Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Elsie looked between the two men, her captor releasing her hair, and bringing her to stand on her feet next to him. His grip was still tight and firm, but his demeanor towards the man claiming to be laird, had changed. He was reverent, calm.
“Begging yer forgiveness, m’laird,” he said. “Ye’ve misunderstood what ye’ve come upon, is all. The lass is nae a captive.”
“The lady travels wi’ us of her own free will, me laird,” the other man said, smiling at the stranger with a gap-toothed sneer.
But the laird demanded answers and growled, “I’d hear it from th’ lass herself, then.”
Her captor turned to her, his rotten smile filled with challenge and threat. The press of his knife in her ribs, just out of her would-be savior’s line of sight, was firm. His meaning was not lost on her. “She is wi’ us of her will. Isnae that right, lass?”
Elsie’s heart hammered in her chest. For a moment she considered lying, maybe they’d go and she’d live. But the thought of being thrown back into the dank, dark wagon only to be sold choked her. “Say it…” her captor hissed in her ear, pressing the knife more firmly into her stomach.
“Is that the truth, lass?” The laird waited, his pale blue eyes not leaving hers.
Elsie met his gaze, and her breath caught.
He was strength and surety. He looked completely unshakeable, poised and ready to strike, as if nothing, no blade or attack, would surprise him.
She thought of what fate awaited her, all depending on her answer in that moment.
She knew if she stayed silent what waited for her beyond would be much worse than the knife in her belly.
“I’m not with them, my lord,” she said, her voice clear and loud. “They kidnapped me.”
Her captor’s snarl twisted. “Ye fool…”
Elsie moved fast, driving her heel into the man’s shin with every ounce of strength she could muster as she twisted away from his grip. The knife he held at her side scraped her stomach, but as sharp as she knew it was, the wound was shallow. She stumbled toward the laird, holding her side.
Her admission was all her savior needed. His hand went to his sword.
“She’s naethin’ tae ye, me laird,” the second captor said, pulling out his own steel. “Ye’ve nay business here and nay claim tae th’ lass. I ken fer a fact these lands arenae yers. Take yer man and go before ye make enemies ye’ll regret.”
“Halvard…”
Elsie’s eyes flicked to the laird’s companion. She had barely noticed him before but he also had his sword drawn. Together the two men were a force.
Halvard’s eyes—now she knew his name—flicked from Elsie to his man, and back to her captors. He was calm, assessing the moment they were in, and Elsie could not help but think he was dangerous.
“None of me business, is it?” he murmured slowly as he pulled her against him with his free arm.
He looked down at her, turning her away from the hungry stares of her captors.
If she could read his thoughts in the depth of his gaze, she knew he was telling her to trust him.
“Tell me, lass,” he asked solemnly, “will ye marry me?”
Elsie blinked. “What?”
“Marry me,” he repeated, his tone serious.
“Are you mad?” Elsie stared at him breathless. “You can’t just propose in the middle of…” she waved her hand around. “Whatever this is?”
“Choose quickly,” he growled. “Them or me? A wife I can defend, a stranger, I cannae.”
She almost laughed at the insane, absurdity of her circumstance, because surely this man, this laird, Halvard, as his friend called him, had taken leave of his senses.
But when she met his gaze, she saw no jest, only a grim certainty.
Behind her she could hear her captors shifting, recovering their courage.
“God help me,” she whispered. “Fine, I’ll marry you.”
Halvard’s lips curled into a small smile of approval. “Good answer.”
Then, before Elsie could respond, he turned back to her would be slavers, moving her behind him and with a voice that boomed like thunder over moor. “Ye heard th’ lass, she’s me betrothed. Which means ye were tryin’ tae take her from me.”
He swung his steel high in the air, the shiny metal catching a glint from the sun. Elsie could not help but be in awe of his raw strength, the pain in her side forgotten as he moved forward. “And that,” he said, “makes this very much me concern.”
The fight that followed was short, brutal, and much to Elsie’s shock, mesmerizing.
She knew she should have been terrified but she found herself rivetted, unable to turn away.
Halvard moved like he was part of the landscape, carved from the wind itself.
Each strike of his steel was clean and certain.
His every motion full of intent and control.
The slavers lunged at him, and he dodged with almost no effort, his sword swinging through the air.
She caught flashes of him through the chaos. His broad shoulders flexing, his pale eyes glinting like cold steel mixed with ice-blue fire. He was magnificent.
It was a strange time to notice such things, she thought, embarrassed because, as it were, he was very well saving her life. But she found she could not help it.
She ducked as one of her captors came rushing at her to seize her again, snapping her back into the moment. She let out a yelp of pain as he missed but clipped her head with his arm at full speed, resulting in a sickening crack that sent her flying backward.
Through the haze of pain she saw Halvard turn, rage in his eyes. His sword caught the other man, mid-swing. In a deadly blur of motion, Elsie watched as her captor crumpled to the ground. The only sound coming from the gurgling of blood in his throat.
The other man tried to run, but Halvard caught him before he made it three steps toward his horse.
With a fury of pure fire and rage the laird swung his sword down and ended the man with one clean and efficient stroke.
The battle was over before Halvard’s companion had even had an opportunity to join the fight.
The silence was deafening.
A strong hand, long fingers marked by work and tan from the sun, reached down toward her, offering her aid. She blinked up at Halvard, dazed. “You… you killed them.”
“Aye,” he replied, simply, helping her too her feet, before wiping his blade on the first fallen man’s cloak. “Did ye wish fer me tae ask the brutes tae kindly leave ye be?”
She could have laughed at the casual tone with which he spoke of the dead. The dead he himself had killed.
“You seem to have very direct methods here.”
“That we dae” he replied looking at her.
Elsie winced, unable to hide the sharp pain in her side. “Ye’re hurt, lass.”
“It’s nothing,” she replied softly. “I’ve had worse roaming the fields of my father’s estate.”
He gave her a stern look, which she interpreted as a lack of belief on his part Without another word, he shrugged off his heavy shoulder plaid and draped it over her shoulders.
“Yer Da’s estate, is it in Scotland then, lass?”
“No,” she stammered. “I’m English. I am Lady Elsie Montgomery.”
“I can very well see that, but ye mean tae say ye were taken from English soil?”
She could only nod. This man, this place, it was all so foreign to her. But she could not allow herself to be at anyone’s mercy.
“I can manage, just fine,” she sputtered.
“I’m sure ye can, lass,” he said evenly. “But I’ll nae have ye freezin’ tae yer death after I just killed tae keep ye safe.”
Something in his tone told Elsie that she would win no argument there. She took the thick wool and wrapped herself. It smelled of warm leather, and something else, salt and woodsmoke. After travelling for so many days being chilled to her very bones, it was heaven.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“Now,” he replied, his tone warming. “Tell me what happened. Who were those men, and why were ye wi’ them?”
“I was walking, exploring as it were,” Elsie tried to explain.
“The lands in the north are different than what I’m used to in Hertfordshire.
I thought I was on my family land, but I must have wandered too afar.
You see, my uncle brought my sister, Selene, and I up with him as he had business.
My father, he is dead, and my uncle is set to inherit. ”
Her words were measured though her head was anything but calm. She knew she was talking too much as was her habit when she was nervous, and the incredibly large and brutal Highland laird definitely made her nervous.
How she wished now she had just attended the luncheon with Selene when she was supposed to, instead of wandering. “There was an older woman,” she continued. “She looked as though she needed help. I could not leave her. But as I…”
“Go on, lass,” he softly encouraged.
Elsie took a deep breath. “There were men, two of them. They jumped out from the bushes and grabbed me, covering my head…” she wiped at a tear that stubbornly escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek.
“Next thing I knew I was waking, with a horrid headache, in the back of that wagon under the threat of being sold.”
“By God, I’d ha’e their blood with me bare hands, nam buh ùr-in dhomh. I’d kill the brute bastards again, if I could.”
She heard his words but Elsie could not wrap her mind around what he was saying. She watched his lips continue to move, and knew after his tirade he was asking her a question, but she could not seem to make sense of what.
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
“I asked why were ye wanderin’ alone?” He repeated slower.
“I wasn’t alone! Not truly!” she let out an exasperated breath. “I was simply… oh nevermind. I don’t expect you would understand.”
“I can understand just fine, lass,” he replied, with a snark to his tone. “Ye were nae satisfied perhaps and were looking fer a wee bit o’ adventure. But perhaps bit off more than ye bargained fer?”
He arched a brow.
“You’re insufferable,” she huffed.
“Aye,” he said. “But ye’re alive.”
Before she could give him a smart answer in return, the world tilted. Her vision blurred right at the edges and she felt weak. It was as if her bones were melting, taking her down to the ground against her better judgement. She tried to speak, to say something, but no sound would escape her lips.
Halvard caught her the moment she crumpled, his arm steady around her shoulders. “Easy now, lass.”
His voice was distant and rough.
She rather liked his brogue and the rough timber. That was the last thought she had as the world faded to black.