Page 46 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

“Long time no see!” hissed Marcas, his pale green eyes sneering at the pair of them.

Neacal thrashed his head around. Following hard behind Marcas’s horse were two others, the sound of hooves growing ever louder by the minute.

All he could think about was pulling away, as hard and fast as he could. Inside, he was cursing for not having seen this coming. He might have known that the Laird’s men would come looking for him, and someone like Marcas would not be idle for long.

“An’ who’s the bonnie lassie? Ye nae wi’ that harlot ye were running wi’ last time ye were here?” said Marcas, eyeing Teasag in a lairy fashion. “Och, she’s an improvement!” he said, in fake approving tones.

Neacal felt Teasag’s fingers dig deeper into his midriff as they rounded the bend to the valley - the flat vistas now replaced by the slopes and curves of a glen.

As he surged past the black horse Marcas was riding, Neacal gave him a sharp push, sending him flying into the roadside.

“Hold on!” he yelled to Teasag, who shut her eyes and was clinging onto Neacal for all she was worth.

Neacal rode even harder, pressing the poor beleaguered mare within an inch of her life. With the twist and turns of the road, it was impossible to see what was happening behind him.

By now, Neacal had abandoned the path for Blackness and headed in any direction to get away from them.

Behind him, he felt Teasag’s fingers dig in deeply, assuring him that she was still there. Without waiting to look, Neacal pulled ahead, trying to get as much clear road between them and Marcas’s men.

“Are ye alright, lassie?” asked Neacal urgently. He permitted himself a quick glance to check that everything was alright, but he really couldn’t risk taking his eyes off the road for long.

All the same, the stab of fear in Teasag’s eyes gave him all the confirmation he needed. The poor lass was terrified.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said, riding hard to get away from the riders. His mind was a jumble of thoughts. If only he hadn’t accepted Teasag’s invitation to travel with him!

She would have been well on her way by now, with either the cartman or the friendly blacksmith. Either way, she would have been much safer with them rather than trapped here with him.

“Dinnae be a dafty,” Teasag said, casting her words fiercely into the raging skies around them. “How could ye have kent this would happen, none o’ this is yer fault?”

Pulling away from the riders, Neacal rounded the bend, his hands cropped close against the horse’s reins. But Teasag’s words continued to ring in his ears.

None o’ this is yer fault. Her words sounded plausible, but Neacal’s heart ached with guilt. It was his fault, and he should have seen it coming.

As the gap cleared between them and the horsemen, Neacal brought his hand over to hers and held it there awhile. Teasag’s touch was sleek and as soft as velvet.

Just as it seemed they had put just enough distance between them and the riders, a jolt almost shook them from the horse.

“Move an inch an’ I’ll slit yer throat,” snarled a voice.

This time, Neacal didn’t dare turn around. Up against his chin was a blade, as a thick pair of arms wrestled with him.

A third rider appeared from nowhere, and Neacal battled against the wind to push the pair away.

For a few minutes, there was a tussle, with the man’s blade jabbing him in the throat. He couldn’t turn and look, but Teasag’s firm hands around his waist told him she was still with him. Neacal began to wriggle away.

The scowling man brought his face up close, his thin lips hardening into a line. “Ye’ll nae get awa’ from us, ye wee scunner! This time, yer goose is cooked!”

Still in the man’s grip, Neacal was just beginning to slide away from his thick arms when he tried again to grab at his throat.

In so doing, he lost his grasp on the sword he was wielding, which fell almost straight into Neacal’s lap.

“Nae ye dinnae!” hollered Neacal, grabbing at the sword. Immediately he lunged at the dark-haired man’s throat, as, somewhere in the distance, the pursuant riders beckoned closer.

He thrust the black-haired brigand back out into the wailing winds, now whipping along the ravine. As the bend tightened, Neacal could no longer see his assailant—or his band —but quickly permitted himself another brief check on Teasag.

“Keep going!” she shrilled, clutching on tightly and almost hissing into his ear.

“Nae fash,” said Neacal, under his breath. “I’m nae going to stop noo, lassie, but…”