Page 56 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

A voice, deep and coarse, cut through the air like a blade. "Where’s the silver, ye holy crows?" "Where’s the gold ye hoard fer yer saints?"

Crash. A barrel toppled.

Crash. A shelf splintered. Glass shattered. A loud scream pierced the air.

Sister Mary?

Alexandra dropped the spade. It hit the dirt with a dull thud. Her hands trembled, but her legs wouldn’t move. She stared, wide-eyed, toward the cloister arch, her body locked between instinct and horror.

Two of them appeared. One was rummaging through sacks of grain, hurling them aside like garbage. The other was laughing, a wet, sloshing sound, as he kicked open a storeroom door. They smelled of ale, sweat, and something sharper… desperation.

One had a rusted sword. The other, a length of chain, wrapped tight in his fist.

"There’s naught here," one of them spat. "Same as last time."

The second man’s smile curved like a knife. "Then we take something else."

And then he looked up. His gaze swept the courtyard like a predator searching for movement.

"The girls."

Alexandra felt the words before she processed them, felt them lodge in her spine like an arrow . Her blood went cold.

Her legs moved to the sound before a single thought pierced the loud ringing in her ear. She ran.

Her sandals slapped against the stone as she sprinted for the chapel corridor, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

She found Margaret by the entry arch, frozen, eyes wide and unblinking. She must have ran for safety in the midst of the chaos. Two younger girls clung to her robes like frightened lambs.

"Come on! We have to move!" Alexandra hissed, grabbing her by the wrist.

Margaret blinked as if waking from a trance. "Wh-what’s happening?"

"They’re here fer us. Nay time. Run!"

The sounds behind them grew louder… shouts, crashes, footsteps gaining speed.

Alexandra yanked Margaret forward, dragging the three girls into motion. They bolted across the courtyard, dodging buckets, leaping over basins, the wind slapping against their faces, slicing into their skin.

Her lungs burned. Her legs screamed. But she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.

Then, through the haze of panic, an idea struck her. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t safe. But it was all they had.

Margaret’s face was white from the wind. "What dae we dae?"

"Ye run back the other way. Now. Find Sister Agnes and get inside," she ordered breathlessly. "I’ll draw them away. Run.”

"Nae without ye."

Alexandra’s glare was sharp. "If ye stay, they'll take both of us. Now move."

The two other girls veered with her. Alexandra ran the other way. Into the woods.

Her body screamed in protest. Her mind spun with panic. But she had to lead them away. She was used to running anyway. Used to being hunted.

But this time, she didn’t have the cover of a city or the anonymity of streets. It was just trees, air, and her.

A root caught her boot and she tumbled, knees slamming hard into the earth. Pain burst through her legs. Blood smeared her shins. She gritted her teeth and pushed up. Cannae stop now.

She had run farther in worse shoes, from worse men. She'd clawed her way through alley fights, gutters and alleys that stank of piss and blood, nuns with cruel hands. She’d be damned if this was where it ended.

Keep going. Just keep going.

Let them chase her. Let them all chase her. As long as Margaret got away.

The world spun, the forest a blur of green and dark.

Please, let them chase me.

A hand caught her hair, yanked hard.

She screamed, but the sound was quickly muffled as a filthy palm clamped over her mouth. The stink of rot and sour ale flooded her senses.

She bucked and thrashed, scratching wildly, her fingers gouging at his skin, her knee trying to find purchase. He cursed and wrestled with her. She bit down on his hand. He yelped, loosening his grip, just enough.

Now!

She turned sharply and slammed her foot into his shin, then drove her elbow into his gut with every ounce of strength she had left.

He staggered, gasping.

Alexandra broke free. Her legs trembled, her lungs burned. She was dizzy with fear, with rage, with pain.

But she ran.

Behind her, the man roared. She heard him crashing after her again.

Nay. Nay, nay, nay... just let me make it. Let me reach the trees.

Something heavy struck her from behind. She collapsed onto the forest floor, air punched from her lungs.

The man grabbed her again, snarling this time. “Ye'll fetch a fine price, girl.”

He began to drag her backward through the dirt, his grip rough, tearing at her gown.

Terror burst like thunder in her chest. That was it. Alexandra clawed at the earth, fingernails raking through mud and stones. She kicked, twisted, her limbs wild with desperation. Screamed until her throat tore raw, until the sound broke and failed her entirely.

And then…

Silence.

A shadow fell across her, long and unmoving. Something, or someone, loomed above.

The grip vanished.

Her body sagged in sudden release. She gasped and rolled, coughing, blinking up at the shape now standing between her and her attacker.

Still, she fought, refusing to be still, refusing to be helpless. She pushed up on shaky arms, crawled, staggered to her feet… and slammed into something solid.

A man, a mountain of one.

He didn’t stumble. Didn’t sway. Just stood there like the world had built itself around him and refused to go on without his permission.

His chest was broad beneath his worn, dark cloak, s tone beneath fabric, and a sword hung long across his back, catching the dim light with a hungry gleam. But it wasn’t the weapon that struck her, it was the way he moved: not like a soldier or even a warrior… but something more dangerous.

He moved like death in human skin. Calm. Purposeful. Inevitable .

Alexandra’s breath caught, a fluttering thing in her chest.

Who in the devil’s name…?

He turned from her without a word and faced the man who had tried to drag her off.

“That one’s mine,” he said, voice low and measured.

The words barely echoed, but they reverberated in her bones. There was a strange beauty to his voice. A Highland burr, deep and grainy like it had been carved from the land itself. It sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with fear.

Her attacker snarled, drawing a blade from his belt. A short, jagged thing.

But the tall man didn’t flinch… he moved.

Saints preserve us.

One second he was still, and the next he was all brutal, fluid motion. The chain that had swung toward him was caught mid-air, twisted, yanked, and the man who held it stumbled forward, off-balance, right into a fist that cracked across his jaw with a sickening crunch.

The second blow came from nowhere, a boot to the gut that folded the thug in half. And then, steel.

The sword hissed free like it knew what it wanted.

A blur. A twist. A scream cut short by the wet sound of flesh meeting blade. Then… a thud. A body hitting earth, heavy and final. And stillness.

The other attackers had vanished, scattered like ash in the wind. Behind her, she thought she saw more men, armed, armored, sweeping the courtyard. But her eyes wouldn’t leave the one in front of her.

The man turned slowly and looked at her.

Her breath hitched again, but for another reason entirely.

Sweet Mary, he was…

Handsome wasn’t the word. There was nothing soft or pretty about him.

But he was striking in a way that made her stomach twist, dark hair swept back from a face carved in harsh, angular lines, a scar along his jaw that only made him more dangerous.

A man built for war. For blood and fire.

And God help her, she felt her knees weaken, not from fear this time, but something far more foolish.

No, no, not now. Not this. She clenched her jaw, forced her thoughts to obey. But her heart, her traitorous heart, still beat too fast.

He stepped closer. The scent of leather, steel, and something wild and clean wrapped around her. He tilted his head.

“Lady Margaret MacLean?”

Alexandra blinked.

Of all the rotten luck in the world.