Page 46 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER ONE

Ailis Sutherland had not known the simple comfort of a bed in two days.

Sleep seemed far out of reach, like the act itself was the product of an old dream, long-lost and foggy in her memory.

There was no rest for her, not when her home was now the woods and her only solace the safety of the darkness.

For two days, she had been on the run. For two days, she had evaded her father’s soldiers, eating from what meagre supplies she had brought with her in a small sack, hiding in any wedge in the earth she could find, following the treacherous paths at night to remain unseen.

Now she was so close that sometimes she fancied that she could see Caithness in the distance.

In reality, she knew she was still too far from her destination, the sight of it impossible and only existing in her mind.

But it was that thought which kept her going, which gave her the courage and the energy she needed to take another step, another breath.

Now, in the perceived safety of a thatch of leaves and brambles, she waited without drawing breath.

Around her, the wind howled, carrying with it the scent of pine, the rush of a nearby river and the voices of her father’s soldiers, moving closer and closer as they searched for her.

Their boots squelched in the mud and crunched over the fallen leaves, alerting her to their presence and position.

She could only catch glimpses of them through the twigs and the leaves, the thin curtain they provided between her and them doing little to reassure her that she would not be discovered.

Her clan’s crest flashed again and again before her eyes—the wildcat in the seated position, one paw raised, ready to pounce.

Seeing that crest had never brought her any comfort and now, all it inspired was fear.

“Any sight o’ her?”

The voice was loud, booming, echoing through the path she had taken through the woods. Ailis recognized it—it was Jamie’s voice—one of her father’s best and most ruthless men, who Ailis had no doubts would not hesitate to hurt her, even if he had never touched her before, if it came to it.

“Nay,” another man called. “But Fergus says he saw her run around the bend.”

It was true; Ailis had run past the curve in the road, her boots slamming against the dirt and raising a cloud of dust behind her, but then she had rounded back to hide in the bushes, in an attempt to confuse them—and now it seemed her plan had worked.

“Did he?” asked Jamie, his voice rough like the jagged boulder behind her back.

It was a tight spot Ailis had found, one that had needed some maneuvering, and one which had now left her with scratches and wounds where the sharp edges of the rock and the thorns in the bushes had scraped against her, hooking into her skin.

A cold sweat dripped down her back. Her auburn hair, tucked safely into a braid and then under the hood of her cloak, was matted with it and with the dirt she had picked up along the way. “Are ye certain?”

“Angus saw her too,” said the man in response, and for a moment, there was no answer. Then, it came in the form of Jamie retreating, but not enough that it gave Ailis any real relief.

She bit her lip to keep herself from making a sound.

Her heart beat like a trapped bird’s wings in her chest, its frantic rhythm loud in her ears—so loud that she irrationally worried the soldiers would hear it too, that it would give away her hiding spot and end her valiant effort to escape.

She was shivering, though not from cold.

She had barely eaten since the morning before, and every muscle in her legs screamed from ceaseless running and climbing through forested hills and boggy glens.

All she wanted was some rest; but there was no rest to be had before she reached Caithness.

But what if I get there tae find there is nae hope fer me there, either?

It was a thought that had been plaguing her for a long time, even as she was planning.

What if Laird Caithness turned her away?

What if he refused to give her shelter? It would make sense, considering Clan Caithness was a long-time enemy of Clan Sutherland, but that was also why Ailis had chosen it, other than its vicinity.

She might have a chance to appeal to his humanity and hope he would give her shelter, while her father’s allies would surely send her right back.

If he turned her away, she would just have to keep goin’.

Somewhere, someone, would be willing to take her in. She cared not whether it would be noble or common folk. For her, the safety of a farm was the same as that of a castle, as long as her father didn’t find her.

Ailis took a short, quiet breath, then another.

And then, mercifully, the footsteps of her father’s men began to recede, their boots retreating, the rhythmic clomp of hooves thudding against the mud-soaked path.

When she could no longer hear the horses, when the path was once again peaceful and empty, Ailis climbed her way out of her hiding spot, the thorns digging their claws into the folds of her skirts, into the flesh of her arms. The damp earth clung to the hem of her dress and her cloak.

At that moment, she resembled anything but the daughter of a laird.

Would anyone who didn’t know her believe her? Would Laird Caithness?

Trembling from exhaustion, Ailis pushed herself to her feet.

Her father, the man who was meant to protect her and love her and keep her safe, had made his contempt for her clear since she was born.

And yet, now that she had escaped his clutches, he was tearing the Highlands apart to bring her back home.

Why? Why is he chasin ’ me like this?

All he had to do was leave her alone. Ailis would disappear from his life, from the castle, from the clan—if only he let her.

Choosing a narrow, less-traveled path that snaked through the woods to remain unseen, Ailis continued on her way.

Her skin on her arms and chest, on the back of her neck, on her calves—it all itched from the bushes where she had hidden, welts and hives rising up among the scratches.

Somewhere in her sack, there was ointment, but it remained unused.

She didn’t even want to spare the few seconds it would take her to apply it, not if it meant she would be in Caithness a few seconds sooner.

The path took her through thick groves, the air damp and heavy with the smell of wet earth and rotting leaves.

It was dark there. The sun, already low on the horizon and obscured by clouds, couldn’t reach that place and Ailis had to stumble about in the dim light, her feet tripping over large, twisting roots that peeked through the ground.

Slowly, she pushed her way through, each ragged breath bringing her closer and closer to Caithness. She forced her legs to move.

North. Always north.

Then, she broke through the last line of trees and light, cold and gray like the flash of a blade, flooded her eyes.

Beyond the forest edge stretched Flow Country—a vast, open expanse of bog and peatland, the surface still beneath the ever-shifting sky.

The air there was colder, biting, and the wind cruel, flattening the grasses in its path.

There was little shelter, and the high terrain meant she would be visible to any who searched from horseback.

Ailis paused at the tree line, scanning the empty expanse.

The land rolled out endlessly before her, dotted with small, mirror-still lakes, dull and murky, old water mixing with soft earth.

There was no sight of her father’s men; there was no sight of anyone else either, but that didn’t mean she was alone.

But she had to keep going, she had no choice. The woods would no longer shield her.

Wrapping her arms tightly across her chest and tightening the cloak around her shoulders, she stepped into the open and began to run.

Her steps were uneven at first, uncertain, her weary body reluctant to obey, but she pushed forward, letting the urgency of her fear carry her forward.

Each footfall landed with a splash in the soggy ground, but Ailis didn’t slow.

She ran as though the devil himself was chasing her—and perhaps he was.

The sharp evening air stung in her lungs, like liquid fire down her throat. Every part of her ached with an exhaustion that she had never felt before, an exhaustion she didn’t even think was possible.

All around her, her only company was the howling of the wind.

There was nothing else there—no trees, no woodland creatures, not even birds flying above her in the darkening sky.

There was only her, the sound of her boots as every laborious step made her sink into the mud, the sound of her ragged breath followed by the visible exhale in the air in front of her.

Every splash of mud on her calves made her flinch, her mind interpreting everything as a threat—the smallest sound, the smallest sensation of touch.

But with every step she took, she got closer and closer to her destination, to the safety she so desperately craved.

But then, through the wind, she heard it—the unmistakable thunder of hooves.

It was distant at first, nothing more than a low rumble from the far end of the bog. At the very beginning, Ailis didn’t know what it was. She fancied it was nothing more than distant thunder, a storm brewing far from the bog. But soon, she realized what she was hearing.

She faltered for half a heartbeat, but she didn’t turn around. She knew what she’d see. Riders, coming close; closer than she’d thought.

Were they her father’s men? Or were they brigands, a team of them ready to capture her and use her in any way they saw fit?

She couldn’t know for certain, not when she was so busy running away from the threat, unable to even turn around and look.

She had heard stories about those parts—terrible, terrifying stories of people getting captured by rogues where they were entirely helpless out in the open, prime prey for someone looking for easy coin.

But she had more than coin; she was a young woman, and even if the brigands didn’t know who she was and wouldn’t know to ask her father for ransom, they could still hurt her in many different ways.

It was as though she was being consumed by fire, inside and out.

Her muscles burned from exertion; her skin burned from the wind and the scrapes on the bared parts of her, where the thorns had dug their barbs into her skin.

Her eyes stung with the cold, and with the unshed tears of panic that gathered in the corners, threatening to spill.

She could hardly see anything before her, the landscape turning into a blur of brown and green, dull and fuzzy and impossible to navigate.

Nay… I ’ m too close now. I cannae give up.

The land ahead shimmered with promise—Caithness. Somewhere out there was safety, a place where her father could not touch her. If only she could reach it, if she could just take another step, if she could just draw another breath.

The hoofbeats grew louder. Their pounding swelled behind her, and her legs, leaden and aching, strained for more speed. In her hurry, she nearly stumbled as the ground sloped slightly, her boot sinking into a pocket of soft peat, but she quickly yanked it free, gasping for air.

Panic gripped her as the hooves drew closer to her.

Soon, she would be reaching the very edges of the Flow Lands, where the first line of trees stretched across the earth—where she could once again find cover from those pursuing her, where––with some luck––she could hide once more and wait for them to pass.

Caithness lands were so close. Just a few more steps and she could get there, to safety.

Then—a hand.

Rough fingers closed around her upper arm, jerking her sideways with violent force.

Ailis cried out, more in shock than in pain.

Immediately, she tumbled to the ground, landing hard on her shoulder, and the cry she let out was pained, the breath knocked out of her on impact.

The sky above spun wildly, the darkening gray and orange of the sunset blurring together.

Boots thudded beside her. A figure loomed, silhouetted against the sky, features obscured by a dark cloak.

Her heart pounded in her ears. Pain, searing and unrelenting, coursed down her arm, and her vision swam after her head smacked against the ground.

And then, with the man hovering over her, she was trapped like prey.