Page 23 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

Alexander had cursed to himself. If he had found this camp before she had done something stupid, like escape on her own, it would have been easy to quietly extract her. Her going out into the forest, alone and likely as blind to its secrets as he, was more of a challenge.

But part of him had been pleased as he rushed from tree to tree, dodging the groups of men and hoping they would lead him straight to her. The lass had escaped, which had meant that she had not intended to be taken, as part of him had feared.

One man had shouted up an alarm, calling all of the other searchers in the area to him. Alexander had cursed and dropped down the hill to avoid the men all converging on one area. He didn’t have a death wish, after all. But then, as they continued to shout and run about, he realized that they hadn’t found her. The lead had been false. Alexander rushed ahead of them, planning on circling round the base of the hill of which they were at the top, when he had heard running on his opposite side.

He pursued and, sure enough, it led him straight to her. The bruises she had given him for coming upon her silently were well worth the feeling of calm that had washed over him, easing away all of the pain of the day and making him feel as if such a pain could never exist again.

Unless, the bitter piece of his mind whispered, she’ll one day run from you the same way that she had run from them.

The lass had, after all, not been running toward Mackay lands. She had been headed straight east, back toward the Gunns. Maybe she had been fighting him with the genuine hope of getting away.

Alexander tightened his grip on her hand, unwilling to let go.

“Ouch, Alexander, not so hard,” she said in a whisper.

“Sorry, lass,” he replied, though he wasn’t sorry at all and only barely loosened his grip.

“Where are we going?”

“Just over this hill,” Alexander replied. “We’re almost on Mackay lands, where I ken the forest far better and have the perfect spot to hide for the night.”

The place in question was a large rock that jutted nearly twelve feet off the ground. Overtop of it were draped a million vines and coatings of moss so thick that he used to peel them from the rock’s side and use them to make pretend armor.

Alexander reached forward and ran his hands along the vines until he found the spot where the firmness gave way and his hand slipped through. With a few soft tugs to loosen the places where the leaves had knotted themselves to their neighbors, Alexander managed to pull the vines aside, revealing a small crevice that was just large enough for him to squeeze through. He led the way, and then Margaret followed.

The inside of the rock was hollow, with a narrow opening at the top, as if it were a cave dug from the side of a mountain and set on end. Margaret looked up, her green eyes just barely catching the moonlight as she stared at the starry night overhead. The ground on the inside of the rock was just wide enough for two or three people to lay comfortably side by side.

“How did you ken about this place?” Margaret asked while Alexander reached past her to shift the vines back over the opening.

“My mother’s family lives not far from here. One of my uncles used to bring me here to camp when we were on hunting trips. He always said it was a family secret, and I havena reason to doubt it. We should be safe here,” Alexander said, reaching out to touch her once more, as he could think of nothing better to do with his hands. He trailed his fingers around the outside of her face and then down her neck, where he felt copper locks that had slipped from the braid. Then his hand slid down her neck, arriving at her collarbone and trailing outward until he reached the stiff cotton hem of her dress.

Except, now that he was looking at it, it wasn’t her dress at all. Whereas the green would have caught and absorbed all of the soft moonlight, this dress seemed to reflect it. And, furthermore, it was far smaller than he remembered.

“Are you only in your shift?” he asked, a bit delighted.

“Tis a kirtle, which many women wear without another dress over it.”

“I am not saying tis a bad thing,” he teased, and she knocked his shoulder softly with her hand.

“Now is not the time to flirt,” she chastised.

Alexander smiled, hoping she was doing the same. Then, his smile faltered. Why was she stripped down to her kirtle? There were so few reasons that could have explained it and the one that was most likely was the one that he feared the most.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked suddenly, reaching for her again and pulling her toward him, as if he would suddenly gain the power to see in the dark and examine her for wounds. “Did they force themselves upon you?”

“Nay,” she replied, grabbing his hands in hers and pulling them away from her arms, away from her. “Nothing was forced upon me.”

The words struck Alexander, and he asked, “Did you ken the men that took you?”

“The men that took me? Nay,” Margaret said, after a bit of hesitation. And Alexander did not miss the emphasis on the word took.

So, you didna ken the men that took you, but you did ken someone else, Alexander thought, wishing he had the bravery to make the statement aloud.

“Did they tell you why they took you?”

She hesitated again, then said, “Aye.”

“And?”