Her voice carried across the entire chamber, clear and defiant. Several men laughed. Alpin didn’t.
"A Munro," someone near him muttered. "Bold as brass, that one."
Munro. Alpin's mind raced. The Munros were a powerful clan with considerable lands in the Highlands, their power built on territory rather than coin.
He'd heard whispers over the past year—debts, failed harvests. But no, it couldn’t be… a father wouldn’t do that tae his child. Would he?
The bidding started. It climbed higher and higher.
The lass—Mhairi, they called her—kept fighting, kept pleading. And every word she spoke made Alpin's chest tighten with somethin' he couldnae name.
When the English lord made his final bid, ninety, the room went silent.
Dae somethin',bid higher. Get her out of here.
But that would blow his cover. Would put a target on his back before he had the evidence he needed. And it wouldn’t save all the other lasses who'd be sold tomorrow, or the day after.
The hammer fell.
"Sold!"
Alpin watched them drag her backstage, watched the English lord follow and made his decision.
He slipped out of the warehouse while everyone's attention was still on the platform and found Callum and his men exactly where he'd left him.
"We're following them," Alpin said shortly.
"Who?"
"The English lord who just bought the Munro lass. I want tae ken where he's takin her."
Callum's eyes widened. "Me laird, if ye interfere it’ll be bad."
"I'm nae asking fer permission." Alpin was already moving toward where they'd hidden their horses. "I'm tellin' ye what we're daein'. Now mount up."
They waited in the tree line until Ashcombe emerged with his prize. Even from a distance, Alpin could hear her screaming.
His hands tightened on his reins.
"Easy," Callum murmured. "Too many guards. Too many witnesses."
"I ken." But watching them throw her across that horse, bound and helpless, it took every ounce of control he had not to charge down there anyway.
The English lord's party headed south. Alpin and Callum and the guards followed, stayin' well back, lettin' the darkness hide them.
Hours passed, the moon rose higher. Finally the party ahead slowed, then stopped in a small clearing.
"They're makin' camp," Callum whispered.
Alpin nodded, dismounting quietly. "Wait here. I'm goin' closer."
"Me laird."
"If I'm nae back in an hour, assume I'm dead and ride fer home."
He moved through the forest like a ghost, years of hunting making his steps silent. The English lord's camp came into view, two guards posted, one tending the fire. And there, tied to a tree?—
Mhairi.
