Page 37 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
S tubborn Highland lass. ,
Morag thought back at what he had called her as she urged Midnight deeper into the forest, her hands tight on the reins.
That's what ye called me, and maybe ye're right. But I'll be damned if I'll sit in that castle like some ornament on yer shelf.
The fresh scent of pine filled her nostrils, sharp and clean, but it did little to ease the tightness in her chest. Each hoofbeat echoed in the quiet woods like a steady reminder of the chaos she sought to escape.
Her marriage, her future, her very identity—all of it felt like it belonged to someone else now.
Damn everything. Married tae ye Collin Armstrong I cannae even go home.
Morag could see it even now.
"Return tae Armstrong and honor the contract, Morag. Ye are a strong MacDuff daughter. Go dae yer duty," her father would say.
Huh! As if duty means anything when yer heart's been carved out with a rusty blade.
She pulled Midnight to a halt beside a small stream, letting the mare drink while she tried to sort through the tangle of her thoughts. The water bubbled cheerfully over smooth stones, mocking her with its carefree song.
"What am I supposed tae dae now?" she whispered to the horse, stroking the sleek black neck. "Stay married tae a man who sees me as naething more than a key tae unlock his clan's coffers? Pretend I dinnae feel like a fool every time I remember how I melted in his arms?"
He made ye feel precious, the way he touched ye, the words he spoke in Gaelic...
"Lies," she said aloud, her voice sharp in the forest quiet. "All of it was lies tae get me intae his bed."
But doubt crept in between the anger. The tenderness in Colin's touch, the vulnerability in his eyes when he'd told her about his sister, the way he'd held her after their lovemaking as if she were something sacred—if all of that was performance, was Collin that good an actor?
Midnight's head came up suddenly, ears pricked forward with alert tension. Morag felt the mare's muscles bunch beneath her, ready to bolt.
"What is it, girl?" she murmured, her senses immediately on high alert. The afternoon light was beginning to fade, casting longer shadows between the trees that seemed to shift and move with threatening purpose.
Something's wrong.
A chill ran down Morag's spine that had nothing to do with the cooling air. Suddenly, her hasty decision to leave the castle seemed not just reckless, but monumentally stupid. What had she been thinking, riding out alone with Fraser's men prowling the countryside?
The memory of her first journey to Armstrong lands came flooding back—the attack on her escort, the way those brutal men had chased her before carrying her with the intension of delivering her to Fraser. Morag did not doubt that was exactly what they would do to her tonight. Or something worse…
She shivered as the image of the MacDuff soldiers laying in their blood returned, dead for her. The poor Captain and his men, cut down without mercy. The terror in her maid Isla's eyes as they'd fled into the woods.
Morag's hands tightened on the reins. She'd been so consumed with her anger at Colin, so focused on her wounded pride, that she'd walked straight into the same danger that had already claimed her twice, and so many lives on top of it. She cursed herself.
Ye fool. Ye prideful, stubborn fool. Colin tried tae warn ye, tried tae keep ye safe, and ye threw it back in his face because yer feelings were hurt.
But it was too late for regrets now. Something was definitely wrong in these woods, and she was alone, defenseless, exactly where Fraser's men would want her to be.
Her hand moved instinctively to the small eating dirk at her belt, though she knew it would be little use against real danger. She had to get out of there, had to get back to the castle.
"Come on, girl," she whispered urgently, gathering the reins and jumping on the horse’s back. She pressed her heels into Midnight's sides. "We're leaving. Now."
The mare responded immediately, wheeling around toward the path they'd come from. Morag leaned low over the horse's neck, urging her into a canter as panic clawed at her throat.
Please, please, let us make it back ? —
But they'd barely taken three strides when dark shapes exploded from the undergrowth on all sides.
A man lunged for Midnight's bridle, both hands seizing the leather straps and jerking the mare to a violent halt.
The horse reared, striking out with iron- shod hooves, but another man was already there with a rope, tangling the mare's neck.
"Easy now!" the first man shouted, fighting to control the panicked horse. "Dinnae want tae damage the prize!"
Morag's heart hammered against her ribs as more figures sprang from the shadows like wolves emerging from their den, moving with the coordinated precision of men who'd done this before. Five—no, six of them, surrounding her before she could even think to scream.
"Well, well," said their leader, a bear of a man with graying hair and cruel eyes. "What have we here? A lost little lamb, wandering so far from her flock."
I'll nae run like some frightened mouse.
Terror threatened to choke her. But running was no longer an option—they had her trapped, her escape route cut off as efficiently as a spider's web closing around a fly.
Midnight reared, striking out with iron-shod hooves, but one of the men grabbed the bridle while another lunged for Morag. She lashed out with her dirk, catching him across the cheek and drawing a line of blood.
"Ye bastard!" she snarled, her temper flaring white-hot. "Touch me and I'll carve ye like a Sunday roast!"
The man laughed, wiping blood from his face. "Och, she's got spirit, this one. Fraser will be pleased."
Fraser. These men weren't random bandits or cattle thieves—these were the very men who'd murdered her escort on the journey to Armstrong lands. The men who'd poisoned and kidnapped her. The men who'd been hunting her specifically. And now they had her.
"Get yer filthy hands off me!" Morag drove her elbow back into the ribs of the man trying to drag her from the saddle, earning a grunt of pain and a string of curses. But there were too many of them, and they moved with ruthless efficiency.
Strong hands seized her arms, her legs, her hair. She fought like a wildcat, kicking and clawing and biting anything within reach, but they easily overwhelmed her.
"Feisty little thing," one of them panted as they wrestled her to the ground. "No wonder Armstrong wants her fer himself."
"Armstrong can want all he likes," the leader growled, producing a length of rope. "She belongs tae Fraser now."
Like hell I dae.
Morag drove her knee up toward the nearest man's groin, missing by inches but causing him to stumble backward. "I belong tae meself, ye pig! And I'll see ye all in hell before I let ye?—"
A hand cracked across her face, hard enough to make her ears ring and stars dance in her vision. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
"That's enough of yer mouth, lass," the leader said coldly. "Fraser wants ye alive, but he didnae say anything about undamaged."
His words caused Morag to freeze.
Think, Morag. Think!
Her mind raced even as they bound her hands behind her back.
They were waiting fer me. But how could they ken I would leave the castle?
"Ye've been watching the castle," she said, her voice hoarse from struggling. "Watching and waiting fer me tae leave."
"Clever girl," the leader said with a nasty smile. "Been watching fer days, we have. Waiting fer the right opportunity. Never thought Armstrong's precious bride would make it so easy fer us by comin’ out alone."
Days they'd been planning this, and she'd walked right into their trap because she was too angry and hurt to think clearly.
Colin was right tae try tae keep me inside the walls. He was trying tae protect me, and I thought he only wanted more control.
But it was too late for regrets now. They hauled her upright, her unsteady legs causing her to stumble forward. One of them had caught Midnight and was examining the mare with obvious appreciation.
"Fine horse," he commented. "Fraser will be pleased with this as well."
"Fraser can rot," Morag spat, earning another backhanded slap that made her head snap to the side.
"Watch yer tongue, or I'll cut it out," the leader warned. "Ye're valuable tae us whole, but losing a few coins because we took out yer tongue will be worth it."
They flung her onto one of the horses with one of the men and began moving deeper into the forest, away from the stream and any hope of rescue.
Morag stumbled along between two of her captors, her mind working frantically.
How long before Colin discovered she was missing? How long before he came looking?
He'll come. The Iron Laird protects what's his. Whatever else has happened between us, he'll come fer me.
She realized this with sudden, fierce certainty.
The thought should have comforted her, but instead it filled her with dread. Even if Colin rode into Fraser territory to rescue her, Fraser would be waiting with an army. She'd not only doomed herself—she'd signed her husband's death warrant as well.
"Where are ye taking me?" she demanded, though she already suspected the answer.
"Fraser Castle," the leader confirmed. "Our laird has plans fer ye, and fer that husband of yers when he comes charging tae the rescue."
A trap.
She was the bait, meant to lure Colin to his death. The knowledge burned in her throat like bile.
"He's too smart tae fall fer such an obvious ploy," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
The leader's laugh was like the sound of breaking glass. "Is he now? We'll see about that, willnae we? A man in love daes foolish things, and Armstrong's been half-mad with wanting ye since yer faither sent ye tae these lands."
Half-mad with wanting me.