fast enough, but?—"

"Good. Ye may soon need tae be."

Isla's face had gone pale. "M'lady, ye're frightening me."

Morag leaned forward and gripped the girl's hands. "Listen tae me carefully. If something happens—anything at all—ye dinnae worry about me. Ye run, and ye keep running until ye find help. Dae ye understand?"

"But I cannae leave ye?—"

"Ye can and ye will. That's nae a request, Isla. That's an order."

The Captain’s voice cut through the air like a blade, stopping any further protest. "Ho there! State yer business!"

Morag's hand instinctively went to the dagger her mother had given to her. She waved a palm, indicating Isla should stay back. She leaned forward, pressing her face to the window. Ahead, she could see figures emerging from the forest. Armed men with weapons drawn.

Too many weapons. Too many men.

The carriage jerked to a sudden halt.

"Stay down," Their Captain commanded, his voice carrying that battlefield authority Morag remembered from her childhood. "Protect the lady!"

She heard the rasp of steel being drawn, the nervous whicker of horses, the creak of leather as men shifted in their saddles. Her own pulse began to thunder in her ears.

"What dae they want?" Isla whispered, her voice barely audible.

Morag's hand found her dagger again. "I dinnae think they're here tae wish us well. Remember what I said tae ye. When ye get the chance, run and dinnae look back."

Through the window, she caught glimpses of movement. There were men in rough leathers circling their small party like wolves. The Captain was shouting something, but the words were lost in the sudden chaos of battle cries and clashing steel.

"Get down!" Morag hissed, pulling Isla toward the floor of the carriage.

The world exploded into violence. Shouts. The scream of horses. The wet sound of blade meeting flesh. And then?—

Thwack.

An arrow punched through the carriage window in a shower of splintered wood, the steel point hissing past Morag's ear to embed itself in the opposite wall. She felt fire streak across her forehead where the fletching had scraped skin.

"Morag!" Isla screamed.

Blood. There was blood trickling down into her eye, but Morag's mind went crystal clear with the kind of calm that came before a storm. She grabbed Isla by the shoulders and hauled her down behind the bench seat.

"Stay down and dinnae move," she commanded, her voice steady despite the chaos erupting around them. "Wait fer me tae tell ye when tae run."

The battle raged around their carriage like a living thing. Through the shattered window, Morag caught glimpses of MacDuff soldiers fighting off several attackers at once. The young soldier's bow sang again and again until she heard a sickening thud, followed by his cry of pain.

"Me Captain!" his voice, raw with desperation.

Then silence from that direction.

The carriage rocked violently as something slammed against its side. Isla whimpered, pressing herself smaller against the floor, but Morag found herself rising slightly, peering through the chaos to count their enemies.

Dear God, they're too many. Far too many.

The sounds of fighting grew more distant as the battle spread, the two remaining guards being drawn away from the carriage by the sheer number of attackers.

In the growing quiet around their shelter, Morag heard something that made her blood turn to ice—the soft scrape of a boot on the carriage step.

The door handle turned.

"Isla," she whispered urgently. "Remember what I told ye."

The door swung open to reveal a bearded face, scarred and grinning with triumph. The man's eyes swept the interior and fixed on Morag with unmistakable recognition.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Without thinking, Morag threw her full weight against the door. The heavy wood slammed into the man's face with a satisfying crunch, sending him staggering backward. Blood streamed from his nose, leading to a barrage of curse words that hurt Morag's delicate lady ears despite the circumstances.

"Run!" she shouted to Isla, shoving the girl toward the opposite door. "Run and dinnae look back!"

Isla scrambled out the far side of the carriage, her skirts tangling around her legs as she stumbled into the underbrush. For a heartbeat, Morag saw the girl's terrified face looking back.

"Go!" Morag screamed. And Isla ran.

Morag turned back to the man. She did not wait to see if he had recovered but shoved him hard one more time in the chest, sending him sprawling into the mud.

Seeing her chance, she bolted from the carriage. Behind her, she heard the man roar with rage. "The lass! Get the lass!"

She heard heavy boot sounds coming after her. Clearly, the man cared nothing for poor Isla fleeing in the opposite direction. It was Morag he wanted, and Morag he'd follow.

Good, she thought fiercely, gathering her skirts and plunging deeper into the trees. Follow me, ye bastard. Let Isla get away safe. She ' ll tell faither.

The forest closed around her like a living wall. Thick Scottish pine and ancient oak with branches so dense they blocked out most of the dying light.

Morag's lungs burned as she ran, her fine traveling dress catching on every thorn and branch, but she did not slow. She'd been running MacDuff woods since she could walk, knew how to move silent as a deer when she needed to.

Behind her, she could hear the man crashing through the underbrush like a mad boar, all noise and fury.

He was a very big man, obviously strong, but that would only help him if he caught her.

For now, she was faster. Which was all she needed to be to lose him in these trees.

She would find a burn to follow, or a cave to hide in until he gave up and went back to his fellows.

Come on, Morag. This is another hide and seek between ye and Ruaridh.

Morag leaped over a fallen log, her heart hammering. Just ahead, she could see a gap in the trees where moonlight filtered through. If she could reach that clearing, maybe find another way through?—

Her foot caught.

Morag pitched forward with a cry, her hands flying out to break her fall. She hit the forest floor hard, her palms scraping against stone and root, her knee striking something sharp enough to tear through fabric and skin.

"Nay," she gasped, struggling to free her foot from the twisted roots. "Nay, nay, nay."

Heavy footsteps crashed through the bracken behind her, growing closer with each passing second.

Morag's fingers flew to the hidden pocket in her dress, closing around the weight of her mother's dagger.

The blade sang free of its sheath as she twisted around to saw frantically at the roots binding her ankle.

Come on, come on, she urged silently, the steel biting through the gnarled wood. Behind her, she could hear her pursuer's ragged breathing, could practically feel his presence bearing down on her like a hunting hound.

The last root parted with a soft snap.

Morag surged to her feet, spinning around with the dagger raised just as the man's shadow fell over her like a death shroud. His eyes narrowed when he saw the blade gleaming in her fist

"Well, well," the man panted, wiping blood from his broken nose with the back of his hand. "Thought ye could outrun me, did ye, lass?"

Two more figures emerged from the trees behind him. They were both armed, both grinning with the kind of cruel satisfaction that made Morag's skin crawl. She recognized the look from her brother's stories of border raiders and cattle thieves.

"Stay back!" she snarled, finally freeing her foot and scrambling backward on her hands. "I ken how tae use this!"

The man's broken nose was still streaming blood, but he grinned anyway. "Dae ye now, lass? That's a bonny wee blade fer such a bonny wee lass."

He lunged.

Morag slashed out with the dagger, but he was fast. His hand shot out like a striking snake, iron fingers clamping around her wrist. He squeezed until she cried out, her grip loosening involuntarily.

The dagger tumbled from her nerveless fingers, landing in the fallen leaves with a soft thud.

"There's a good lass," the man panted, his grip like a vise around her wrist. "Nay need tae make this bloodier than ye've already made it."

Two more figures emerged from the trees behind him, both armed, and grinning with the kind of cruel satisfaction that made Morag's stomach turn to water. She'd lost her only weapon, her only chance.

But she hadn't lost her voice.

"Get away from me!" she snarled, trying to wrench free of his grip. "Ye have nae right tae dae this."

"Aye, we dae." The first man lunged forward and caught her wrist before she could reach for her hidden dagger. "Laird Ronan Fraser is expecting ye, lass. Been waiting quite some time, from what I hear."

Morag's blood turned to ice. "Fraser? Ye're mad! I'm bride tae Laird Colin Armstrong. We just married, in fact! Ye have the wrong woman!"

The men exchanged glances, and the lanky fellow with stringy hair actually laughed.

"Oh, we ken exactly who ye are, Morag MacDuff," he said, pulling a length of rope from his belt. "And Fraser's been very specific about wanting ye brought tae him. Alive and... unspoiled, which is quite unfortunate."

"I tell ye, ye're making a mistake!" Morag struggled as they forced her hands behind her back, the rope biting into her wrists. "Let me go, ye bloody savages! Ye dare tae take the daughter of Laird Alistair MacDuff, bride tae Laird Colin Armstrong! I demand ye put me down this instant!"

"Yer faither's too far away tae help ye now," the first man growled, testing the knots. "And as fer Armstrong..." He shrugged. "That match was never meant tae be."

The rope was tight. Already Morag could feel her fingers starting to tingle as the bonds cut off her blood. But she couldn't stop fighting, couldn't stop trying to reason with them.

"Please," she said, hating the desperation in her own voice. "Whatever Fraser's paying ye, me faither will double it. Triple it! Just let me go!"

"Sorry, lass." The lanky one almost sounded like he meant it. "We may be men fer hire, but we have our code of honor. We have been given orders."

Strong arms lifted her from the forest floor like she weighed nothing at all. Morag kicked and writhed, but bound as she was, her struggles only earned her a tighter grip.

"Easy now," her captor grunted. "Dinnae make this harder than it needs tae be."

"Harder?" Morag spat. "Ye're kidnapping me on me wedding journey! How could it possibly be harder?"

But the men were already carrying her back through the trees, back toward whatever horses they'd left waiting. Around them, everywhere was still except for the natural sounds of the forest.

"Move faster," the bearded one snarled. "Fraser wants her delivered before?—"

"I willnae go!" Morag twisted violently, managing to wrench one arm partially free. "I willnae be any man's prize! Let me go!"

The man carrying her stumbled as she fought, cursing as her elbow caught him in the ribs. "Bloody hell, hold still!"

"Make me, ye coward!"

His patience snapped. He dropped her legs, letting her feet hit the ground hard while his companion kept hold of her shoulders. His hand drew back, palm open, aimed at her defiant face.

"Maybe this will teach ye some?—"

"Put. Her. Down."

The voice cut through the forest like the toll of a death bell—deep, commanding, and utterly without fear. All three men froze, the raised hand halting mid-swing as they spun toward the sound.

Through the trees stepped a figure that seemed carved from Highland legend itself. Tall and broad-shouldered, moving with the predatory grace of a born warrior. Dark hair, piercing eyes that missed nothing, and a presence that made the very air seem to thicken with danger.

Morag's breath caught in her throat. Even bound and terrified, she could not help but notice the way he moved—like controlled violence wrapped in human form. The way his hand rested on his sword hilt with casual familiarity. The way her captors suddenly looked like children caught stealing apples.

This was no ordinary man.

This was death walking through the Highland forest, and he was looking at her captors like they were already dead.