Page 5 of Under the Laird’s Promise

New riders poured into the clearing. Six of them, maybe seven, all wearing colors that made her blood turn to ice.

Sinclair green and black.

The colors she'd learned to recognize from across any hall, any field. The colors that appeared in her nightmares, paired with Keir's cold smile and colder eyes.

"Stand down!" A voice cut through the chaos, commanding and cold. "Lady MacEwan is under Sinclair protection!"

Maighread's blood turned to ice. She knew that voice.

Keir Sinclair himself sat astride a black destrier at the edge of the clearing, sword drawn, his dark hair slick with rain. He looked exactly as she remembered—sharp features, grey eyes that missed nothing, handsome in a cold, calculated way that made her skin crawl.

Protection. The word hit her gut like a fist.

This was it. The trap. These weren't bandits at all. This whole thing had been orchestrated. The attack, the chase, the convenient rescue. Keir arriving at precisely the right moment to play hero while pretending she was a grateful, helpless maiden.

Except she was neither grateful nor helpless, and she'd be damned before she let them drag her back like a prize heifer.

Maighread shoved to her feet. Her legs trembled but held. Keir guided his horse closer, his gaze fixed on her.

"Lady MacEwan." His voice gentled, taking on a tone of concern that didn't reach his eyes. "We've been searching fer ye. Yer faither needs ye home. Please, let us escort ye safely back where ye belong."

"Stay back." She stumbled away from him, scanning the ground for her dirk. Where had it fallen? There, half buried in mud and pine needles.

Keir dismounted, approaching with his hands raised like she was a spooked animal. "Me lady, ye're injured. Let us help ye. We'll take ye tae safety, get ye warm and fed and⁠—"

"I said stay back!" She snatched up her dirk and whirled to face them. Six men against one exhausted woman. Shite odds. But she'd cut the first bastard who tried to touch her.

The remaining attackers took one look at Keir and his armed men and bolted. They scattered into the forest like rats, crashing through the undergrowth in their haste to escape. Within moments, the clearing fell quiet except for the sound of rain and her own ragged breathing.

"Lady MacEwan, please." Keir took another step closer. Blood streaked his face but his expression stayed gentle, concerned. "Ye're safe now. We'll take ye home tae yer faither safely."

Her mind raced through the possibilities. Keir had arranged the attack. Paid men to play bandits, sent his own soldiers to "save" her. Now she'd owe him a life debt. Now the Council could argue she needed a strong husband for protection. Now Keir could press his suit with the full weight of clan obligation behind him.

Clever bastard.

Maighread didn't wait to hear more. She turned and ran.

CHAPTER TWO

"Lady MacEwan's trying tae run," he called out. "Someone grab her before she hurts herself. Keir willnae be pleased if we return her with more bruises than necessary."

Before she hurts herself. Like she was a child. Like she was witless.

Rage flooded her veins, hot and clarifying.

Maighread didn't wait to hear more. She turned and ran.

Behind her, men shouted. Hooves thundered. But she knew those forests, had ridden them since childhood. She ducked under branches, leaped over roots, ignored the thorns tearing at her skirts.

"After her! Dinnae let her escape!"

Her lungs burned. Her legs screamed. But terror drove her forward, gave her strength she shouldn't possess.

A stream appeared ahead, the same one she'd crossed earlier. She splashed through it without slowing, soaking her already muddy skirts to the knee.

"Fan out! She can't have gone far!"

They were close. Too close. She could hear their cursing, their boots crashing through the undergrowth.