Duncan MacRae stepped through the gate, and fury transformed his handsome features into something ugly. Two of his warriors moved before Claricia could scream—one grabbed her arms while the other swung a club that connected with sickening force against Finnian’s skull.
Her father dropped like a felled tree.
“Faither!” She lunged toward him, but iron hands dragged her backward. “Ye bastards! Ye will kill him!”
“Stop yer waverin’! He’s breathin’.” Duncan’s voice was cold. “More’s the pity. Bind her and gag her. We need tae move before the Wolf realizes his bride is missin’.”
Rough hands wrenched her arms behind her back. Rope bit into her wrists—tight enough to bite, tight enough to cut off blood. She fought with everything she had, kicking and twisting and screaming Erik’s name into the night.
A fist connected with her jaw, and stars exploded across her vision.
“Gag her,” Duncan repeated. “Now.”
Cloth shoved between her teeth, tied brutally tight. She could barely breathe through the panic flooding her lungs as theyhauled her toward the gate. The last thing she saw before they dragged her into darkness was her father lying motionless in the dirt, blood pooling beneath his head.
They threw her onto a horse like a sack of grain. Someone mounted behind her—close enough that she could smell stale sweat and violence—and then they were moving. Fast. Too fast through terrain she didn’t recognize, away from the castle, away from Erik, away from everything that mattered.
Claricia tried to track their direction through the gag and the terror. East, she thought. Toward the shore. Toward boats that could carry her away from Skye forever.
Nay. I have tae get away. I have tae warn Erik.
She threw her weight sideways, nearly unseating her captor. He cursed and grabbed her hair, wrenching her head back hard enough to make her vision swim.
“Try that again,” he growled against her ear, “and I’ll throw ye over the cliffs and tell Duncan ye fell.”
She went still, mind racing. They were taking her to Duncan’s camp—wherever that was. Which meant there was still time. Still a chance that Erik would notice her missing, that he’d come looking, that?—
He’ll think I left willingly. He’ll think I chose Faither over him.
The thought was agony worse than the rope cutting into her wrists.
The ride felt endless—jolting and brutal and terrifying in its purposefulness. When they finally stopped, rough hands dragged her from the saddle. Her legs buckled from hours of forced stillness, and she would have fallen if someone hadn’t caught her arm.
“Bring her.”
Duncan’s voice, cold and commanding. They shoved her forward, through a camp that reeked of unwashed bodies and desperation. Claricia counted tents, memorized faces, anything that might help Erik when—if—he came.
Duncan waited by a small fire, and even in flickering light she could see how much he’d changed. The charming man she’d once known—the one who’d courted her with poetry and promises—was gone. In his place stood someone hollowed out by rage and wounded pride.
“Remove the gag,” he ordered. “I want tae hear what she has tae say.”
The cloth came away, and Claricia sucked in desperate breaths before spitting at his feet. “Ye’re a dead man. When Erik finds ye?—”
“He’ll be too late.” Duncan crouched before her, close enough that she could see madness dancing in his eyes. “We’re leavin’ now. Before yer faither wakes and ruins everythin’ again.” Duncan’s mouth twisted. “The old fool’s been more trouble than he’s worth.”
Relief flooded through her despite everything. “Ye used him. Ye told him ye’d help rescue me, and all along ye just wanted—what? Revenge?”
“Justice.” He stood abruptly, pacing. “D’ye ken what that annulled betrothal cost me? What ittookfrom me? Yer faither’s support, his coin, his alliance—everythin’ I needed tae keep me clan from crumbling intae dust. And fer what? So some Viking savage could claim what was rightfullymine.”
“I was never yers,” she said quietly. “I never evenwantedtae marry ye, Duncan.”
His hand cracked across her face before she saw it coming. Pain bloomed hot and bright, and blood filled her mouth where her teeth had cut her cheek.
“Ye’ll want tae marry me now,” he said, voice gone soft and dangerous. “Because it’s either that or I sell ye tae the highest bidder in Norway. And trust me, lass—there are men there who’d pay handsomely fer a Scottish bride tae warm their beds and bear their bastards.”
Ice flooded her veins. “Erik will find ye before ye ever leave this shore.”
“Erik Thorsen is drunk and celebratin while his wife’s disappeared intae the night.” Duncan smiled without warmth. “By the time he realizes ye’re gone, we’ll be halfway tae the mainland. And even if he daes come—well, I have three dozen armed men who’d love naethin’ more than tae put the Wolf of Skye in the ground where he belongs.”
