Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Elsie’s world became motion and terror. Rough hands tore at her cloak, fingers digging into her arms as she was dragged across uneven ground toward the shore.
Stones cut through the thin soles of her shoes; the smell of salt and rot filled her lungs with every desperate breath.
She fought, twisting and kicking, but the men holding her were strong and practiced, their grips bruising and merciless.
Every step was taking her farther and farther from Halvard. Every breath was labored, the result of struggle, of fighting with everything she had, praying that Halvard would get to her on time.
Harcourt had brought so many of his men. The last Elsie had seen of Halvard had been when he was fighting one of them, their blades clashing, their roars echoing in the quiet of the sleeping town.
Though not many people must have slept through the ruckus, none had dared to come out; none had dared to help. Even as Elsie was being dragged away, there had been no one there to stop it. And now, she was all alone, without Halvard’s presence to calm her.
But he’ll come. He’ll come for me.
He had never let her down, and that thought gave her the strength she needed to keep fighting. She twisted her body once more, trying to wrench herself free from her captors, trying to force their hand.
“No!” she gasped, turning violently in their hands. “Let go of me, you brutes!”
One of the men cursed and yanked her closer, dragging her against his chest. She smelled stale ale and sweat, felt the coarse scratch of wool against her cheek as he pinned her arms tighter, forcing them behind her back. Pain exploded up her shoulders, bright and blinding, relentless.
She fought anyway.
Elsie drove her elbow back blindly. It connected with a grunt, but the victory lasted only a second before a hand fisted into her hair, wrenching her head back so hard tears sprang instantly to her eyes. Her scalp burned, her neck screamed in protest.
“Hold her,” another voice snarled. “Don’t let her scream.”
A rough palm clapped over her mouth, cutting off her cry.
The taste of salt and dirt filled her mouth as she bit down, her teeth scraping skin.
The man hissed in pain and struck her hard across the ribs in retaliation.
The blow sent fire through her side, forcing a sob from her chest despite the hand still pressed to her lips.
They dragged her forward then, no longer bothering to keep her upright.
Her feet barely touched the ground and one of her shoes slipped free entirely, left behind in the dark like a discarded thing.
Soon, they reached the pier. The planks under her feet were slick with spray.
She slipped, the action ironically freeing her from the grip of her captors, her palms slamming down hard, splinters biting into her skin.
Before she could scramble back, though, hands hauled her up again, the men’s fingers digging under her arms, lifting her bodily.
“Careful,” Harcourt’s calm voice said somewhere nearby, maddeningly composed. “I want her breathing.”
Elsie’s blood ran cold at the sound of that familiar voice. There had been no doubt in her mind it had all been Harcourt’s doing. Why else would anyone attack them? Why would anyone else try to haul her away like that, to take her away from Halvard, away from safety?
But hearing his voice now, so close to her, was enough to fill the pit in her stomach with dread. Her eyes searched for him in the dark, in the dim light of the half moon, looking through the shadows of the reeds and the trees that lined the shore.
And then she saw him—a cloaked, menacing figure, like a shadow himself, like he was forged of night.
The men dragged her the last few steps, her body jolting with each uneven plank on the deck. Cold spray lashed her face, salt stinging her eyes and lips. She twisted her head desperately, straining for any sign of Halvard—any sound, any movement—
And then she saw the boat.
It waited below, dark and narrow, rocking restlessly against its rope like something alive. The water under it black and endless.
Panic surged violently within her, overwhelming and absolute.
She screamed then, his name ripped from her chest with everything she had left. Her voice was raw, broken, and fierce as the sea wind carried it into the night.
“Halvard!”
Even as the men tightened their grips and hauled her toward the edge, even as terror threatened to tear her apart, she still believed in him. She still believed he would come.
The sea loomed ahead—black, endless, whispering promises of disappearance.
“Let me go!” she cried, her voice torn raw by the wind.
One of them laughed, low and ugly, tightening his hold.
Harcourt walked out onto the pier, standing before Elsie, his boots unhurried, his cloak stirring in the breeze.
The moon caught his face in sharp angles, revealing that calm, cold expression she had come to dread—the look of a man who believed himself entirely justified.
Around him, more of his men crept out from the shadows, and Elsie lost count of them quickly as they spread around the pier.
“Careful,” he said mildly to his men. “She’s worth more intact.”
Elsie twisted her head toward him, fury cutting through fear. “You’re mad,” she spat. “This will damn you.”
Harcourt smiled. “No, my dear. This will balance the scales.”
They reached the edge of the pier where the small boat waited, its dark hull bobbing restlessly against the rocks. The waves slapped against it like impatient hands.
Harcourt stepped closer, studying her as one might a prize animal.
“We’ve always known it was you,” Elsie spat, straining against her captors once more. She would be damned if she let Harcourt lay a hand on her. “Halvard has always known. Did you truly think we’d come here unprepared?”
“No,” said Harcourt, giving her pause. “Of course, I didn’t. And that is precisely why I didn’t come unprepared.”
Her stomach dropped, understanding crashing into her like a wave.
It was a far more elaborate trap than they had thought.
Harcourt hadn’t truly thought that Elsie would show up alone at all.
He had never bet on her lying to Halvard, he had never expected her to keep his man’s instructions a secret.
If anything, he had always known Halvard would be there—and he had brought the men he needed with him to kill two birds with one stone.
Elsie surged forward with a cry of rage, only to be wrenched back again. “You used my sister! You used my sister to trap me and Halvard!”
Selene. Where are you? What has he done to you?
Harcourt’s eyes glittered. “Halvard MacLeod used my daughter.”
The words struck hard, giving Elsie pause.
“Margaret crossed half the realm,” he went on, his voice cool and precise, “expecting a crown of sorts. A ladyship. Power, respect. She returned mocked, whispered about, pitied.” His mouth twisted into an ugly grimace, one that revealed the true extent of his cruelty.
“All because your husband decided to humiliate us.”
Harcourt was after one thing—power. He was a man possessed, and he would go to great lengths to get what he wanted.
And what he wanted now was revenge.
“We are married. We are married under God, and there is nothing you can do to change that,” Elsie said, her chin lifting in defiance.
“That,” Bowen said, stepping close enough that she could smell the leather and cold iron on him, “only makes it sweeter.”
The men hauled her closer to the boat. She dug her heels in, heart hammering as the water surged louder, closer.
“Halvard,” Harcourt said, “took my honor, my reputation… the future I had secured for my bloodline. And now—” his gaze dropped to her, cold and cruel—“I will take from him.”
Elsie’s chest constricted painfully with terror. It coursed through her veins like poison, paralyzing her, the thought of what was to come burning through her mind.
“So you wish to kill me?” she asked with a bitter scoff, shaking her head. “All because your daughter didn’t end up marrying him? You could have chosen a different match for her! You could have found more suitors.”
Fury colored Harcourt’s cheeks then, and he stepped closer, his breath hot on Elsie’s face as he spoke.
“You presume to tell me how to manage my affairs? I did what was best for my daughter and for her future. You are nothing but an insolent brat and you know nothing of these things. What do you know of sacrifice? Of strategy? What do you know of duty? Nothing.”
Elsie glared at the man, her eyes narrowing as she took in his form. He didn’t seem so large to her suddenly—more of a small, pathetic man who clung to power and craved it more than anything.
Margaret, for all her faults, was a beautiful young woman. She could have had her pick of suitors had her father not been so greedy, had he not searched for a way to expand his influence into the Highlands.
“What are you waiting for, then?” Elsie spat. “Kill me.”
Harcourt laughed softly. “Oh no. Death is far too quick.” He gestured vaguely towards the boat. “You will disappear, taken across the water. Sold, traded, hidden… whatever suits me best. And Halvard will spend the rest of his savage life knowing he failed to protect what was his.”
The waves surged higher, spraying cold salt across her face. Fear threatened to swallow her whole, her blood running cold in her veins. Harcourt wasn’t going to give her a quick end—he was going to torture both her and Halvard for the rest of their lives.
It was a sick, twisted plan. Death would have been more merciful, but Harcourt was not a merciful man.
Either way, it didn’t matter. There was one thing Harcourt had not accounted for, and that was Halvard’s strength, his resilience.
Halvard will come.
The thought was not a hope. It was a certainty carved into her bones. All she had to do was buy him some more time.
“What have you done with Selene?” she asked—finally, the one question that had been searing the back of her mind. “Where is my sister?”
Harcourt let out a short, bitter laugh. “Did you truly think I’d go into all the trouble of taking her? I don’t care about your sister. She can spend the rest of her life with MacLeod searching for you for all I care. I only used her to get to you. And it worked.”
Rage and relief mixed when Elsie heard those words. She had been foolish to have believed the man’s words, but knowing she had never been threatened flooded her with the kind of relief that almost made her knees buckle.
She didn’t need to worry about her sister anymore. She didn’t need to think of all the ways Harcourt could hurt her, all the ways he could break her spirit. Selene was home and she was safe, and that was enough for Elsie.
And then, somewhere behind her, she heard shouts—distant, furious. Harcourt heard them too, and his smile thinned as he stared into the distance, searching the dark for any sign of Halvard.
Elsie did the same, her head whipping back to stare into that abyss that stretched past the pier, but no matter how much she strained, she couldn’t see past the veil of night, but even so, she knew Halvard was coming for her.
“Quickly,” Harcourt snapped, urging his men to move once more, the two of them dragging Elsie along. Once again, she screamed and fought, resisting in any way she could as they tried to get her on the boat, knowing that if they sailed away, there would be little hope of Halvard catching up to them.
Digging her heels into the rotting wood of the pier, Elsie put all her strength into stopping those two men from getting her onto the boat. She kept glancing over her shoulder, kept searching for Halvard, kept calling out to him, praying that he would get to her on time.
But the men lifted her, their boots scraping over the pier as they hauled her toward the boat.
“Quit stalling!” Harcourt growled at his men. “Get her on the damn boat!”
But just as Elsie’s feet skidded over the pier, threatening to go over the edge of it, a flash of steel caught her eye.
And when she turned her head, her eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat, she saw Halvard there, Sten next to him, the two of them hurrying toward her with their weapons drawn.
And Elsie had never seen rage such as that painted over Halvard’s face, as what drew him to her like a moth to the flame.