“What do you want?” Flora recognized the haughty voice of her betrothed. “And get your filthy hands off her.”
Lord Murray had been pulled from the carriage behind her and was being restrained by a fearsome-looking Highlander. His size, piercing blue eyes, and shock of white blond hair left little doubt of his Viking ancestry.
The brigand gave her a moment’s pause, leaving her to wonder whether the brute holding her was equally as formidable. Perhaps she was glad she could not see him; she was frightened enough as it was. Her heart was beating so hard, she was sure he must feel it.
“Take whatever it is you want and leave us,” Lord Murray added. “We are on important business this night.”
The man behind her stiffened, and Flora realized why. She’d never noticed the tinge of condescension that threaded through William’s speech until now.
“You are hardly in any position to be issuing orders,my lord,” her captor said with unveiled contempt. His arm tightened possessively around her middle. “But you are free to go. Take your men with you. I have everything I want.”
Her blood drained to her feet as his meaning became clear.Me. He means me.
William would die before he allowed a barbarian to take her, and Flora couldn’t be the cause of his death. Nor would she contemplate what the villain might do to her. Her gaze darted around frantically as she tried to come up with a plan.
“You can’t be serious. Do you know who we are?” William paused. “Is that what this is about? Do you intend to ransom her?” He laughed scornfully, causing the man behind her to stiffen further. Flora wished William would be quiet, before he got them all killed. “You’ll wish for a simple hanging if you take her. You will be hunted like a dog.”
“They’d have to catch me,” the brigand said flatly.
From his tone, it was obvious he thought it impossible. This was no typical brigand, Flora realized. She could tell from his voice and his facility with Scots, the tongue of the Lowlands, that he had at least some education.
A glint of silver coming from the rear of the carriage flashed in the moonlight like a shimmering beacon. There it was. Her chance. She only hoped that William’s men would be ready.
William had started issuing more threats. It was now or never. She hoped the man holding her didn’t notice the sudden spike in her heartbeat.
She prayed she remembered what to do. It had been a long time since her brothers Alex and Rory and her cousin Jamie Campbell had taught her how to defend herself.
She took a deep breath and stomped down as hard as she could with the wooden heel of her patten on the brigand’s instep, causing him to loosen his hold just enough. In one swift movement, she slid the dagger from her cloak, spun, and thrust the blade deep into his stomach. But he’d turned slightly, and the blade sank into his side instead.
He let out a pained curse and fell to his knees, grabbing the handle of the dirk that was still in his side.
Horror crept up her throat. She’d never stabbed a man before. She hoped…
Nonsense. The brute intended to kidnap her…and worse.
She turned around long enough to see the surprise on his face. A face that was not what she’d expected. A face that made her hesitate. Their eyes locked, and she felt a strange jolt.God’s breath, he was the most ruggedly handsome man she’d ever seen.
But he was a villain.
Turning from the wounded man, she leapt toward the carriage.
“Fight!” she yelled to Lord Murray’s gaping men.
Lunging for the flash of silver she’d glimpsed, she prayed, letting out a sigh of relief when her hand found steel and she pulled Lord Murray’s sword from the box.
Her daring had spurred the men back into action. The fighting began again in earnest.
Escape. She couldn’t let them take her. Perhaps if she could cross the moors a few hundred yards to the edge of the forest. She turned to look for William, relieved to see that the man holding him had made a move toward his injured leader—for she had no doubt that the man she’d stabbed was the leader—and then found himself engaged in a sword fight with one of William’s men. After tossing the sword to William, she pulled him behind the carriage. “We have to run,” she whispered.
He stood frozen, looking at her with the strangest expression on his face, as if he couldn’t quite tell whether to be awed or repulsed.
She tamped down her rising irritation. He should be thanking her, not gaping at her as if she were a Gorgon. “Look, we don’t have much time.” Not giving him an opportunity to reply, she pulled him toward the moors and started to run toward the line of trees that loomed in the distance like an oasis.
But freedom was swift. She hadn’t taken more than a few steps onto the heather before she was brought down from behind, landing hard against the ground with the full weight of a man on top of her. Her breath slammed against her chest.
She couldn’t move. Or breathe. Heather, dirt, and twigs pressed into her cheek, and her mouth tasted dirt.
She didn’t have to look; she knew who it was just by the feel of him.
