Taken By the Brutal Highlander (Choosing their Scottish Brides #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“What on earth is that?”

The sound came first—a sharp crack of voices carried on the afternoon breeze, cutting through the peaceful hum of the gardens. Lydia stopped mid-step, the porcelain teapot trembling slightly in her hands.

Iris turned, brow furrowing as she rushed to look around the corner of the wall. “It sounds as if it came from the gates,” she observed.

The commotion grew louder—a carriage door slamming, boots crunching on gravel, the unmistakable tone of their steward arguing with someone who would not be refused.

Lydia’s pulse spiked. A strange, cold dread seeped into her chest. “Stay here,” Iris said, her voice brisk, commanding, but Lydia shook her head.

“There’s nay chance.”

Together, they hurried down the path, the teapot forgotten on a stone bench. The afternoon wind tugged at Lydia’s pale hair as they rounded the hedge maze and came upon the castle’s gates, the bushes that lined the path brushing against her skirts as she ran.

A carriage stood there, black lacquer and silver trim, a crest Lydia knew too well—the family sigil, an axe surrounded by branches of laurel and cypress.

Lydia’s stomach dropped. Two figures stood by the gates, instantly recognizable—her parents.

Her mother, elegant as ever, stood with her hands folded neatly at her waist though her face was tight with impatience. Her father leaned on his cane, sharp eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.

Lydia didn’t know how she had never seen it—the way they looked at Iris with such coldness. Now that this look was directed at her, as well, it chilled her to the bone.

It was Iris who spoke first, her voice shaking with fury. “What are ye doing here? Ye’re nae welcome in this castle.”

“Is that how ye greet yer parents?” their mother asked smoothly, as though nothing had happened between them. “Nay embrace? Nay kind word?”

Behind their parents, the guards were at a loss.

Though they surely had explicit orders not to let the two of them inside, they could hardly remove them forcibly.

After all, they were still the Laird and Lady McLean.

No matter what Elijah, Iris’ husband, thought, no matter how much he tried to ban them from the castle, his guards had every reason to be reluctant to haul them right out of the gates.

“Ye lost the right to call yerselves our parents when ye tried to force Lydia to wed a man she was afraid of,” Iris said, sharp as a blade, and Lydia couldn’t help but wish she had her strength, her courage.

She could never speak to them like this, not even now—not even after they had forced Iris to take her place when she fled, marrying her off to Elijah, not even after she had finally realized they were treating her sister with such cruelty.

“Ye have nay place here. Laird McMurphy has forbidden yer presence.”

Despite Iris’ harsh command, only a flicker of annoyance crossed their mother’s face. “Och, Iris... must ye always be so dramatic? Ye married the man, and look at ye now. He turned out to be a great husband, despite it all.”

“Aye,” said Iris through gritted teeth. “Despite it all.”

“We ken yer darlin’ husband doesnae want us here, but we dinnae came for ye,” continued their mother, entirely dismissing her words. “We came for Lydia.”

Next to her, Iris was trembling with rage, her fists tight and her jaw locked, a muscle jumping there with every heartbeat.

It was not the first time Lydia had seen her sister like this, but it was the first she had seen her like this since they both escaped their parents’ grip.

Only they could unleash this side of her; only they could enrage her this much.

And when they revealed they had come for Lydia, a pit opened up in her stomach—one that quickly filled with cold dread.

With a shaky breath, she tried to imitate her sister, her voice just as sharp. “I have nothin’ to say to ye.”

She turned sharply, meaning to walk away, but her father’s voice snapped like a whip.

“Lydia. Stop.”

The command in his tone hit her like it always did, but this time, she didn’t freeze. She merely turned slowly, meeting his gaze head-on.

“I have nay interest in anythin’ ye might say,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Nae after what ye did to Iris.”

“We did what was necessary,” her father said. “And we’re here because necessity demands again.”

Her mother stepped forward, her expression softening into something almost pitying. Both Lydia and Iris had taken after her—her blonde hair, her delicate features—but their eyes were just like their father’s.

Only his were hard and cold, showing no sign of emotion.

“Lydia, darlin’,” her mother said with a sigh, her green skirts swishing as she walked, “ye mustnae take that tone with us. We’ve come to tell ye some wonderful news.”

Lydia’s gut tightened. The last time they had good news for her was when she was meant to marry Elijah—and while, in the end, everything turned out well when he married her sister instead, this time, she doubted it would end as pleasantly.

“I doubt that,” Lydia said through gritted teeth, but her mother’s smile only widened, showing teeth.

“Och, but we have,” she said. “We’ve arranged yer marriage.”

Next to her, Iris laughed—a harsh, barbed sound.

But Lydia couldn’t make a single sound. She was frozen there, looking at her parents the way a fawn looks at the hunter’s arrow.

She was caught in her mother’s gaze, stunned, pinned by it.

Cold sweat dripped down her spine, that familiar rush of fear spearing through her.

But Iris would have none of it.

“Surely, ye jest,” she said with a scoff. “Ye come here, in me own home, to tell us this… this nonsense? Give me one good reason why I shouldnae have the guards toss ye out of this castle right the now.”

“Because this marriage will restore our name,” said their father, his boots thudding against the packed earth under his feet as he approached.

As always, he loomed over them both—tall and broad-shouldered, the kind of man few could say no to.

“Laird McDawson is a man of wealth, strength, and considerable patience, given yer… history.”

Now, it was Lydia’s turn to let out a humorless laugh, her father’s words breaking her out of her frozen spell. “Me history? Ye mean when I ran away because ye gave me nay other choice?”

“Yer sister had nay choice either,” said her father. “And yet she did the right thing.”

It was far from the first time that her parents compared the two of them, but Lydia wasn’t used to being seen as the less virtuous one.

Now that she was in her parents’ sights, though, she couldn’t help but wonder how she had missed this for so many years—how she hadn’t noticed how they always compared Iris to her and found her lacking.

Her mother’s painted smile wavered, but she didn’t falter. “Ye should be grateful. Laird McDawson is powerful and well-connected. He can restore our family’s good name.”

“I daenae care about the family name,” Lydia snapped. “Ye were the ones who ruined it, nae me.”

“Daenae take that tone,” her father barked, his cane striking the gravel. “Ye owe us yer obedience… yer gratitude.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The tension was a wire pulled taut between them, ready to snap, and Lydia couldn’t find the words to say what she wanted to say.

One look at her father like this—red-faced, his lips curled into a grimace of distaste—left her unable to speak, unable to move.

She was still trapped under his stare, and she despised herself for it.

“She owes ye nothin’,” said Iris, taking a step forward as if to use her body as a shield.

Then their mother’s voice dropped, calm and cutting. “Be that as it may, she has nay choice. The papers have been signed. The marriage deed is done. The ceremony will merely be for appearances.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, spinning around Lydia. It couldn’t be; none of this could be true.

How can they do this again? And to Laird McDawson! Everyone kens the man is a monster!

“Signed?” she asked, and something inside her broke.

Her father smiled, a cruel twist of satisfaction. “It’s bindin’. Ye are to be the Lady McDawson before the week’s end.”

It’s happenin’ again. And this time, there’s nay escape. There’s nothin’ I can do.

“I would never marry anyone ye chose,” she said, voice shaking with fury. “Especially nae a man whose wives end up dead.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed as she pointed an elegant yet accusatory finger at her. “Daenae spread gossip. Laird McDawson’s first wife died when she fell off her horse, and his second—”

“Drowned when she fell in the lake,” Lydia finished bitterly. “And the third accidentally drank poison. Aye, I’ve heard the tale. Three of them dead, and all that connects them is the same man.”

“Shut yer mouth!” her father hissed, looking around them as if fearful of who could hear. “Ye are to show respect.”

But Lydia was done showing respect to those who didn’t deserve it. She could see her parents for what they truly were now, and while it was an almost impossible task to look at her father in the eye, she managed to meet his gaze as she spoke.

“I am done showin’ respect to monsters.”

The words tore from her before she could stop them. Iris reached for her arm, steadying her, but Lydia shook her head, trembling.

Her mother stepped closer, her perfume sweet and suffocating. “Ye can fight, me dear, but it changes nothin’. Ye’ll marry him, and ye’ll do so quietly. Consider it our final demand.”

There was nothing more she could say to this. There was nothing she could say that they would understand, and there was nothing she could do—not when she had no proof that this man, this monster to whom they had sold her, would harm her.

Lydia turned to leave, her skirts brushing the gravel, but her father’s voice followed, cold and heavy.

“Ye have nay say in this. The ink is dry. The deal is sealed.”

Lydia didn’t look back. She only walked ahead, her sister following close behind as a commotion rose from the gates again when the guards tried to forcibly remove their parents from the castle.

Lydia’s breath was shallow, her heartbeat drumming against her ribs. Nausea gripped her, and her vision tunneled until all she could see was the next step ahead of her, one after the other.

When they were finally out of sight of the gates, Iris caught her hand, pulling her to a stop. Lydia halted, the world spinning around her, but before she could say a single thing, her sister spoke.

“Ye daenae have to do this,” she said fiercely. “I’ll protect ye, I swear it. I will hide ye if I must.”

Lydia shook her head, eyes burning but dry. “Nay. Runnin’ dinnae help matters before. It only made things worse. This time, I’ll face it.”

Iris’s grip tightened. “Lydia—”

“If the rumors are true,” Lydia said quietly, “and Laird McDawson is the kind of man they say he is… then I’ll find a way to end it. I’ll find a way to get an annulment. But I’ll do it on me own terms.”

Her gaze lifted toward the horizon where the mountains loomed like dark sentinels.

“Nay more runnin’.”