"There's yer silver," he said, his voice sharp with contempt. "Count it if ye must, but dae it quickly. We're leavin’."
"Now wait just a minute." her father began, but Tòrr was already moving.
"The transaction is complete, Munro. The coin has been offered and accepted. The lass comes with me."
He sheathed his sword and strode toward Liliane with purposeful steps. When he reached for her arm, she jerked back instinctively.
"Dinnae touch me."
He paused, one dark brow rising. "Ye're me wife now, lass. Or soon will be. Ye'd best grow accustomed tae me touch."
"I am nae yer wife," she snapped, backing away from him. "I dinnae ken what game ye're playin’, MacDonald, but I'll nae be part of it."
"It's nae game." His voice had gone deadly quiet. "And ye'll come with me willingly, or I'll carry ye. The choice is yers."
She glanced desperately at her father, seeking some intervention, some protection, but his face had closed off entirely. She could see the calculation in his eyes, the way he was weighing his options and more likely than not, found them all lacking.
"Faither?! I willnae go." Her voice cracked with the words.
What will happen tae Nessa?
Her father's gaze flicked to Campbell, who gave the smallest shake of his head. The message was clear, they had been outmaneuvered, and resistance now would only make things worse.
Tòrr MacDonald watched this silent exchange with sharp eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice held a note of something that might have been understanding.
"The lass will come tae nay harm under me care, Munro. Ye have me word on that."
"Yer word," her father spat, "has nay importance tae me. I willnae let this proceed."
Tòrr's jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he looked at Liliane with those penetrating green eyes.
"Last chance, lass. Walk with me, or be carried. But either way, ye're leavin’ this hall."
Liliane closed her eyes. "I'll nae make this easy fer ye," she said quietly.
Tòrr's mouth curved in what might have been approval. "I'd expect naethin’ less."
Before she could react, he stepped forward and swept her up, tossing her over his broad shoulder like a sack of grain. The indignity of it sent fire racing through her veins.
"Put me down!" She hammered her fists against his back, kicking her legs and twisting in his grip. "Put me down this instant, ye great brute!"
"Stop squirmin’, or ye'll hurt yerself," he said calmly, as if carrying struggling women was something he did daily.
She grabbed a handful of his dark hair and pulled hard enough to make him grunt. "I said put me down!"
"And I said stop squirmin’." His arm tightened around her legs, holding her more securely. "We're nae on friendly ground here, lass. The sooner we're away, the safer we'll both be."
They crossed the hall in a procession of barely controlled chaos, Tòrr striding purposefully toward the doors, Liliane fighting him every step, Aidan Cameron providing unhelpful commentary, and her father and Campbell watching in impotent fury.
The cool night air hit her face as they emerged from the keep, and she could hear the stamp of horses and the jingle of harnesses somewhere ahead.
"Why didnae ye bring yer mount inside the stables like a civilized man?" she demanded, still struggling against his grip.
"Because I wasnae welcome unmasked, lass. "
The answer stopped her struggles for a moment. "Ye're that unwelcome here?"
"The MacDonalds and the clans involved in the Pact have nay love fer each other," he replied grimly. "Yer faither chose his side in this war, and I chose mine."
