Page 72 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

There. There is me wife.

Every instinct screamed at him to charge forward, to close the distance and cut them down where they stood. His hand went to his sword hilt, fingers tightening on the familiar grip. Seven men. He'd faced worse odds before.

"I see them," Hamish whispered, reining in beside Colin.

"Aye. Six riders, moving toward Fraser territory, plus Morag." Colin's hand went to his sword hilt, but his voice remained controlled. "We could take them, but nae without risking Morag's life."

"What are yer orders?"

Think, ye fool. Think like a laird, nae like a man half-mad with love.

Morag's life depended on him being smarter than his desperation. Colin studied the terrain, his military mind working through possibilities.

"We follow at distance. See where they're taking her. Then we make our move when the odds are better."

Colin's mind raced through possibilities, calculating distances and timing with the cold precision that had kept him alive through a dozen battles. "Ride back. Find Niven and the others and tell them the plan.

"And ye, me laird?"

"We’re going ahead." Colin's voice was granite. "We'll track them, see where they're taking her. But Hamish—" He caught the younger man's arm. "If there's nay word from me, tell Niven tae assume we're dead and act accordingly. The clan comes first."

Without waiting for a response, Colin spurred his destrier forward, his five companions following close behind. Behind them, he heard Hamish wheel his horse around and thunder back toward Niven, carrying the laird’s word.

The chase resumed with deadly intensity. Colin pushed his horse to the very edge of endurance, closing the gap between them and his quarry with each passing mile. The Fraser men would be confident now, convinced they'd outrun any immediate pursuit. Their pace had slowed slightly, giving their mounts a chance to recover.

Arrogant bastards. Ye think ye've won already.

But even as Colin and his men gained ground, he could see the landmarks that marked the approach to Fraser territory. The standing stones that had marked the ancient boundaries, the burned-out croft that Fraser had destroyed in his first raid against Armstrong lands. They were almost there.

Come on, come on. Just a little more time.

His destrier was breathing hard now, foam flecking the great horse's neck. But the animal's heart was as fierce as his master's, and he didn't falter. Step by step, yard by yard, they closed the distance.

Colin could see Morag now, a small figure pressed against one of the riders. Even at this distance, he could tell she was bound, helpless. The sight sent fresh rage coursing through his veins, hot and pure and deadly.

I'm coming, lass. Hold on.

But the ancient marker stones were looming ahead, and beyond them lay Fraser lands proper. Once they crossed that boundary, Colin and his small party would be riding into enemy territory, and all they could hope for was that their reinforcement would arrive quickly enough.

The logical part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to wait for his men, to approach the confrontation with strategy rather than emotion. But the husband in him, the man who'd held Morag in his arms just that morning, couldn't bear the thought of letting her disappear into Fraser's stronghold.

Just a little closer. If I can get within bowshot...

That's when he saw them.

At first, it was just a glint of metal in the fading light. Then more—spear points catching the last rays of sun, the dull gleam of mail and leather. As Colin crested the final hill before Fraser territory, the sight that greeted him stopped his heart cold.

An armed camp sprawled across the valley below, easily two hundred men strong. Banners flew from improvised poles—the Fraser colors snapping in the evening breeze like predatory birds. Cook fires dotted the encampment, sending thin streams of smoke into the darkening sky.

This wasn't a raiding party. This was an army.

Christ preserve us. They've been planning this fer weeks.

The scope of Fraser's ambition hit Colin like a physical blow. This wasn't just about kidnapping Morag or even about revenge for the MacDuff alliance. Fraser meant to crush Clan Armstrong entirely.

And they were riding straight into the heart of it.

Colin watched in helpless fury as the riders carrying his wife approached the camp's perimeter. Sentries called out challenges and received responses. Torches flared to life as the camp stirred with activity, men emerging from tents to see what prize their fellows had brought back.