Page 36 of Taken By the Exiled Laird

Theon raced through the forest toward the clearing where they'd practiced with knives, hoping against hope that he'd find her there. The rain had stopped, but the ground was thick and stodgy, his feet sinking in with every step, but he didn't stop running, even when his lungs burned in his chest. He rushed past the clearing when he saw she wasn't there, racing toward the place in the river where he'd taken her to bathe, wondering where else she could possibly be, praying that he'd find her before it was too late.

How could he have been such a fool? How could he have not seen what he needed to see?

All the pieces had been laid out before him, but it had taken him until now, when it might be too late, to put them together. He called out Briana's name over and over, her name dancing with the wind, but there was no answer, and soon he was too winded to even shout. He didn't stop, pushing past the burgeoning exhaustion. He couldn't give up.

Then he saw it—a piece of emerald green fabric stuck on a thorn, darkened and weighed down by the storm but still fluttering in the wind.

He jogged over to it and picked it up, recognizing the soft material in an instant. He'd seen that color so many times, awake and asleep, reflected to him from eyes that saw him in a way nobody else ever had.

With renewed vigor, he searched around and there they were: bootprints in the rain-softened ground, erratic and stumbling, aiming directly into the bramble. Theon set off again, racing through the thick forest as fast as he could, impatiently pushing past branches and thorns and other obstacles. Ahead, he could hear the rushing of the water where the small burn became a roaring river, and his throat caught as he imagined terrible scenes where Briana was washed away by the water. Trying to clear his mind of such a thought, he ran the last few feet to the shore.

And there, behind the boulder, was Briana. She was soaked to the bone and pale, her eyes red and her hair and dress a mess, her cheeks stained by tears and her body shaking. He almost collapsed then and there with sheer relief, but he couldn't even approach before the sound reached him.

Movement.

Voices.

Men's voices.

They were here. The Camerons were here.

Theon didn't wait. He ran despite his protesting muscles and lungs, reaching Briana's side in an instant.

She was trembling, her eyes wide as she stared toward the forest where the voices were getting closer, but the fear was replaced by shock as he appeared at her side. Theon didn't have the breath left to talk to her. He reached down and pulled her to her feet, then clasped her hand and kept running.

She raced behind him, gripping him tightly, and despite the danger, the warmth of their connection spurred Theon on.

A little up from the bank of the river, Theon saw the mouth of a cave half-hidden behind a few trees. It was the best they could do in the circumstances, and so he pulled Briana inside, not stopping until they were deep in the hidden cavern. Letting go of her hand, he returned to the entrance and used the branches and leaves to complete the covering of the entrance, hiding them together in temporary safety. When he was sure it was safe, or as safe as it was going to get, he moved back into the depths of the cave, where Briana waited wide-eyed.

He tried to speak, but his body gave out at last. With one look at her, he collapsed to the ground, wheezing heavily as his lungs tried to catch breath and his muscles forced him to relax. The smooth rock was cool against his cheek, and though he wasn't actually unconscious, Theon suddenly felt himself in a dreamlike state. He rolled onto his back, his chest heaving.

"Theon," Briana whispered. "Ye came."

He wheezed out a laugh. "Of course I did," he replied.

Without another word, she sat down beside him. And though he ached and burned, Theon felt whole.

Chapter Sixteen

Half an hour later, the two of them sat at the back of the cave, their backs against the stone wall, close to each other but not touching. Briana had dried off a little, though her dress felt uncomfortable against her skin, and she shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Theon had his head in his hands and he was muttering to himself under his breath.

"If ye want tae say somethin', will ye please just say it?" Briana demanded at last. "I cannae stand this awkwardness. If ye wish tae criticize me⁠—"

"I do wish tae criticize ye!" Theon snapped. "Reckless woman. Ye could have been caught. Hurt. Killed. Worse. Do ye understand that? Do ye understand what they might have done tae ye?"

Bristling with indignation, Briana snapped right back at him. "Ye have no idea how much I understand. How aware I am of how men treat women in their power, how much I have seen. How much I have endured."

"Then why run?" Theon raised his hands in frustration. "Why flee with nae cloak, nae weapon, nae anythin'? Do ye think ye're above danger? Or do ye simply nae fear the risk?"

"What do ye care what I fear or what I risk?" Briana cried. "What am I tae ye? I dinnae understand why ye're even here, unless yer hostage plan is so important tae ye that…"

She trailed off as Theon shook his head and sighed deeply. He reached into his tartan and drew something out—two folded pieces of paper, sealed with wax. He held them out, and Briana took them, suspicion and curiosity heavy upon her. She broke the seal on one of them and unfolded the letter, her eyes racing over the words as she took them in.

Laird MacFarlane,

We will not insult either of us by mincing our words…

Briana lowered the letter, her heart constricting as she understood what she held. Her fingers trembling, she whispered. "This is… these are the letters. The ones ye were tae send tae put yer plan in place. Why do ye still have them?"