"If I ever see ye on Scottish soil again," Alpin said softly, "I'll cut yer throat and leave ye fer the wolves. Understand?"
Ashcombe's eyes burned with fury. "This isn't over."
"Aye, it is." Alpin stepped back, blade still raised. "Now get out of me sight before I change me mind about lettin' ye live."
The English lord stumbled to his feet, clutching his injured knee. His remaining guard was already moving toward the horses. Within moments, they were gone, crashing through the forest like wounded animals.
Alpin took one breath. Two.
Then he turned toward the darkness where Mhairi had disappeared.
And went after her.
CHAPTER THREE
"Mhairi!"
Mhairi's lungs burned as she crashed through the forest, branches whipping at her face and arms. She couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead in the darkness, but she didn’t care. She just had to run, had to get away.
The voice rang out behind her, closer than before. Her heart lurched.
"Mhairi, stop! I'm nae goin' tae hurt ye!"
She pushed harder, ignoring the burn in her legs, the way her torn skirts kept catching on brambles. Her hands—still aching from where the ropes had bitten into her wrists—reached out blindly, using trees to guide her deeper into the darkness.
"Lass, please, ye're goin' tae hurt yerself."
A root caught her foot. She stumbled, barely catching herself against a tree trunk. It was enough.
A hand closed around her arm, pulling her back.
"Nay!" Mhairi spun, her free hand swinging wild. Her fist connected with something—his jaw, she thought—hard enough to send a jolt of pain through her knuckles. "Let me go!"
"I'm tryin' tae help ye."
She twisted in his grip, fierce and desperate. "Let mego!"
Instead of releasing her, he pulled her against his chest, wrapping both arms around her and pinning her arms to her sides.
Mhairi went wild.
"Let me go, let me go, let me go—" The words tumbled out between desperate, panicked breaths. She kicked backward, felt her heel connect with his shin. "I'll kill ye, I swear I'll…"
"I'm nae Ashcombe." His voice was steady, calm, even as she fought like a trapped animal in his arms. "I'm nae goin' tae hurt ye. I just need ye tae stop runnin' before ye break yer neck in this damned forest."
"Why should I believe ye?" But her struggles were slowing. Exhaustion was catching up with her, draining the fight from her limbs. "Why should I believe any man?"
"Because I just risked me life tae get ye away from him." His grip loosened slightly, enough that she could breathe easier, but not enough that she could bolt. "If I wanted tae hurt ye, lass, I'd have let Ashcombe keep ye."
Mhairi went very still at that.
Her heart was still racing, throwing itself against her ribs like it wanted to escape. She could feel his chest against her back, solid and warm. Could feel his breath stirring her hair.
And beneath her fear, beneath her panic—something else. Something that made her aware of how close he was. How strong. How he smelled like pine and leather and the cold night air.
She shoved the thought away viciously.
"Who are ye?" The question came out smaller than she'd intended. The raw panic was fading, leaving behind bone-deep weariness.
