Chapter 3
“Got ye.”
The words left Elijah’s mouth before his mind fully caught up with what had happened.
One moment, he’d been tracking through the forest, disgusted by this entire sick spectacle that Hector, his ally and Laird of the lands where this hunt was taking place, had asked him to help destroy. The next, the most beautiful lass he’d ever seen had run straight into his arms.
She was breathing hard, her gray eyes wide with terror. Blonde hair tumbled around her face in wild disarray. And her body—soft, curved, perfect—pressed against his chest as she struggled to catch her breath.
For a moment, Elijah forgot why he was here. Forgot the plan. Forgot everything except the feel of this woman in his arms and the way his heart had kicked hard against his ribs when she’d looked up at him.
What in God’s name is wrong with me?
“Please,” she whispered, and the sound of her voice—terrified but not broken—did something strange to his chest. “Please, let me go…”
“There ye are, ye little bitch!”
The other laird—Elijah didn’t know his name and didn’t care—burst through the trees on his gray horse. His face was red with fury, and he had blood on his hand.
She had bitten him, Elijah realized, and had to suppress a smile.
Good for her.
“Let her go,” the man snarled, sliding off his horse. “She’s mine. I was chasin’ her first.”
Elijah’s arms tightened around the lass instinctively. She stiffened against him, but didn’t pull away. Couldn’t, probably. She was trapped between him and the other man.
“I daenae think so,” Elijah said, his voice cold. “Accordin’ to the rules of yer twisted little game, if ye fail to claim yer prey and another catches her, she belongs to the new hunter.” He looked the other man up and down with contempt. “Ye failed. She’s mine now.”
“Like hell she is!” The man took a step forward. “I tracked her for ten minutes! She’s mine by right!”
“Ye tracked her and lost her,” Elijah corrected. “And apparently got bit for yer troubles. That’s nae claimin’, friend. That’s failin’.”
The lass in his arms trembled. Elijah could feel every shudder, every frightened breath.
Part of him wanted to tell her the truth—that he was here to save her, not harm her. That this entire hunt was about to be destroyed, its organizers arrested or worse.
But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not with this fool in front of him who might ruin everything.
“I’m nae yer friend,” the man spat. “And I’m nae lettin’ ye take what’s mine. We’ll fight for her. Winner takes the prize.”
Prize.
The word made Elijah’s blood boil. This woman wasn’t a prize. She was a person. A terrified, brave person who’d been sold into this nightmare.
“Fine,” Elijah said. He looked down at the lass in his arms. Up close, she was even more beautiful.
Soft curves that made his hands itch to explore.
Full lips that he had no business thinking about.
And eyes, gray as a winter storm, that held pain and strength in equal measure. “Stay here. This willnae take long.”
He set her down gently, and she stumbled back against a tree. Her gaze darted between him and the other laird, calculating her chances of escape.
“Daenae even think about it,” the other man warned her. “Ye run, and whoever wins will make ye pay for it.”
Elijah said nothing, but he stepped between the lass and her pursuer. Let the bastard think what he wanted. In a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter.
“Ready?” the other laird asked, drawing a short sword from his belt.
Elijah drew his own blade. “Aye. Are ye?”
The man attacked first—a wild, reckless swing that Elijah sidestepped easily.
No training at all.
Elijah was almost disappointed.
This really willnae take long.
The laird swung again, putting all his strength behind it. Elijah parried, the clash of steel ringing through the forest. Behind him, he heard the lass gasp.
“Stay back,” Elijah ordered without looking at her. “Daenae want ye catchin’ a stray blade.”
“Worried about yer prize?” the other man sneered, circling. “Scared I’ll damage her?”
“Nay,” Elijah said calmly. “Worried ye’re such a poor swordsman ye might accidentally hit somethin’ ye’re nae aimin’ for.”
The laird’s face went purple with rage. He charged, blade high, leaving his entire left side exposed.
Amateur.
Elijah stepped into the man’s guard, blocked the downward strike, and drove his elbow into the laird’s ribs. The man wheezed, stumbling. Elijah followed with a sweep of his leg that sent the laird crashing to the ground.
“Yield,” Elijah said, pointing his sword at the man’s throat. “This is over.”
“Go to hell,” the laird gasped, trying to rise.
Elijah pressed the tip of his blade against the man’s neck—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make his point. “I said, yield. Unless ye want this to end with ye bleedin’ out in the dirt like the worthless piece of shite ye are.”
For a long moment, the laird glared up at him. Then, finally, he spat to the side. “Fine. She’s yers. Take the plump bitch and enjoy her.”
Plump?
There was that word again. Elijah had heard the lass being called it before, by Lewis and his men. Said like an insult. Like something shameful.
But looking at her—at her soft curves and full figure—Elijah thought she was perfect. More than perfect. She was every fantasy he’d never let himself have, standing in flesh and blood before him.
Focus. Ye have a job to do.
He stepped back, letting the defeated laird scramble to his feet. The man mounted his horse with poor grace, favoring his bruised ribs.
“This isnae over,” he muttered.
“Aye, it is,” Elijah said. “Now get out of me sight before I change me mind about lettin’ ye walk away.”
The laird spurred his horse and disappeared into the trees. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of the lass’s frightened breathing.
Elijah turned to face her.
Piper pressed herself against the tree trunk, watching the dark-haired laird who’d just defeated her pursuer with terrifying ease. Her heart was still racing from the run, from the fight, from everything.
He’s goin’ to hurt me. He’s goin’ to claim his “prize”.
But he wasn’t moving. Just standing there, looking at her with those intense green eyes. His sword was still drawn, still had traces of dirt from the fight. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, like the battle had been nothing to him.
He was handsome.
Piper hated herself for noticing, but she couldn’t help it. Strong jaw, dark hair that fell to his shoulders, a small beard that made him look dangerous and sophisticated at once. And his body—tall, muscular, powerful. The kind of man who could snap her in half without effort.
The kind of man her parents had just sold her to.
“What’s yer name, lass?”
The question surprised her. She’d expected demands, commands. Not… conversation.
“Why do ye care?” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, born of fear and exhaustion.
His lips twitched. Almost a smile. “Because if ye’re to be in me household, I should ken what to call ye.”
“Household?” Piper echoed. “Ye mean yer… yer bed.”
Now he did smile, though there was no warmth in it. “I mean me household. I’m nae one of these twisted bastards who thinks buyin’ women is acceptable. But for now, I need ye to play along. Understand?”
Piper didn’t understand. Not at all. “Play along with what?”
“I’ll explain later,” he said, sheathing his sword. “Right now, I need yer name.”
She shouldn’t tell him. Shouldn’t cooperate. But something in his eyes—something that didn’t look quite as cruel as she’d first thought—made her answer.
“Piper,” she whispered. “ Piper Armstrong.”
“Piper.” He tested the name, and the way he said it—low and rough—sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. “I’m Elijah Quinn. Laird McMahon.”
A laird. Of course he was. Only lairds would have the money to participate in something like this.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
Piper flinched back. “Stay away from me.”
He stopped immediately. “I’m nae goin’ to hurt ye, Piper. I promise ye that.”
“Ye just fought a man for the right to claim me,” Piper said, her voice shaking. “What exactly do ye think claimin’ means?”
“It means keepin’ ye safe,” Elijah said quietly. “It means gettin’ ye out of this nightmare. But to do that, ye need to trust me.”
“Trust ye?” Piper let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve known ye for five minutes, and ye’re already askin’ me to trust ye?”
“Aye,” he said simply. “I am.”
They stared at each other across the small clearing. Piper’s mind raced. Could she believe him? Could she trust that this man—this laird who’d paid to participate in a hunt—actually wanted to help her?
Or was this just another trick? Another way to make her compliant?
“Come here, lass,” Elijah said, holding out his hand. “We need to go before any of the others come lookin’.”
“And if I refuse?”
His jaw tightened. “Then ye’ll be caught by someone far worse than me. Someone who really does see ye as a prize to be claimed. Is that what ye want?”
Nay. God, nay. The thought of that other laird—the one who’d chased her, who’d looked at her like she was meat—made bile rise in Piper’s throat.
But goin’ with this man… trustin’ him…
“How do I ken ye’re tellin’ the truth?” she asked.
“Ye daenae,” Elijah admitted. “Nae yet. But ye will. I swear it on me clan’s honor, Piper. I’m nae goin’ to hurt ye.”
His clan’s honor. That was supposed to mean something, wasn’t it? Lairds didn’t make vows lightly.
But me parents vowed to care for me, and look how that turned out.
Still, what choice did she have? Run deeper into the woods and hope she wasn’t caught? She’d barely survived the first ten minutes.
Slowly, Piper pushed away from the tree. Her legs trembled as she took a step toward Elijah. Then another.
He waited patiently, his hand still extended. When she was close enough, he reached out and gently took her arm. Not grabbing, not forcing. Just… guiding.
“There’s a good lass,” he murmured.
Then, before Piper could process what was happening, he bent and swept her up into his arms. She let out a startled yelp, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders.
“What are ye—put me down!”
“Ye’re exhausted,” Elijah said, carrying her toward where his horse waited. “And we have a long way to go. This is faster.”
“I can walk!”
“Aye, and ye’ll slow us down doin’ it.” He looked down at her, and something flickered in his green eyes. Something that made her breath catch. “Besides, I rather like holdin’ ye.”
Piper’s face flamed. “Ye… ye cannae just say things like that!”
“Why nae?” He settled her more comfortably against his chest, and Piper was horrified to realize how good it felt. How safe. She hadn’t been held like this since Alexandra died. “It’s the truth.”
“Because… because I’m…” She gestured at herself helplessly. “Ye heard what that other man called me. Plump. I’m nae the kind of woman men like ye hold.”
Elijah stopped walking. He looked down at her with such intensity that Piper forgot how to breathe.
“That bastard was blind,” he said softly. “Hush now,” Elijah murmured, reaching his horse. He mounted with her still in his arms, settling her across his lap with practiced ease. “Time for us to take you to your new home.”
“New home?” Piper’s voice rose with panic. “I daenae… I never agreed—”
His arm tightened around her waist, holding her securely against him. She could feel the solid warmth of his chest against her back, the steady beat of his heart.
“Relax, love,” Elijah said, his lips close to her ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine. “I promise ye, ye willnae regret bein’ caught by me.”
And as the horse began to move, carrying them away from the hunt and into an uncertain future, Piper realized something terrifying:
Part of her wanted to believe him.