The noise of the fight rolled toward them, a storm made flesh. Aidan’s voice carried above it, low and sure, barking orders that kept the line from breaking. Behind him, his men obeyed without hesitation, closing ranks wherever he directed.
Catherine felt the sound of his command more than she heard it, the kind of voice that could hold the world together if it chose. She told herself it was only gratitude, only fear for her life, yet her heart beat to its rhythm all the same.
She had seen men fight before—her brothers, her clansmen—but none like him. There was a terrible grace to it, a beauty she wanted to despise and could not. Every movement of his arm seemed carved from purpose, every strike a promise that he would not fail her.
And yet her breath would not steady. If he fell, it would all fall.
“Ride harder!” one of Cameron’s men barked, his horse pressing close against Alyson’s. “We must clear the glen!”
She rode, pressed tight between her sisters, her fury the only weapon left to her. Mud spattered up her skirts, the wind biting sharp through the glen as the Cameron soldiers shouted for them to keep pace. Ahead, Aidan’s men were driving the line forward, cutting through the chaos toward the trees where safety waited.
She searched for him through the blur of rain and steel—for the flash of his sword, the sound of his voice. When she found him, her chest ached with something fierce and unnamable. He looked unbreakable, the dark plaid sweeping behind him, every strike as if the world around him seemed to obey. Even through the din, she could feel the gravity of him—the command, the danger, the maddening pull that set her blood alight.
A shout tore through the storm, “Tae the trees! Ride!”
The sisters spurred their horses toward the edge of the wood. The path narrowed, the ground slick beneath the hooves, and for one brief heartbeat Catherine thought they might reach cover.
Then the shadows moved. Men burst from the undergrowth, their plaids marked with MacLeod colors, blades flashing like lightning. The air cracked with the sound of steel meeting steel as Cameron guards wheeled to meet the ambush. Horsesshrieked, hooves striking sparks on stone as the line buckled and split.
Catherine’s heart slammed against her ribs as one of the guards shouted for her to keep riding, but the order came too late. Rough hands seized Sofia’s reins, another shoved Alyson’s mare hard aside, but the men did not linger on them. Their eyes were fixed squarely on her.
“Take her!” one bellowed. “The lady’s tae come with us!”
CHAPTER THREE
Hands caught her bridle, jerking her mount sideways, nearly unseating her. Catherine’s cry tore from her throat as she lashed out with her whip, striking across a man’s arm. He cursed, but another surged forward, a hand clamping on her cloak, dragging.
For one breathless instant, her strength failed her. Fear clawed sharp up her spine, a cold terror she despised, her mind flashing to the thought of being shut inside, carried off beyond her brothers’ reach, beyond even Aidan’s sword. The world spun with the certainty that if they succeeded, if they bound her and bore her away, she would vanish into Edwin’s hands and no one would ever see her free again “Release me!” she shouted, slamming her elbow back with all her strength. It cracked against a jaw; the man staggered but did not let go. Another caught her waist, hauling her bodily from the saddle.
She struck the ground hard, the breath slammed from her lungs in a rush that left her gasping, her chest heaving for air that would not come. Pain shot up her side where she had landed,sharp and biting, and the taste of iron rose in her mouth where her teeth had caught her lip. Mud clung thick and cold, soaking through her skirts until the weight of it dragged at her legs like chains.
Still, she fought, thrashing wild, nails clawing at any skin she could reach, boots lashing out with furious kicks. The men grunted with each blow, but their hands did not loosen.
“I’ll nae go wi’ ye!” she spat, voice torn, ragged, her words laced with as much fire as she could muster. Better they remember her teeth and her claws than think of her to be some helpless lamb dragged meekly to the slaughter.
One man grunted as her heel caught his shin. “Lass, dinnae fight. ’Tis what’s right. Ye ken it well enough.”
“What’s right?” She spat the words, twisting in his grip. “Edwin’s obsession is nae right. He is a coward, and ye’re worse fer serving him!”
But they only tightened their hold, dragging her across the ground toward the waiting road. There stood a carriage, black against the pale mist. Its door gaped wide, its wheels mired in the mud, horses stamping as though impatient for her.
Terror surged sharp through her chest, but she bit it down, refusing them her scream. They would not have her fear. She raked her nails down one man’s cheek until blood welled, then slammed her boot hard against another’s knee. He cursed, staggered, yet still they hauled her onward.
Her sisters’ cries rose faint behind her, muffled by the clash of battle. Catherine’s own voice ripped raw from her throat. “Aidan!”
For an instant the world blurred in blood, steel and smoke, and she feared he would not hear. Feared she would vanish into the maw of that carriage, carried off like some spoil of war, while he fought blind to her fate.
Then she saw him. Through the churn of men and beasts he broke forward, his blade carving space as easily as breath. Blood streaked his arm, his face fierce as thunder, his horse plunging through the melee like a creature of the storm.
He came for her. Her captors faltered, hesitation flashing in their eyes as Aidan’s mount bore down on them. His voice split the din, cold and merciless.
“Touch her again and die.”
Steel dripped red in his hand. His gaze burned with a fury so sharp it might have cleaved stone. There was nothing civil or lairdly in him now; only raw, ruthless power, every inch of him a man shaped by battle. Catherine’s breath caught, not from fear but from the sight of him.
The men’s grips slackened. Catherine tore herself free, stumbling back into the churn of mud and hooves, her cloak heavy with filth, breath ragged. Aidan’s horse loomed before her, a living wall of muscle and fire, blocking the carriage, cutting her captors off.
Aidan leaned low in the saddle, his sword leveled steady. “She is nae yers tae take,” he said, voice iron. “Nae now. Nae ever.”
