The Highlander's Kiss (Highland Legacy Book 2) Page 3

  “Try running, and ye’ll find an arrow buried in yer own throat.”

  She stayed silent. Her heart was racing too much to speak. The only thing her mind could think of to do was escape—but they had already shot her horse. She doubt they would think twice about shooting her.

  Rogues. They were rogues and were going to take all of her possessions—she had heard stories of men that did this, roaming the Highlands in order to catch unsuspecting females and travelers. There were rogues that did not kill their victims, but then…there were. By the look of the men surrounding her, these rogues would kill.

  Her heart met her stomach in a painful battle of wills as to which would cost the most damage. She should have listened to her mother—she should not have defied her and gone on the ride. She should have stayed at the castle.

  But it was too late for the “should have”s, wasn’t it?

  Blay clutched her horse’s mane tightly, remembering that she was dressed as a male. They would no’ rape and kill a male, would they? She thanked Connor for his unintentional foresight.

  “Get off the horse, woman.”

  Never mind about the thanking of his unintentional foresight. Connor was a master of disguise, so these men…they had known beforehand what her plans were. And they had chosen now to attack.

  But why?

  Hands shaking, she unthreaded them from her poor mare, trying to whisper reassuring words but failing. Her lips were trembling too much to create a coherent sentence.

  She slid her leg over her horses back, just as she went to her knees. Her breathing was labored. Blay stared at her struggling horse and felt a rage so profound, she knew the second she could, she would hurt them for what they had done.

  Another man came forward. She couldn’t differentiate between any of them. They were all painted black, all wearing the same plaid, all had the same brute-strength bodies, and were all riding astride black horses. The sun was beginning to set, making it too dark for her to see their eyes.

  All in all, she was not in a good position.

  Hadn’t been since she’d woken up, actually, but now her situation was even more dire.

  “Take off the cap,” one ordered. “I need to see that ye’ are who we think ye’ are.”

  “We saw the two of them—”

  “Quiet,” he bellowed. “Take off the damn cap.”

  Without a word, she did as she was told. The anger inside of her began to grow, until her breathing was ragged, and she couldn’t see a thing through the red haze overcoming her vision.

  Her long, black braid fell down to her back, and a collective grunt came from the men around her.

  Something hit her square in the chest. “Take the dirt off yer face.”

  She held the skin of what she assumed was water, staring at who was obviously the leader, holding his gaze. She was aware of every single movement, of every single breath. The first thing she had forced her father to do after her husband had died was teach her how to defend herself.

  She wasn’t as good as her mother, and never would be, but she knew enough.

  There were too many men for her to attempt to fight, and she had no weapons, but one of the things that he’d imprinted on her was being aware of their every movement. Too many men would be dangerous to fight, but at least she knew when they were ready to attack so she could try to make her escape through the commotion.

  Her idea of a grand escape was as unrealistic as childhood stories of the fey.

  There was no possible way she was going to get out of this—right now. If they were planning to kill her, then…she didn’t know what she would do. If she waited till nightfall, until the majority of them were asleep—she wouldn’t lie to herself and think they would leave her unguarded—then she had a chance. However, she doubted they were going to kill her. Why would they bother making her reveal who she really was if they were?

  Nay. They obviously knew who she was—and they wanted something from her father.

  There was a greedy look in all of their eyes. Greedy, malicious, vicious. It turned her cold to see it on their faces, knowing that she was at their beck and call, lest she be hurt.

  “Wipe off. The damn. Dirt,” the leader grated.

  She swallowed thickly, debating whether she wanted to defy him right then. The men began to shift on their horses…and she poured some water into her hands, letting extra amounts of it fall to the ground.

  She swiped her hands over one side of her face, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the wetness off, then repeated with the other side. This time, when she was done cleaning her face, there was no water in the skin. She chucked the empty skin at his face, pressing her lips when he growled with displeasure. She couldn’t have cared less.

  “Tis her. Get the rope.”

  If her heart hadn’t been beating like a horses’ before, it was now. Somehow, she managed to stay calm through it all. She stayed still as two men dismounted from their horses. She stayed still when they bound her wrists and hands, and when they put a black cloth in her mouth.

  “If ye’ try to escape, yer goin’ to have a lot more to worry about than yer damn horse.” The men mounted their horses, and she looked at her own. The sanguine blood was stark against her white coat, but her breathing was less labored. The arrow hadn’t gone all the way through—only an inch or so was in. She wanted to think it was the shock of the hit that had brought her horse down, and when the mare began to move her legs in an attempt to get up, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  She was going to be okay, Blay thought. Thank God.

  “Start walking, Lady Blayne. We donna have time for this.” The rope that was tied to her hands was tugged, and her attention snapped back to the men. They were going to make her walk? Her stomach roiled. She had no clue how far the trip was, or where they were even going—but she had to walk.

  As she was forced to follow them or be dragged on the ground, hate and rage boiled in her gut.

  These pieces of shite were going to pay….as soon as it was time.

  One does not simply harm a horse, with no care to its health. In fact, one does not simply harm any animal, with or without concern. If the animal had not been harmed, there would be no reason for above. And the only thing swirling in her head was the condition of her poor mare, and the fright she must be feeling.

  Blay hoped she made it back home safely. The men who captured her were stupid, plain and simple. Utterly stupid. What kind of rogues would allow a horse with no rider to roam free? The horse would eventually roam back to where it called home, and then it would make everyone aware that something had happened to Blay.

  And if anything happened to Blay, her father went insane. Not only that, but her mother had a temper that even Blay had never witnessed, and though the two of them were at odds, Saeran still loved her, and would go through hell to get her back.

  She wouldn’t let their worry be in vain. No, as she lay there on the hard, cold ground, her fingers twisted together and the rope digging into her skin, she was plotting her escape; and it would be as grand as a fey story, though much more gruesome.

  As she had stated before: one does not simply harm an animal, and that is exactly what these imbeciles had done.

  She would avenge her poor beast, and in the most drastic of measures. The fury she felt inside her only grew greater with each passing moment, along with the sounds of their jovial laughter.

  They thought they had done some great deed today. They thought they had captured a delicate little female who had not a single bone in her body. Well, they were wrong—and they were going to find out just how wrong, as soon as they stopped with their drunken antics and passed out.

  She didn’t think the time could come soon enough.

  “I need a soft body to keep me warm,” a man grunted.

  “Oh, aye. Several of them, in fact.” There were several grunts of approval. Her back stiffened. She might be a virgin, but she knew enough from her first marriage that when a man wanted a “warm body,�
�� they normally meant…

  “There’s one right over there. A good fuck would do her well, do no’ ye’ think?”

  She was going to enjoy their screams of pain when she got out of this. She was going to relish the screams, their tears, their pleas for mercy. She was going to drink their tears and laugh while they died.

  Oh, aye. Pain will be theirs, while escape and retribution will be hers.

  Someone grunted. “Ouch, what was that for?”

  “We only want the riches of The Lion, not for him to kill us for taking his daughter’s innocence, ye’ idiot.”

  “How do we ken she’s innocent?” Someone snorted. “The girl was married several years ago. Someone as pretty as her willna stay a virgin for long.”

  Her blood ran cold, washing away the fire. How did these men know of her marriage? Her parents had kept news of it low. The bans had been posted and there had been a ceremony for it, but it had been small. Only immediate family had known of it, for the precise reason that Hagen was old. She would still have the status of a married woman, but he had been presumed to be “unable to perform the act.” Their marriage had never been consummated, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t done other things to make up for that…

  She felt bile rise in her throat.

  “Aye, but we also heard that the man died several weeks after the marriage. The coot was too old to perform. Tis the only reason The Lion would let his daughter marry someone like him.”

  The way the words “like him” came out of one of the men’s mouths told her they knew what he was like behind closed doors, something her own father had never been aware of.

  “The matter is of no importance. The lass will sleep there, alone, and she will be in perfect condition by the time her father takes note of her disappearance. We’ll return her as we acquired her, as planned, and then…then we will turn his people against him. Shaw lands will be ours, and soon.”

  The rumbles from the men gave her pause. ‘Shaw lands will be ours?’ What in hell did that mean? Nay, surely they didn’t plan on— Her eyes widened. Aye, they did. They meant to kill her father and take over as laird.

  “If we plan on taking them over, it should no’ matter if we take her innocence or not,” one of the men muttered. There was rustling, grunts, and bones popping, and then she heard them move in the darkness, coming closer to her.

  They were finally retiring to bed, after revealing that they were going to destroy her family and land.

  Oh, yes. They were going to pay.

  Thankfully, she could still see the flickering fire as it cast shadows around their make-shift campsite. As well as that, she could smell the spirits the men had drank. It would make her night much easier if they left it near the fire so she didn’t have to rummage for it, but it was fine if they didn’t. She was going to move swiftly with her plans. That would only be a small bump in the road.

  It would take them a while to sleep, so she began the long process of working her hands free of the ropes. The men must have been convinced she was a simpering woman, because they hadn’t bothered to tie the ropes very well. Foolish of them, really. The daughter of The Lion had more fire than any of the men combined—literally.

  A small smile graced her lips—until she smelled the rancid breath washing over her face. She locked eyes—or where she assumed the eyes were—and stopped moving her hands. The painted black face was staring down at her with a sneer on his face.

  “Donna try anything while we sleep, wench. There’s men watching yer every move and they are no’ afraid to hurt a woman.” Then, with that little warning, he pulled back. She breathed a sigh of relief. There was only so much rank breath she could take for that long.

  She waited even longer to start freeing her hands, rolling onto her other side when she was sure it wouldn’t cause a commotion. Even paced, drunk breathing was coming from all around her, with not even the people “watching her” making a sound. More likely than not, they’d fallen asleep as well.

  Dumb men, she thought. Of course they would fall asleep. They’ve already mucked everything else up for themselves, why wouldn’t they add this to their list of incompetencies?

  She worked her hands free, pausing to make sure that everyone was as asleep as they appeared to be, and then let them slip through the ropes. Next came taking out the cloth, then freeing her feet. She spit at the ground as quietly as she could. God knows where that thing had been!

  As she looked around, she realized that they were all, in fact, truly asleep. Not a single man was awake and watching her. This was not simply a “let’s see how far the lass can get” type of thing—the men who were designated to stay awake were obviously the ones slumped against the trees. The others were wrapped in their plaids, all in a pile a couple feet away from her. At least that would make this easier on her, she thought, nodding to herself.

  Aye, very easy.

  She dusted off her trews and shirt, giving herself a good pat-down to dispel as much of the muck as she could, and then quietly tip-toed over to the fire. She smiled with delight when she saw that aye, the men had left their spirits by the fire. She began gathering up the bottles—then paused when a grumpy sigh came from one of the trees.

  Those men had fallen asleep more aware of their surroundings than the others, so obviously they would be the first to awaken. She crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at them, foot tapping on the ground.

  “Well,” she said to herself regretfully. “I fear I have no other choice but to do it the old way.” Blay picked up the closest thing to her that wouldn’t break upon impact, and then hefted it air. It was heavy but easy to hold—just right.

  Blay, once again, quietly snuck her way over to the closest man, raising the whacking stick above her head and aiming. She brought it closer to her head, imaging the way it would hit him and where, pulled back, and—stopped.

  She couldn’t do that to a sleeping man…while she was sober. Often times, her father took to the spirits when he had to make a decision he wasn’t sure about. Aye, her mother was there to dissuade him while he was drunk, and ended up making the decision for him before he could recover from his night, but that was besides the point. Her mother was not here, her life and clan was at stake, and her horse needed to be avenged. There was no way around that.

  So, like her father, she was going to do what she felt was best for the situation—she picked up a skin of ale and chugged it like she wasn’t about to light fire to thirty men. The second the ale was emptied from the skin, she threw the thing on the ground, slamming her arm over her mouth to muffle the sound of coughing.

  Good Lord, she thought through her coughing fit. These men liked it to burn. It was no surprise that they were passed out where they’d landed. A couple moments later, after the ale had settled good and down, she was woozily picking up the whacking stick and making her way over to the sleeping men.

  “Oh, aye,” she mumbled, raising it above her head. “This will knock you out better than that damn ale.” She gasped, then put a hand to her mouth. “Mother would be ashamed of such language.”

  Her muffled words ended on a squeak when the whacking stick fell from her grasp—hitting the target over the head. It rolled to the ground and she watched it, frowning. Why had the whacking stick taken the job out of her own hands? She snickered at her own joke—then quickly checked to make sure the man was out cold—which he was, she noticed proudly.

  “Hmph.” She bent down to pick it up. The second she put effort into lifting it, though, it started to feel even heavier, like someone had added weight to it while she wasn’t looking.

  Blay wouldn’t be surprised if there was a little imp of a man, running around and putting more whack-substance on a whack-stick. It would make sense, she thought, giving up on trying to fully lift it and instead dragging it over the ground. Whack-sticks didn’t just “grow” from one second to the next.

  When she came upon the second man ages later, she saw…two of him.

  Two heads, really. Sh
e squinted, rearing back. “Well, this isn’t right at all. Which head do I hit? Eh…oh well. I’ll hit something.” She gathered up what strength she could through the confusion and the sudden movement of the earth under her feet, then swung blindly. She heard the thunk and felt the whack-stick collide with something. When she leaned in to inspect, the two heads gradually became one, and there was a quaint little bump, right on the side of his head. Mayhap she had knocked the two heads together, into one.

  Aye, that sounded reasonable. Feeling accomplished, with no more men to bonk on the head, she left her whack-stick on the ground and began the journey of walking in a straight line to the fire, where several skins of ale still rested.

  On her way there, though, she realized something distressing.

  The horses. The poor, innocent horses could not be subject to what she was about to do. Aye, lovely ponies do not need to witness this. She stumbled her way over to the low hanging branch that held the horses’ reins and clumsily untied them.

  “Be free, my beauties. Let your wings take flight and—you’re not birds. You don’t have wings.” She patted them on the bums when she realized her mistake, sending them on their way.

  Now that the horses were safe, it was time to get back to her revenge.

  The earth, however, had other ideas. “How dare ye’ move!” she hissed, stabbing a finger at the ground. She bent to gather the ale, scowling at the ground when it continued to wobble in front of her. “Do ye’ no’ understand that I have a master plan that will teach these…these ruffians—aye, ruffians is a good name for them, is it no’?—a lesson? They harmed my horse!” The ground kept vigil in it’s movement. “I’ll no’ be taking censure from ye’, earth. I plan to do this, whether ye’ll help me or no’.”

  Then, with an extra kick in her step, she grabbed the first skin of ale and began making a circle around the men. She made it nice and thick. When she was down to her last three skins, she had a decision to make.