The woods lay shrouded in darkness, the moon’s feeble light struggling to penetrate the thick canopy of ancient trees. Shadows danced eerily over the forest floor, creating an atmosphere of foreboding. Twisted branches formed grotesque shapes, reaching out like skeletal fingers toward the heavens.
Amidst this eerie landscape, a figure stood concealed in the shadows, hidden from view. Dressed in dark, tattered clothing, he blended seamlessly into the darkness, his eyes glinting with malicious intent. He waited with predatory patience, his senses heightened as he listened for the faintest sounds of an approaching carriage.
The air was heavy with anticipation, a sense of impending malevolence pervading the surroundings. The figure’s heartbeat quickened with a savage thrill, knowing that soon their plan would be set into motion. Every rustle of leaves, every distant creak of the forest seemed to add to the tension, building up tothe moment when their carriage would arrive, unsuspecting of the danger that lurked in the shadows.
Suddenly, there it was.
The man rushed onto the dirt road, waving his hands above his head. The carriage halted with a sudden jolt, and the horses that pulled it came into view under the dim moonlight. Their muscular bodies were sleek and powerful, glistening in the dim light, showcasing their robust health and vitality. Their coats were a deep chestnut hue, accentuated by patches of white that added a touch of elegance.
The footman tried to control them, which he managed in the end. He was a young man clad in a deep blue coat adorned with a gold braid, a symbol of Clan MacCurtney. The man’s demeanor was courteous and professional despite the tension in the air.
“Who goes there?” the footman demanded to know.
“I apologize for me sudden appearance, but it is urgent that I speak to yer passenger,” the man said.
The footman’s face was etched with concern, reflecting the gravity of the situation. He knew that these were the scenarios of highway robbery and that there could be more robbers hiding in the woods.
“All I wish to do is speak to the lady. No harm shall come to either her or you, lad,” the man continued, trying to sound as dignified as he could.
Before the footman could say anything, a woman peered out the window. She looked startled but resolute, her face betraying her shock at this unexpected halting of the carriage.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded to know. Her eyes were sharp, cautiously observant, as she prepared to address the man who had stopped their carriage.
“Please accept me humble apologies, Milady,” the man said.
“If ye plan on robbin’ us, I shall have ye ken that I come from MacCurtney Castle and I am expected home any minute,” she informed him. “If I am not there shortly, they will send for me, and I doubt ye will have enough time to get away.”
The man grinned. He liked her determination, her passion, and her refusal to show fear even when it would have been a perfectly normal reaction.
“All I wish to ken is if ye are Laird MacCurtney’s betrothed,” he inquired, hoping that the answer would be a resounding yes.
If she were Lady Violet, as he expected her to be, then his informants had pointed him in the right direction.
At the mention of Laird MacCurtney, the woman’s lovely features seemed to turn sour instantly. Her eyes narrowed as if she could recognize the real intentions of the man standing in front of her.
“Nae,” she replied curtly, her lips pressing together so hard that, for a moment, they were nothing but a thin line on her beautiful face. “He’s found himself a little English lass. Us Scottish lasses arenae good enough for him.”
The man recognized the tone of a bitter woman immediately, for he had heard that tone enough times in his life. She was a woman scorned, and he knew that he had found an ally in her, without her being none the wiser.
He grinned in the darkness, leaning closer towards the carriage. He thought she might flinch or show fear in some way, but she did nothing of the sort. It was as if losing the man she loved meant she had nothing else to be fearful of. Such people were the most dangerous ones. He knew, because he was one of them.
“I see,” he spoke slowly, enunciating every single word. “I cannae imagine anyone choosin’ an English lass over ye, fair Lady Violet.”
She didn’t say anything to that, although he knew that flattery would not get him far. But something else would.
“Ye must have been very offended when ye found out,” he pointed out, much to her displeasure.
“He didnae even have the nerve to tell me the truth himself,” she spat venomously, and his delight grew with each passing moment of this conversation. “So, ye can imagine that aye, I was very offended. I still am, for that matter.”
“Ye ken, such things shouldnae be left unpunished,” he said persuasively. “These lairds think they can treat others any damn way they please, especially the lasses.”
“Aye,” she agreed once again.
He kept grinning, completely certain that he had her in his grasp now.
“I’ve known Laird MacCurtney for a long time, me dear lass, so his behavior doesnae surprise me at all,” he admitted. “What does surprise me is the fact that no one has mustered the courage to punish him for his reckless behavior.”
Lady Violet lifted her eyebrow at him, curious as to what else he would tell her, and he was more than happy to elaborate.
