Page 46 of The Laird’s Dangerous Prize (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #1)

Her words were cut off by the sound of heavy boots on the stairs. Everyone in the hall went silent, looking toward the door with wide, frightened eyes. It might be Ciaran, Isolde told herself. It might be one of their own men bringing news.

But when the door burst open, the man who strode through bore the black and silver plaid of Clan Wallace.

Isolde's blood turned to ice as she recognized the face she'd seen in nightmares for months. Douglas Wallace himself stood in the doorway, his sword bloodied, his eyes wild with the desperate fury of a man who knew he was losing.

"Well, well," he said, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on her. "Lady Isolde MacAlpin.”

She stepped backward instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. The other women pressed against the walls, clutching their children, as Wallace's eyes fixed on her with predatory satisfaction.

"Stay back!" Isolde warned, but her voice sounded thin and desperate even to her own ears.

Wallace laughed. "I think nae, lass. Ye've caused me considerable trouble."

More of his men poured into the room behind him—four, maybe five armed warriors against a room full of women and wounded men. Morag tried to move in front of Isolde, her face fierce despite her age.

"Leave her be, ye bastard!"

"One more step and I'll cut yer throat," Wallace snarled, his blade flashing toward the old woman. The cook froze, her hands shaking.

"Please," Isolde said, her heart hammering against her ribs. "These people have done naething tae ye. Let them be."

"Oh, I will. It's ye I want, Lady Isolde." His smile was cold as winter stone. "Ye see, I may be losing this battle, but I'm nae leaving empty-handed. Ye're me guarantee of safe passage."

"I'll nae go with ye willingly."

"I wasnae asking fer yer willing cooperation."

Isolde backed toward the far wall, her mind racing. There had to be something she could do, some way to fight. But Wallace was already moving, faster than she'd expected, and suddenly his arm was around her throat, dragging her backward against his chest.

"Let me go!" She clawed at his arm, trying to break free, but his grip was iron-strong.

"Fight all ye like, lass. It willnae change anything." His dagger appeared at her throat, the cold steel pressing against her skin. "Now, which of these other lovely ladies shall accompany us? The young one there looks promising."

"Nay!" Isolde's struggle became more desperate as she saw him gesture toward Aileen, who stood frozen with terror in the corner. "Leave me sister alone!"

"Sister, is it? Even better." Wallace signaled to one of his men. "Take her."

"Dinnae touch her!" Isolde threw her weight backward, trying to knock Wallace off balance, but he was ready for it. The dagger pressed deeper, and she felt a thin line of blood trickle down her neck.

"Try that again and ye'll bleed out on this floor," he hissed in her ear.

Two of Wallace's men seized Aileen despite her struggles, their hands rough as they dragged her toward the door. The other women in the room pressed even more back against the walls, clutching their children and whimpering with fear.

"Please," one of the wounded men tried to stand. "Take me instead?—"

"Sit down before I finish what me blade started," Wallace snapped, and the man collapsed back onto his makeshift bed.

Isolde felt tears of rage and helplessness burning her eyes as she watched her youngest sister being manhandled by Wallace's thugs. This was her fault. If she'd never tried to escape that first night, if she'd never fought back?—

"Moving out!" Wallace commanded. "The castle's lost, but we have something we can still use."

As they dragged her toward the door, Isolde caught one last glimpse of the terrified faces watching from the hall. Some of the women's eyes were bright with tears, and Morag was clutching a young mother's hand so tightly her knuckles were white.

"Tell Ciaran—" Isolde started to call out, but Wallace's hand clamped over her mouth.

"None of that," he said. "We wouldnae want laird MacCraith following too quickly, would we?"

As they forced her up the stairs toward whatever escape route Wallace had planned, Isolde's mind was already working, searching for any opportunity, any moment of weakness she could exploit. She would not let this bastard win. Not today, and not ever.

But with that dagger at her throat and Aileen's frightened whimpers echoing behind her, she felt more helpless than she ever had in her life.

As Wallace dragged her through the castle corridors, Isolde's desperation grew with every step.

The sounds of battle were dying down around them, which could only mean the siege was ending—but whether in victory or defeat, she couldn't tell.

"Ciaran!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "Ciaran, help me!"

"Shut her up," Wallace snarled to one of his men.

A rough hand clamped over her mouth, but Isolde bit down hard, tasting blood as her teeth sank into flesh. The man cursed and yanked his hand away, then backhanded her across the face. The blow sent her stumbling, her vision blurring as pain exploded across her cheek.

"Try that again and ye'll get worse," the man growled, flexing his bleeding fingers.

Wallace hauled her upright, his grip bruising her arm. "Keep moving. We're almost there."

They emerged into a small courtyard behind the keep, where Wallace had horses waiting. Isolde's heart sank as she realized how well-planned this escape was. He'd known exactly where to go, exactly how to get out unseen.

"Put them on the horses," Wallace ordered. "We ride fer the border."

"Nay!" Isolde struggled against the hands forcing her toward a waiting mount. "I willnae go with ye!"

"Ye'll go where I tell ye," Wallace said coldly. "Unless ye want tae watch yer sister die."

Aileen whimpered as one of Wallace's men pressed a knife to her throat, and Isolde's resistance crumbled. She couldn't risk her sister's life, not even for her own freedom.

They rode hard through the Highland mist, following deer tracks and hidden paths that Wallace seemed to know by heart. Behind them, the sounds of the battle faded into an ominous silence that made Isolde's stomach churn with fear. Was Ciaran alive? Had he even realized she was gone?

After what felt like hours, they stopped in a small clearing beside a burn, the horses breathing hard from the punishing pace. Wallace's men dismounted, clearly expecting to rest, but their leader remained alert, his eyes scanning the forest around them.

"We'll wait here until nightfall," he announced. "Then we cross the border under cover of darkness."

Isolde and Aileen were bound to a tree, their hands tied behind their backs with rough rope that chafed their wrists. Wallace crouched down in front of Isolde, his face inches from hers.

"Comfortable, me lady?" he asked mockingly.

"Go tae hell," she spat.

"Such language from a lady." His hand shot out, gripping her chin painfully. "Ye'll learn better manners as me wife."

"I'll hang meself before I marry ye."

"Oh, but ye will. Ye see, by the time we reach me lands, yer reputation will be so thoroughly ruined that no decent man would have ye. Yer father will be grateful for any offer of marriage, even from me."

Isolde felt sick at the thought, but before she could respond, one of Wallace's men called out from the edge of the clearing.

"Me laird! Riders approaching!"

Wallace was on his feet instantly, his sword drawn. "How many?"

"Hard tae tell through the mist, but?—"

The man's words were cut off as an arrow sprouted from his chest. He toppled forward without another sound, and suddenly the clearing erupted into chaos.

"Ciaran!" Isolde screamed, her heart soaring with desperate hope.

MacCraith and MacAlpin warriors poured into the clearing from all sides, their battle cries echoing through the forest. Isolde saw Ciaran at the center of the charge, his face a mask of deadly fury as he cut down everything in his path.

Wallace's men tried to form a defensive circle, but they were outnumbered and caught off guard. One by one, they fell to the enemy blades, until only Wallace himself remained, backing toward the horses with his sword raised.

"Stay back!" he snarled, grabbing Isolde and hauling her upright, his dagger once again at her throat. "One more step and she dies!"

The attacking warriors froze, their weapons raised but unable to strike without risking Isolde's life. Ciaran stepped forward, his eyes blazing with rage.

"Let her go, Wallace. This is between ye and me."

"Is it? Because it seems tae me that ye've grown rather attached tae the MacAlpin lass." Wallace's blade pressed deeper, and Isolde felt another trickle of blood run down her neck. "Tell yer men tae back away, or she dies right here."

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Ciaran slowly raised his hand, signaling his men to step back.

"There's a good lad," Wallace sneered. "Now, we're going tae?—"

His words turned into a scream as Isolde, who'd managed to work her bonds loose, grabbed a fallen warrior's dagger and drove it into Wallace's leg. The shock made him stumble, his grip on Isolde loosening just enough for her to break free.

Ciaran moved like lightning, his sword taking Wallace in the chest before the man could recover. The blade punched through mail and leather, emerging bloody from his back. Wallace's eyes went wide with shock, then empty as he collapsed to the forest floor.

"Isolde!" Ciaran was at her side in an instant, cutting her bonds and gathering her into his arms. "Are ye hurt? Did he?—"

"I'm fine," she gasped, clinging to him as if he might disappear. "But Aileen?—"

"I'm here," Aileen called weakly from where she sat against the tree, rubbing her wrists. "I'm alright."

Ciaran held Isolde tighter, his face buried in her hair. "I thought I'd lost ye," he whispered. "When I found the keep empty, when Morag told me what happened?—"

"How did ye find us?" Isolde asked.

"Finlay was able to find the tracks. We followed the tracks." His voice was rough with emotion. "I would have followed ye tae the ends of the earth, lass. I'll never let anyone take ye from me again."

As his warriors secured the clearing and tended to Aileen, Isolde allowed herself to truly believe that it was over. Wallace was dead, his men defeated, and she was safe in Ciaran's arms.

The nightmare had finally ended.