Page 4 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

The boy hurried toward the festival with Ness trotting beside him, and Ceana watched until he passed the nearest guard and disappeared among the tents. His voice carried back to her as he called for his father.

He should be safe. She didn’t need to worry anymore. Or should she? Should she have made sure he found his father? Should she have⁠—

“Lady Daphne?” a man spoke behind her.

Ceana turned and recognized the gray half-mask. The second man stood several steps to his left, his scarred hands hanging loose at his sides. Together, they blocked the clearest path toward the festival.

The man in gray waited. “Are ye Lady Daphne?”

Ceana could deny it. The truth might send them away, though it could also expose Daphne’s disappearance before Ceana knew whom they served. She tightened her fingers around the edge of the cloak and lifted her chin.

“Aye,” she replied. “Are ye here to take me to me betrothed?”

The men exchanged looks. “Somethin’ like that.”

Nay.

Something was wrong.

She stepped backward, ready to make a run for it, but the scarred man seized her arm while the other pulled a coarse sack from beneath his cloak. She twisted and drove her heel toward the scarred man’s shin, but Daphne’s fine shoe slipped on the uneven ground.

“Careful,” the man in gray snapped. “We were ordered nae to hurt her.”

Ceana drew breath to scream. The sack, however, dropped over her head before the sound escaped. Coarse fabric scraped her face and pressed against her mouth as she fought for air.

She struck at the hands holding her, kicked blindly, and tried to shout that they had made a mistake. One of the men caught her around the waist, and her feet left the ground.

CHAPTER 2

Oscar drew the stone along his blade and listened to the festival beyond the canvas walls of his tent.

The wave of music rose from the central grounds, broken by laughter whenever someone passed the guarded entrance. The celebrations would end before morning, and Angus MacWatt was expected to leave with a new bride. Oscar intended for him to leave with questions instead.

He turned the blade toward the lamp and inspected the edge. He had sent two men to bring Lady Daphne Tulloch to this tent unharmed. Once she was secured, Angus would receive a message demanding the truth about Muriel. The abduction gave Oscar leverage while avoiding an open challenge during the festival’s safe-conduct week.

Lennan stood near the entrance with his arms folded. “There will be questions once Clan Morrag discovers their lady is missin’.”

“That is the purpose.”

“The rules may keep Angus from drawin’ a sword here, but it willnae keep his faither from callin’ this an insult.”

Oscar set the stone beside its leather wrap. “Then Bryce MacWatt may add his outrage to the growin’ pile of things I daenae care about.”

He had already chosen the guards who would watch Daphne and the route his men would use when they left the festival grounds. The woman would remain comfortable and protected while Angus decided how much Muriel’s safety was worth. Oscar expected frightened protests from a noblewoman who had been taken hours before her betrothal. He had planned for those as well.

Soon enough, the sound of hurried footsteps approached outside. A woman’s muffled cry rose above them, followed by the hard impact of a shoulder or foot against one of the tent supports. The canvas shook.

Oscar stood with the blade still in his hand.

The flap opened, and his men dragged a masked woman inside. One held her by the upper arm while the other pulled the sack from her head. She twisted between them and struck at the scarred man’s chest. He shoved her forward hard enough that she fell on one knee and caught herself with her palm.

Oscar crossed the tent before either man could touch her again. Mud darkened the hem of her green gown, and one sleeve had torn near the wrist. Red marks circled the arm the guard had released.

“I should try this on ye for hurtin’ her,” Oscar grunted, lifting the sharpened blade. “Me order was to bring her. That wasnae hard to do, was it?”

“She fought us, me Laird,” the scarred man replied, his chest heaving from the struggle. “She nearly took out me eye through the sack.”

Oscar exhaled and threw his head back. “Ye were warned to expect resistance. If two trained men cannae manage one woman without bruisin’ her, then I have chosen the wrong men.”