The Devil in Plaid(8)

“This is not the time,” Esme cautioned under her breath.

Fiona swallowed her protests. She tore her gaze away from the MacLeod’s and looked beyond him at the fierce band of warriors—all as hairy and unkempt as their leader. Each man shot daggers from his eyes that cut through her fear to her very soul.

Esme was right. They were at the mercy of the enemy—an enemy known only for their cruelty.

She searched her mind for the words to make him go away when, suddenly, he turned on his heel and started to climb back up the ridge. His men followed.

Fiona glanced at Esme and lifted her shoulders in surprise. Mayhap, he was just going to leave them. Please go, she prayed.

“Are ye coming or do ye need my help to walk?” he called down to her when he reached the top.

“We will make our own way home,” Fiona said in a rush before she started to turn her back to him.

“’Tis almost as if ye wish me to turn ye into a sack of grain and throw ye over my shoulder.” His voice was deep and foreboding.

Fiona froze, knowing not to doubt his threat. She eyed the slope. “We will climb this ridge or die trying,” she whispered to Esme who nodded firmly in reply.

Fiona crossed to the foot of the steep banking and hitched up her tunic, careful not to lift the hem of her skirts above her ankles and took two steps up the ridge before sliding back down. Her hands flew in front of herself to catch her fall. Steeling her shoulders, she tried again, but this time, her foot caught on her tunic. She fell face down into the dirt. A breath later, she heard Esme cry out. Fiona pushed up on her hands and knees and glanced at her maid who was sprawled out on the slope.

Fiona scrambled up onto her feet and met the Highlander’s fierce gaze. “If we could get up this bloody ridge, we would have done so already.”

He shrugged. “No matter. I’ll carry ye.”

She took a step back. “Don’t touch me, not again.”

He jumped down from above. She swallowed the squeal that rose in her throat as he landed inches from her.

“We can make it back to our men on our own. We don’t need yer help.”

The amber flecks in his brown eyes brightened as he leaned close. “Understand one thing, Lady MacDonnell. I do not seek to aid ye. I want ye off my land before I’m accused of mistreating ye. Yer foolishness could start a war, which I don’t expect ye to care about, but I do.” Then before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her waist and flung her over his shoulder.

“Unhand me,” she shouted at his thickly muscled back.

“I don’t think ye want me to let go of ye right now.”

She lifted her head and looked at the ground, which from his great height, appeared very far away, indeed. Holding her tongue, she closed her eyes. She could feel his back muscles shift with power as he trudged up the slope. His smell reached her nose, and as much as she wanted to be repelled, it struck a nerve within her. There was something raw and masculine in his scent, something rugged and…

“Blast,” she whispered, annoyed with herself.

He was a hideous man who thought nothing of raising his hand against a woman or child. What did it matter how he smelled?

When he reached the top, he didn’t put her down. She heard a horse nicker the instant before he slung her over its back. She winced and started to sit up, but his strong hand pressed her back down.

He swung up behind her, sliding his leg under her. “Hamish, ye come with me and bring the maid. The rest of ye head to the keep.”

She was furious at being treated so roughly. “I will ask ye again to let us go.”

He leaned over in his saddle. “Would ye rather I ransom ye or leave ye here to feed the wolves?”

“Neither,” she answered.

“Then be silent, or ye’ll find out what happens when a woman disobeys her laird.”

“Ye’re not my laird.” What was wrong with her? Did she have a death wish?

“When ye’re on my land, I’m yer laird.”

Remembering his threat to hold her for ransom, she swallowed her reply.

Blast the storm that washed away the bridge! She should be nearly home by now, not draped over the enemy’s horse. Shifting her gaze to the side, movement in the trees caught her eye. She gasped realizing it was the fawn, still slowly limping. Emotion swelled in her chest.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save ye, sweetling.

Her gaze followed the deer as it slowly tramped through the trees toward a sight that flooded Fiona’s heart with warmth. A doe stood amid the thicket.

Despite the tenuousness of her own position, she could not help but smile, such was her happiness knowing the fawn had been reunited with its mother.

Now, if only she could be reunited with her men.

She grunted after the MacLeod drove his bare heel into the stallion’s flanks. Her stomach jarred against his thigh. She heard Esme groaning behind her and knew she suffered the same treatment.

Before too long, the trees began to thin, and Fiona saw shifting figures out on the roadway. The red, blue, and deep green of the MacDonnell tartan caught her eye. She opened her mouth to call out, but the MacLeod’s hand flew to her lips, silencing her.

He pulled her up-right, her back flush against his hard chest. “Would ye have me thrown into a MacDonnell prison as thank ye for my trouble.” His lips grazed her ear. “Just like a MacDonnell woman, full of deceit and treachery.”