“Ye sure?” Kirk asked.
“Aye. We traveled east and then north. We’ve skirted nearly all of Mackenzie land, staying on the Chisholms’ and Frasers’ of Lovat territories.”
“Frasers? Are we still on their land now?” Saoirse asked.
“Aye. If we see even a hint of a Fraser patrol, we hail them. Auntie Deirdre’s cousin is laird. The bad blood between our clans ended when Auntie Deirdre’s father and uncle died. Alfred would help us.”
Saoirse nodded. She prayed her cousin was right. So far none of the men had really done her any harm, and she doubted it was only because of her knife throwing skills. She knew being Alex and Brighde’s daughter protected her, just as she’d claimed back at Dunbeath. But just because no one beat her or assaulted her didn’t mean they couldn’t still mistreat her. The sooner they could be free of their captors, the better.
But luck wasn’t on their side. As they continued north, they passed no one they could signal. They rode for nearly ten hours, and she was in immeasurable pain by the time a keep took shape in the distance. She wondered how the men rode for so long without a single flinch or wince.
“I know you’re uncomfortable, Saoirse, but you must keep still. We can’t draw attention to ourselves right now. I need them to focus on my horse. Keep your sleeves over your wrists and prepare to hold on if we get free.”
“What aboot Kirk and Wiley?”
“They’ll know what to do.” Ric reined in, then nudged his horse forward. It made the horse appear to stumble, and it neighed its displeasure. “Now you’ve done it. My horse has gone lame.”
Ric brought his steed to a stop, forcing Wiley’s and Kirk’s horses to stop too. The gelding she’d ridden followed suit, but it looked around, confused.
“Keep going.”
“No. I’m not killing my horse for you.”
“Then we’ll take care of it and you,” Harold snarled.
“Let me look at his hooves,” Ric countered. The sun was creeping toward the horizon, and the sky was lightening from onyx to sapphire. “If you won’t let me do that, then at least let Lady Saoirse and me move to her horse. MacLellan can’t carry both of us.”
“MacLellan? Ye named yer horse after a clan?” Stewart turned around in surprise.
“Yes. My clan. I’m one by birth. This is my second horse of the same name. Now let me check on him.”
“Let him, or we’ll be at this for ages. We’re too close to dawdle,” Stewart insisted.
“Vera well.” Harold rolled his eyes as he looked over his shoulder.
Ric pretended to lift his arms over Saoirse’s head. While he still sounded English, Ric adopted wearing abreacan feile, or great plaid, not long after moving to the Highlands. He squatted beside his horse’s hooves and reached beneath his plaid. He drew his own blade and stepped in front of MacLellan to hide his movements as he severed the rope. Once his horse was free, it made the rope sag from the other horses’ bridles. He darted under MacLellan’s neck and grasped the reins and mane of the horse Saoirse had ridden. He swung onto its back.
“Ride,” Ric commanded. Saoirse was surprised, but she soon recovered as the three men swung their horses around. MacLellan followed its master’s voice, so Saoirse had little to do but hold on. Their horses sensed the urgency and bolted, but they’d ridden the steeds for too long with too little rest. It wasn’t long before all four flagged.
“Ye thought to escape, but all ye’ve done is make it worse.” A voice that niggled at Saoirse’s memory called out as Macrae men surrounded them.
With a scream, someone pulled her from MacLellan’s back and yanked her in front of them onto another horse. She looked up and recognized Richmond Macrae, the laird’s younger brother. “Make another sound, and I will throttle ye.”
“Ye wouldnae dare.”
“Wouldnae I? Ye were kidnapped and brought here. Do ye think I care enough aboot yer life to care if ye’re dead?”
“Aye, ye do. If ye wanted me dead, ye wouldnae have had me kidnapped. Ye would have had me murdered. If ye wanted the satisfaction of being the one to kill me, ye would have done it the moment ye saw me. Ye need me alive to torment ma family. How much do ye plan to ransom me for?”
“Ye think awfully highly of yerself, Saoirse Sinclair.”
Saoirse laughed. “Ye dinna ken?”
“Ken what?” Richmond looked around, his gaze latching onto Harold as they approached the men Saoirse thought they’d escaped.
“She married Magnus,” Harold announced.
“Mackenzie?” Richmond squawked. “Motherfucking piece of shite bastard.”
