Page 5 of Trapped By the Exiled Bastard

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Keir twisted as they fell so that the woman’s body was on top of his, preventing her from taking the worst of the impact of the fall. They landed hard exactly where he had calculated, on the slatted, slanted roof of the storage shed that jutted out from the main building of the tavern.

The air escaped his lungs as they fell and the pain in his side was blinding, but Keir still had the presence of mind to grab hold of the woman and hold her close to him as they rolled down off the unbalanced roof and fell again, slamming into the ground.

They lay there for a moment, her completely silent for the first time, him trying desperately to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he collected himself enough to push her off him and get back to his feet, ignoring the aching in his bones and the burning agony in his wounds. He knew he must be bleeding freely again, but he didn’t have time to think about it, not anymore. He had to get himself and this girl as far from here as possible before Eamon Grant arrived, or she had the presence of mind to escape him.

He could not risk leaving her here, not now that she knew who he was.

Not until he had a chance to get far enough away that it would no longer matter.

The girl was trying to stand up, but her bound hands were making it difficult. Keir leaned down and yanked her up, gripping her arm as he did. She shook him off, glaring at him. “Ye could have killed us both,” she reproached. “If I scream now—”

“Ye screamed as we fell and nobody came. Nae doubt they thought ye a woman lost in pleasure in a rented room. I’m sure they’re familiar with such sounds,” Keir replied. He hadn’t meant to sound so disparaging, but his words hit home nonetheless. She closed her mouth, her cheeks coloring even in the dark. He wondered just how many lassies just like this one Eamon Grant had whispered promises to in the rooms of this very inn. He reached out and took her arm again. “Come.”

She didn’t pull away, but he could practically feel the rage flaring from her as he half-led, half-dragged her away, ignoring the way that his insides burned and his head grew lighter as his lifeblood drained from his wounds. As they passed the side of the tavern, he stopped, seeing a row of horses tied to posts and patiently awaiting their riders.

The girl stopped, and her eyes widened. “Nightwind!” she exclaimed, then froze, guilt written all over her expression.

Keir followed her gaze and found a jet black horse with the Grant regalia emblazoned on its saddle. He smiled, ignoring the exhaustion threatening to drag him down. “Is that his horse, then?” he asked. “I’m sure it’s one of many. He willnae miss it.”

She gaped at him. “Dinnae ye dare.”

But Keir was already pulling her toward the horses, and despite her protests he hauled her onto the animal’s back, her resistance useless in her still-bound state.

Nightwind was surprisingly obedient to his commands, and Keir wondered how much time this woman had spent around the creature to instill such calm within it. Was she one of Grant’s favorite lovers, then? Of course, she would be, just to complicate his life even more.

He managed to climb into the saddle with some difficulty, and they set off quickly into the night, racing away from the inn before the Grant heir could notice that his horse and his mistress were both gone. The lass’ hostility had quieted, but he still felt it burning from her as they sped toward the borders of Grant territory. Every jolt of the horse was more painful to Keir, and the pain was getting overwhelming, but he dared not stop or think or even breathe until they were too far for it to matter.

He had to escape. He had to get this girl, who was as bonny as was annoying, away from here.

Swearing under his breath, he blanched at the irony of the situation. Not so long ago, he’d attacked his brother for showing up at camp with a stolen young woman who he’d thought had been nothing but a helpless prisoner.

And now, here he was, with a captive lass of his own. One who his eyes could not help settling on, who his body kept reacting to even as he tried to block any sort of thoughts from his mind.

The shame threatened to drown him, but he pushed it away.

If he didn’t get her far away, she’d get him killed. And Keir had to live long enough to find his brothers. No matter what the cost.

Elin had no idea how long they’d been riding when Keir finally slowed Nightwind to a halt. She was sure they must be past the borders of Grant territory, but she had no idea how far they were from civilization nor which direction she would even go to find her way home. Cold, sore, terrified, and furious, she stayed still and silent as Keir slid off the horse, and she refused to speak or help him as he lifted her down and set her on her feet.

He frowned as he looked into her tearstained face. “What’s yer name?” he asked.

She glared at him, disbelief in her every pore. “Me name? What use have ye for me name?”

Keir raised an eyebrow. “Ye have mine. Suit yerself.” He grunted. “Do I need tae tie ye up even further or will ye stay still while I tend tae this accursed injury?”

She wanted to snap back at him, but what was the point? She couldn’t run. He’d catch her before she got more than a few steps away. Her wrists ached from the bindings, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was hurting. Instead, she lifted her chin. “Ye’ve lost a lot of blood.”

He snorted as he peeled off his shirt. Elin drew in a breath through her teeth. His body was covered in small cuts, but the freely bleeding wound in his side was worse than she’d expected. She knew she should probably feel a sadistic glee, but instead, she had to look away, horrified by the injury.

“I’ll be fine. Just needs another bandage,” he told her. Then, voice thick with irony, he added, “I appreciate yer concern, though.”

Elin narrowed her eyes. “Me only concern is that ye willnae bleed out fast enough tae let me go before ye succeed in yer plans for me. What will ye do? Will ye keep me as a hostage? Will ye write tae Eamon tae try tae sell me back? I doubt ye’re above such things.”

Keir chuckled as though he found this very funny. “Eamon Grant has nothin’ I want. And besides, what would I say in me letter? Dear Eamon, I have one of yer many Sarahs or Annies or Maggies—”

She whipped her head back to him, her anger burning once more. “Me name is Elin, and ye willnae continue tae insult me in this way.”