"Alpin MacDougal. Laird of Clan MacDougal." He hesitated, then added, "I was at the auction house taenight. I saw what they did tae ye."
The auction. Mhairi's stomach twisted at the memory—the platform, the shouting men, the way they'd looked at her like she was livestock. And... wait.
She'd seen him.
That moment when she'd scanned the crowd, searchin' desperately for anyone who might help. The man near the back with fair hair and broad shoulders, who'd met her eyes with somethin' that looked almost like... recognition. Understanding.
"Ye were there." Her voice came out flat, accusing. "Ye saw them sell me."
"There were too many guards, and I was alone." She felt him tense behind her. The words came out bitter, like they tasted foul in his mouth. "If I'd tried tae fight me way out with ye then, we'd both be dead or worse. So, I waited. Followed. And when the odds were better…" he paused. "I did what I should've done from the start."
Mhairi wanted to rage at him. Wanted to scream that he should've donesomething,anything, instead of just watchin'. But... he'd come after her. He'd fought Ashcombe and his men. He'd freed her.
"Ye could've just let me go," she said quietly. "Once ye fought him off. Ye didnae have tae follow me intae the forest."
"Aye, I could've." His voice dropped lower, almost gentle. "But ye're alone, in the dark, in a forest ye dinnae ken, with nay supplies and nay weapon. How far did ye think ye'd get before ye either got lost or ran intae someone worse than Ashcombe?"
She flinched at the name and at the truth of his words.
"So, what dae ye want?" The question came out sharp, defensive. Her father had wanted coin. Graham had wanted profit. Ashcombe had wanted... her mind shied away from what Ashcombe had wanted. "Why did ye really come after me?"
His arms loosened—carefully, slowly—enough that she could turn to face him if she wanted.
Mhairi hesitated, then turned. Put a few inches of space between them, though not enough to run. Not yet.
In the moonlight filtering through the trees, she could see him properly for the first time. Tall, broad through the shoulders. Fair hair that looked almost silver in the dim light. And eyes... even in the darkness, she could see they were light. Green, maybe, or grey.
And his face... there was a scar runnin' from his left temple down to his cheek. A warrior's face. Hard. But not cruel.
Not like Ashcombe's.
"I want tae help ye," he said simply. "That's all."
Mhairi's throat tightened. "Men dinnae help women fer naethin'. What's yer price?"
She watched something flicker across his face. Shock, maybe. Or anger. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"There is nay price."
"Everyone has a price." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very young and very lost. "Me faither certainly did."
His expression darkened. "What dae ye mean?"
The question caught her off guard. "Ye... ye didnae hear? At the auction?"
"I heard the biddin', and I heard that bastard Ashcombe buy ye."
So, he didn’t know. Didn’t know the worst of it.
Mhairi's jaw tightened. She didnae want to say it. Didnae want to speak the words that would make it real. But they came out anyway, bitter and broken.
"Graham... he told me it was me faither who sold me tae him. Fer coin. Tae pay his debts." Her voice cracked.
The look on Alpin's face—pure, savage fury—should've frightened her. Instead, it was almost... comforting. That someone was angry on her behalf. That someone thought what had been done to her was wrong.
"Christ," he breathed. Then, quieter: "I'm sorry, lass."
She didn’t want his pity. Didn’t want his sympathy. She just wanted...
