Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(31)

Astrid considered what he was asking of her. Should she give up the names of her friends? Certainly Jane or Lucy would pay whatever ransom request these Highlanders made. She had resisted prevailing upon them before. But had the time come to put her pride aside and take their help?

“Yes,” she admitted. “I have friends. Extremely wealthy, important friends that would care a great deal to have me safely returned.”

“Interesting.” The laird combed fingers through his scraggly beard.

“Uncle, she is mine,” Lachlan insisted.

“Ah, hell, man. Would you cease thinking with that twig between your legs. If you’re to take my place someday, then you better start thinking like a laird and put your people before your own needs.”

A sudden commotion erupted at the front of the hall, drawing the attention of the laird and his nephew.

Astrid turned to watch as a small crowd of Highlanders advanced on them, nearing the head table. Grumbling and foul curses filled the air, gaining volume as the men reached them.

A sudden hush fell over the ragtag group. They parted, revealing an imposing, tartan-free figure in their midst. Even battered and bruised, he stood heads taller than most of the men, his carriage erect, proud, eyes a deep, glittering blue.

Astrid’s heart seized in her chest. A sob rose in her throat that she barely caught from spilling into the suddenly charged air. He had come. Unbelievable. She took one step forward.

Lachlan growled at her side, his hand clamping down on her arm. “What are you doing here?”

Griffin trained his gaze on her, his eyes blistering with hot accusation. Not once did he glance at the man who addressed him. After a long moment, his drawl rose strong and defiant over the hall. “I’ve come to claim what is mine.”

A breath shuddered through her.

“Lachlan,” his uncle demanded, “who is this?”

“My name is Griffin Shaw.”

Astrid looked nervously to the clan’s laird, knowing he held their fate in his hands. The old man’s eyes flitted over Griffin in hard-eyed scrutiny. “The lass belongs to you?”

Griffin and Lachlan answered simultaneously.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Lachlan sneered. “A man who cannot hold on to his woman, does not keep her long in these parts. You lost your right to her.”

“I’m here now,” Griffin stated, his hand moving toward the knife at his side. “And I’ll cut down any man that tries to stop me from leaving with her.”

Astrid closed her eyes in one tight blink. What on earth was he doing here? Bloody fool. Did he have a death wish? He should never have come. She could not even fathom how he managed to show up only moments after them. In his condition, he should have barely been able to stay mounted.

“You’re welcome to try,” Lachlan bit out, his own hand moving for the blade strapped to his side.

“Enough,” the laird growled, his bushy beard moving about his lips as he spoke. The older man’s keen blue eyes assessed Astrid. “Can’t see what’s worth getting so excited over.” His gaze roamed her and Astrid stiffened her spine, meeting his stare with her frostiest expression. “No meat on her at all. And that dark-eyed gaze of hers could chill a man to the core.”

Astrid did not to flinch, accustomed to reaping such judgment. Especially from men. It was what she had come to expect…what she in fact had cultivated over the years. “She’ll fill out nicely with proper feeding,” Lachlan assured.

Proper feeding? As if she was some kind of pet?

Emotion burned darkly in her chest and she struggled to control it, shove it back to that place deep inside where feelings hid, where she kept them bottled and suppressed so she could go about the world with stoic resolve.

Lachlan’s gaze cut to Griffin as he added, “I know how to nourish my women. In and out of bed. Something the lass here will soon learn for herself.”

Griffin bared his teeth in a snarl and lunged forward.

Several men stepped in his path to restrain him.

The old man laughed a rusty sound. Leaning back, his massive wood chair creaked from the pressure of his girth. “Appears he takes exception to that, Lachlan.” He cocked a reddish-gray brow at his nephew, his blue eyes intent and serious. “I see only one solution.”

Lachlan turned to assess her, his dark gaze moving over her slowly, thoroughly, before swinging to Griffin, spending little time considering his bruised and ravaged face before saying, “You want her? Then take her back, my friend. If you think you can.”

Griffin nodded resolutely. “If I win, she’s mine. We walk out of here unharmed.” He swiped a hand through the air. “No one gets in our way.”

“Aye. On my honor.”

Griffin’s mouth twisted, the crimson tear in his bottom lip deepening. “I’ll have to trust that counts for something.”

Lachlan’s eye twitched, the only indication that he took offense. He set her from him, handing her off to one of his men hovering nearby. He pulled back his rangy shoulders in a stretch.

Angry breath escaped Astrid in a hiss. She yanked her arm free of her new captor and leveled her coldest stare on him when he looked ready to snatch hold of her again.

“This has gone far enough,” she declared at Lachlan’s back as he moved toward Griffin. Ignoring her, they moved to the center of the great hall. Everyone cleared out of the way. She shot a frustrated, desperate look at Griffin. “I’m not a bone to be fought over. I’m done with being treated like property!”