The tent was large, looking even bigger on the inside than it did from the outside. Thick furs covered the ground, looking so much more inviting than the cold stone that had been herconstant companion for weeks. She settled herself on a low bed that was piled with wool blankets, her eyes landing on the sole lantern that illuminated a basin filled with water next to a pile of folded linen.
This is much better than bein’ returned home, even if this Laird Darragh does intend to take me captive.
She took the time to wash the grime from her body, her movements slow and methodical. When she ran out of patience for the task, she threw back the blankets and lay on the mattress that was, as promised, much more comfortable than the hay. Her eyes fluttered closed as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Sleep didn’t come, though. Each noise beyond the canvas walls of her tent made her jump. Her body was still coiled tight, ready to strike or run if she perceived a threat.
It’s because the sun’s nae set yet. Once the camp begins turnin’ in for the night, I can sleep.
For hours, her ears picked up everything. Occasionally, footsteps would pass by her, but they never stopped. She could tell that her presence wasn’t being ignored. There was a certain air of respect in the way voices lowered as they passed by.
The safety of the evening slowly began to feel suffocating. Even as the men began to settle into their own tents and the movement stopped, she felt trapped. The canvas walls surrounding her became less of a shield for her privacy and more like the stone walls that acted as her cage.
“Breathe, Amelia,” she whispered to herself, rolling over for what felt like the hundredth time.
But she couldn’t breathe. Captivity, traumatic experiences, they didn’t always announce themselves with a burst of energy. Sometimes, they began with deceptive softness.
I cannae take this anymore. I cannae trust these men to care for me. I couldnae even trust me own father.
So, slowly, she slipped from the first comfort she’d experienced in months. The furs muffled her footsteps as she shuffled to the front of the tent. Then, after opening the canvas flap and ensuring there wasn’t a soul watching, she ventured into the night.
Getting past the rows of makeshift structures was easy; the inhabitants snored rhythmically. Just at the edge, the forest surrounding them in her sights, she ducked, avoiding the eyes of the night guards patrolling the perimeter. As they retreated, she straightened.
Too easy. It is never this easy.
When she slipped into the uncertainty of the tree line, she felt a sharp sense of freedom. Despite the future being fraught with uncertainty, she would choose this over captivity any day. Her mind raced, though. Paranoia closed in.
Her breath caught as she pushed forward. She glanced over her shoulder, pulse pounding against her eardrums. The thoughts in her mind threatened to pull her under, but she gritted her teeth and pushed them away. Right now, she needed to run.
She told herself that the footsteps she heard, the gaze she felt but didn’t see, were all tricks of her imagination.
Chapter Three
Darragh’s footsteps were silent as he tracked the girl’s flight. She was evasive, blending into the trees in a way that had nothing to do with how slight her body was. He caught another glimpse of her slipping through the foliage and followed like a bloodhound.
It wasn’t happenstance that he’d noticed her missing from her tent. He’d heard the irregularity of quiet, someone clearly trying to keep their footfalls silent passing by his tent. She was already being absorbed into the shadows when he left his tent.
“Ye just daenae want to accept help, do ye, lass?” he muttered under his breath, picking through the dense undergrowth as he continued his pursuit.
A moment later, the trees began to thin a bit, giving him clear sight of the woman. He rushed forward, no longer bothering to conceal his presence. The twigs cracking underfoot alerted her, and she turned toward him with wide eyes.
For a beat, she was perfectly still. Then, she broke out in a desperate run. The speed with which she moved was unnatural, borne of a prey animal’s survival instincts.
“Yer runnin’ isnae doin’ ye any favors,” he growled, jumping over a fallen log as she darted toward a dense cluster of trees.
She didn’t speak, but her breathing was so ragged and loud that he could track her by sound alone. Her exhaustion hadn’t lessened. Her body was still weak.
I cannae deny her feral gumption, though. She’s like an animal that refuses to be caged.
He anticipated her next move, spotting a group of bushes that was low to the ground to their right. With a controlled step, he changed course. His hands shot out, gripping the hem of her gown and sending her to the dirt.
A wheeze escaped her lips as her hands scrambled for purchase, her nails digging little trails into the earth. He stepped over her, looking down at her, seeing a wounded creature that was relentless in her fight for autonomy. This was the strength, the spirit, that had kept her alive when his men had failed to find her during their first sweep of the land.
And I suppose I have to be grateful for it. If it werenae for this, I wouldnae have found her alive.
Taking pity on her, he pulled her upright. Even being caught didn’t dull the fight in her. She lashed out, her nails scratching at his flesh, her bare feet slamming against his shins and ankles. A wild sound tore from her throat, frustration, anger, and defeat all wrapped up into one animalistic noise.
“Easy,” he growled, wrapping his arms around her to restrict her movements.
