Chapter 2
"Daenae move."
The voice was rough as gravel, dark as midnight, and accompanied by a large, calloused hand clamping over Maia's mouth before she could even process waking. Her eyes flew open, heart slamming against her ribs as pure terror flooded her veins.
A man loomed over her bed—massive, cloaked in shadow, smelling of leather and night air and something wild she couldn't name. The faint moonlight filtering through her window caught the gleam of his eyes as he stared down at her, and Maia's breath stuttered in her lungs.
"If ye make a sound," he whispered, his burr thick and dangerous, "ye'll be punished. Nod if ye understand me, lass."
Maia's mind screamed at her to fight, to scratch at his face, to do something, but her body was frozen in fear. She could feel the strength in the hand covering her mouth, could sense the coiled power in the man's frame as he bent over her.
This wasn't someone she could overpower. This wasn't even someone she could reason with, not yet.
So, she nodded, quick and jerky, her grey eyes wide as saucers.
"Good girl." The approval in his tone sent an inexplicable shiver down her spine, one that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the timbre of his voice.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted his hand from her mouth. Now that her initial panic was subsiding, she could see him more clearly.
Maia sucked in a gasping breath, and her heart began thundering all over again, but not from the initial fear.
He looks like he stepped out of a dream.
That was her first, completely inappropriate thought. The pale light illuminated the sharp angles of his face, caught in the wild tangle of black curls that fell past his shoulders, and gleamed in eyes so dark they looked almost black in the dimness.
Highland gods show me mercy. Have ye sent the angel of death to end me misery?
He was the most handsome being she'd ever seen.
The thought crashed through her terror like a rogue wave, leaving her even more breathless than before.
His features were harsh, carved from granite—strong jaw hidden beneath an unkempt beard, straight nose that looked like it had been broken at least once, full lips pressed into a grim line.
Everything about him screamed danger, from the breadth of his shoulders to the way he moved with predatory grace.
"What—are ye real?" Her voice came out as barely a whisper. She swallowed hard and tried again. "What are ye doing in me chambers?"
One dark eyebrow arched upward, and his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
It was too sharp for that, too knowing. "Believe me lass, I am as real as any human ye ken.
Yer Laird tried to take somethin' of mine.
" His voice was still low, pitched for her ears alone. "So now, I'm takin' somethin' of his."
Understanding dawned slowly. Maia felt horror running over her, then it was followed by something else—something that felt dangerously close to hope—tangling in her chest. Mollie's word flashed through her mind.
"Ye're here to kidnap me."
"Clever lass." He straightened slightly, though his attention never wavered from her face. "Now get up. We havenae got all night."
Maia's mind raced. This was insane. A strange man had broken into her locked chambers, was threatening to abduct her, and all she could think about was the way his voice wrapped around her like silk and honey.
I should be screamin'.
The guards were just outside her door. If she cried out, they'd come running.
But would that really be better? Going back to her uncle's tender mercies, to the endless days of isolation and humiliation?
When opportunity comes knockin', even if it comes in a way ye daenae expect, daenae be afraid to take hold of it.
Mollie's words from earlier echoed in her mind, and Maia felt something shift inside her chest.
This was madness. But perhaps madness was exactly what she needed.
"He willnae care," she blurted out, scrambling to sit up. The blankets pooled around her waist, and she was suddenly, mortifyingly aware that she was wearing only her thin cotton shift. "Me uncle, I mean. He willnae care that ye've taken me. Ye're wastin' yer time if ye think he cares."
The man's laugh was low and dark, cutting off her protest. "Och, they always say that.
'He doesnae care about me, let me go, this willnae work'.
" He leaned closer, so close she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes.
"But I ken better, lass. Ye're the only bairn of the previous Laird MacMahon. Yer uncle will care plenty."
"Nay, ye daenae understand." Maia started, but he was already moving.
Before she could explain that she was less a lady and more a prisoner, the man bent and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing at all. Maia gasped as she was lifted into the air, one of his arms beneath her knees and the other supporting her back.
He was carrying her bridal style.
Heat flooded her cheeks even as her hands instinctively grabbed his shoulders for balance.
She could feel the solid muscle beneath the leather of his jerkin, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of her shift.
His chest was like a wall of stone against her side, and when she dared glance up at his face, she found his jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking beneath his beard.
"Put me down," she whispered, though her grip on his shoulders didn't loosen.
"No time for talkin'." He strode toward the window with sure, silent steps. "Yer guards will be makin' their rounds soon, and I'd rather nae have to kill anyone tonight if I can help it."
The casual mention of killing would have terrified her if Maia had not become distracted by the window, or rather, by what was missing from it.
"The bars," she breathed, her eyes going wide. The iron bars that had crisscrossed her window for six years were gone, leaving only deep holes where they'd been wrenched free. Cool night air poured through the opening, carrying the scent of pine and heather and… freedom. "How did ye remove them?"
"Easy enough if ye ken what ye're doing." The man adjusted his grip on her, settling her more securely against his chest as he approached the window. "If yer Laird wanted to keep someone like me out, he should have done a better job."
The irony hit Maia like a hard punch to the gut. The bars hadn't been placed there to keep people out. They were intended to keep her in, to prevent exactly what she'd tried to do four years ago when desperation had driven her to fashion a rope from torn sheets and attempt an escape.
She'd failed then. Been caught, punished, locked away even more securely.
But now someone had torn those bars away like they were nothing more than twigs, and the night air beckoned with promises of everything she'd been denied for years.
As the man stepped closer to the window, as fresh air kissed her face for the first time in what felt like forever, Maia swallowed those words back down.
What good would the truth do?
He clearly believed her uncle valued her, believed this kidnapping would accomplish whatever revenge he sought.
Let him believe it. Let him carry me away from this tower, from this castle, from the uncle who'd turned me into a ghost. How much worse could it become?
She could worry about correcting his assumptions later.
So instead of speaking, Maia simply tightened her grip on his shoulders and said nothing at all as he prepared to climb through the window.
"Hold tight," the man commanded, and before Maia could ask what he meant, he was climbing onto the window ledge.
Her stomach dropped as she realized what he intended. "Wait, we're three stories up! Ye cannae possibly jump down."
"I told ye to hold tight, lass." His arm tightened around her, pulling her so close she could feel his heartbeat—steady and sure, unlike her own rabbiting pulse. Then he glanced down at her, and their eyes held.
"Trust me."
Trust ye?
She didn't even know who he was. Didn't know how her uncle had apparently wronged him or what he intended to do with her once they left the castle. For all she knew, she could be sold as a slave, or worse, used as part of the laird's harem.
She glanced past his broad shoulder at her chambers. At the narrow bed, the small table with her precious books, and the walls that had been her entire world for six terrible years.
And Maia knew she had already made her choice.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. "I'm ready."