Page 3 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

The first night they'd made camp in familiar territory, the soldiers laughing around their fire as they shared stories and ale. The Captain had even allowed her to walk about freely, knowing no harm would come to a MacDuff lass on MacDuff lands.

But as the second day wore on and the landscape began to change—the hills growing sharper, the forests thicker, darker—so did the mood of their party.

"How much farther tae the border?" Morag asked as the afternoon light began to slant golden through the carriage window.

"We should reach Armstrong lands by dusk, m'lady. We'll camp just inside their territory tonight, then make fer the castle come morning," one of the men riding just outside her window answered.

Morag nodded. Through the window, she watched the Captain's posture change as he rode ahead—his shoulders tense, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt. What had been easy conversation between the soldiers had died to sharp, clipped exchanges.

"We are on the edge of Fraser territory now. God help us pass this stretch safely. Hamish," she heard him call softly. "Eyes on the tree line."

The youngest soldier, who'd just spoken, now rode with his bow strung and ready across his saddle. The change was subtle but unmistakable. These were men preparing for eventual trouble.

Faither, why did ye send me here?

CHAPTER TWO

"Isla," Morag said quietly, "are ye fast?"

"What?" The maid's brown eyes went wide. "M'lady, why would ye⁠—"

"Answer me. When ye run, are ye fast?"

"Aye, I run fast enough, but⁠—"

"Good. Ye may soon need tae be."

Isla's face had gone pale. "M'lady, ye're frightening me."

Morag leaned forward and gripped the girl's hands. "Listen tae me carefully. If something happens—anything at all—ye dinnae worry about me. Ye run, and ye keep running until ye find help. Dae ye understand?"

"But I cannae leave ye⁠—"

"Ye can and ye will. That's nae a request, Isla. That's an order."

The Captain’s voice cut through the air like a blade, stopping any further protest. "Ho there! State yer business!"

Morag's hand instinctively went to the dagger her mother had given to her. She waved a palm, indicating Isla should stay back. She leaned forward, pressing her face to the window. Ahead, she could see figures emerging from the forest. Armed men with weapons drawn.

Too many weapons. Too many men.

The carriage jerked to a sudden halt.

"Stay down," Their Captain commanded, his voice carrying that battlefield authority Morag remembered from her childhood. "Protect the lady!"

She heard the rasp of steel being drawn, the nervous whicker of horses, the creak of leather as men shifted in their saddles. Her own pulse began to thunder in her ears.

"What dae they want?" Isla whispered, her voice barely audible.

Morag's hand found her dagger again. "I dinnae think they're here tae wish us well. Remember what I said tae ye. When ye get the chance, run and dinnae look back."

Through the window, she caught glimpses of movement. There were men in rough leathers circling their small party like wolves. The Captain was shouting something, but the words were lost in the sudden chaos of battle cries and clashing steel.

"Get down!" Morag hissed, pulling Isla toward the floor of the carriage.

The world exploded into violence. Shouts. The scream of horses. The wet sound of blade meeting flesh. And then⁠—

Thwack.