“We made it back to camp but realized ye weren’t with us,” Malcolm continued. “Some of the men thought ye’d been captured but I knew otherwise. I grabbed some of the men and went back looking for ye. Picked up yer trail to the north and tracked ye. There were some Muir scouts on yer trail too but we dealt with them.”
Reid nodded and clapped his second-in-command on the shoulder. “Ye did well, Malcolm.”
“Not as well as ye, by the looks of it! Ye’ve stormed the castleandmanaged to capture the Muir witch.” His eyes alighted on Abigail and Reid didn’t like the hunger that suddenly flashed in them. “I dinna blame ye for wanting to enjoy her. She’s a beauty all right. Mayhap ye could let the rest of us have a go with her when ye are finished.”
The men muttered in excited agreement, the same hungry looks crossing their faces. Sudden rage flared in Reid’s chest, burning hot like acid. He stepped between Malcolm and Abigail.
“Nobody touches her,” he barked. “She’s a prisoner of war until I say otherwise. Any man goes near her and I’ll cut his balls off. Understood?”
He’d given his word that she wouldn’t be harmed and he intended to keep that vow. He swept the men with his gaze, daring any of them to challenge him. Nobody did. Good. They’d better bloody keep it that way.
“Malcolm, ride double with Sean. I’ll take yer horse.”
Malcolm scowled but didn’t argue as Reid took the reins of his horse. He felt the stares of his men on his back, seeing what he would do next. They were like a pack of dogs: obedient as long as they thought him the strongest, but forever on the lookout for the slightest weakness. He didn’t dare show any. Only a moment ago he’d been considering letting the lass go, even escorting her to her destination. Now, that was no longer an option.
So instead, he seized her arm and pulled her towards him.
“Hey!” she cried. “What do you think you’re doing—”
He cut off her angry retort by grabbing her around the waist and boosting her onto the horse.
He got his foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up behind her, settling his weight into the saddle and making the worn leather creak. The horse, unused to the weight of two riders, shied and stamped but he calmed the beast with a few words and a pat on the neck.
“Where are you taking me?” Abigail demanded. She turned her head to glare over her shoulder at him.
“Back to our stronghold where ye canna cause any more mischief,” he replied, reaching around her to take the reins.
She licked her lips nervously, glancing around at his men. Damn them for threatening her. He could rip Malcolm’s head off for what he’d said. But there was no help for that now. None of them would touch her—none of them would dare. He was still Reid Campbell and they were still afraid of him. His reputation had its uses at times.
He clucked to the horse and she set off with a lurch that threw Abigail against him. As her back pushed against his chest, a traitorous thrill went through him. It had definitely been too long since he’d had a woman.
Abigail grabbed at the saddle horn, holding it so tight her fingers turned white and hauled herself upright, her back ram-rod straight.
As they set off, his men falling into a column behind, and the dogs bounding along to either side, Abigail’s hair swirled in the breeze, tickling his chin and bringing with it the heady scent of whatever she used to wash her hair.
It was going to be an interesting ride.
