Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Earlier that evening
"Ye're certain this is the place?"
Alpin MacDougal kept his voice low, eyes fixed on the entrance to what looked like an abandoned grain warehouse. But the number of guards stationed around it told a different story.
"Aye, me laird." His scout, Callum, gestured toward the building. "Three lasses from our lands disappeared in the last month. Tracks led here."
Alpin's jaw tightened. He'd heard the rumors, underground auctions where women were sold like cattle, but hearing and seeing were two very different things.
"How many guards?"
"Eight outside that I can count. More inside, likely."
Too many to fight. Not without startin' a war he wasnae ready for. "I'm goin' in."
Callum's head whipped toward him. "Me laird…"
"I need tae see what's happenin' in there. Who's runnin' this. Who's buyin'." Alpin adjusted his cloak, pullin' the hood lower over his fair hair. "If I can get names, faces, evidence, we can bring this tae the king."
"And if they recognize ye?"
"They willnae." Alpin had dressed carefully, plain clothes, nothin' that screamed laird. And he'd left his clan colors back at camp. "Stay here with the men. If I'm nae out by dawn, ride back and tell Tristan what ye saw."
"Me laird..."
"That's an order, Callum."
The scout's mouth pressed into a thin line, but he nodded.
Alpin made his way toward the entrance, keeping to the shadows. The guards were checking each man who entered, looking for weapons, mostly, but they let him pass with barely a glance after he slipped them a few coins.
Inside, the noise hit him first. Voices. Laughter. The clink of glasses. And underneath it all, something that made his skin crawl. Anticipation. Hunger.
The chamber was packed. Alpin found a spot near the back, where he could see the raised platform without bein' too visible himself. His hand rested on the dirk hidden beneath his cloak.
"Gentlemen!" A scarred man stepped onto the platform. "Welcome, welcome. We have a fine selection fer ye taenight."
Alpin's attention sharpened. That was Laird Aodh Graham. He'd heard of him before—a laird with considerable power and connections, known for his ruthlessness and willingness to profit from any venture, no matter how dark. The auctions were just another way for him to expand his wealth.
The first lass they brought out was barely sixteen. Alpin's hands curled into fists as the biddin' started, as men shouted numbers like she was livestock. When she was dragged off the platform in tears, he had to force himself to stay still.
Evidence first. Justice after.
Two more lasses followed. Both sold within minutes.
"Our next offerin’ is a rare prize indeed!"
A new lass was pushed onto the platform, and Alpin's breath caught.
She was beautiful—dark hair, grey eyes that flashed with fury even through her obvious terror. But it wasn’t her beauty that held his attention. It was the way she fought. The way she snarled at Graham like a wildcat despite being surrounded by men twice her size.
"I'm nae fer sale, ye bastard!"
Her voice carried across the entire chamber, clear and defiant. Several men laughed. Alpin didn’t.
"A Munro," someone near him muttered. "Bold as brass, that one."
Munro. Alpin's mind raced. The Munros were a powerful clan with considerable lands in the Highlands, their power built on territory rather than coin.
He'd heard whispers over the past year—debts, failed harvests. But no, it couldn’t be… a father wouldn’t do that tae his child. Would he?
The bidding started. It climbed higher and higher.
The lass—Mhairi, they called her—kept fighting, kept pleading. And every word she spoke made Alpin's chest tighten with somethin' he couldnae name.
When the English lord made his final bid, ninety, the room went silent.
Dae somethin', bid higher. Get her out of here.
But that would blow his cover. Would put a target on his back before he had the evidence he needed. And it wouldn’t save all the other lasses who'd be sold tomorrow, or the day after.
The hammer fell.
"Sold!"
Alpin watched them drag her backstage, watched the English lord follow and made his decision.
He slipped out of the warehouse while everyone's attention was still on the platform and found Callum and his men exactly where he'd left him.
"We're following them," Alpin said shortly.
"Who?"
"The English lord who just bought the Munro lass. I want tae ken where he's takin her."
Callum's eyes widened. "Me laird, if ye interfere it’ll be bad."
"I'm nae asking fer permission." Alpin was already moving toward where they'd hidden their horses. "I'm tellin' ye what we're daein'. Now mount up."
They waited in the tree line until Ashcombe emerged with his prize. Even from a distance, Alpin could hear her screaming.
His hands tightened on his reins.
"Easy," Callum murmured. "Too many guards. Too many witnesses."
"I ken." But watching them throw her across that horse, bound and helpless, it took every ounce of control he had not to charge down there anyway.
The English lord's party headed south. Alpin and Callum and the guards followed, stayin' well back, lettin' the darkness hide them.
Hours passed, the moon rose higher. Finally the party ahead slowed, then stopped in a small clearing.
"They're makin' camp," Callum whispered.
Alpin nodded, dismounting quietly. "Wait here. I'm goin' closer."
"Me laird."
"If I'm nae back in an hour, assume I'm dead and ride fer home."
He moved through the forest like a ghost, years of hunting making his steps silent. The English lord's camp came into view, two guards posted, one tending the fire. And there, tied to a tree—
Mhairi.
Even bound and clearly exhausted, she held her head high. Watching. Waiting.
Smart lass.
Alpin counted the men again. Three total, including Ashcombe. He could take them, but he'd need the element of surprise.
He circled the camp, moving into position. Then he picked up a stone and threw it hard into the brush on the opposite side.
"What was that?" One of the guards spun toward the sound.
"Probably just an animal," the other said, but he was reaching for his sword.
"Check it anyway."
The first guard moved toward the noise. The second followed, leaving Ashcombe alone by the fire.
Alpin struck.
He came out of the darkness fast, dirk already drawn. The first guard went down without a sound, Alpin's blade finding the gap in his armor. The second spun toward him, sword raised—
Steel met steel with a sound that shattered the night's quiet.
"Attack!" the guard shouted. "We're under attack!"
Ashcombe was on his feet instantly, weapon drawn. "Who dares?"
Alpin didnae answer. Just moved, fast and brutal, disarming the second guard with a quick twist of his blade. The man stumbled back, and Mhairi, hands still bound, kicked out hard. Her feet caught him behind the knees and he went down.
Their eyes met for half a heartbeat. Hers were wide, shocked—but fierce.
Then Ashcombe was there, blade coming straight for Alpin's head.
Alpin blocked, stepped inside the English lord's guard, and slammed his shoulder into the man's chest. Ashcombe staggered. Behind him, Mhairi was working at her bindings, teeth tearing at the rope.
"Stop!" Ashcombe's voice cracked like a whip. "I bought that woman legally! You're stealing my property!"
"Property?" Alpin's voice came out deadly quiet. He pressed forward, forcing Ashcombe back step by step. "She's nae property, ye English bastard. She's a person."
"I paid ninety scots."
"Ye paid ninety scots fer someone who was nae fer sale." Alpin's blade moved faster now, anger lending him speed. "That's the difference between ye and me. I ken women arenae objects tae be bought."
Behind them, Mhairi's bindings came free. She was on her feet instantly and runnin'.
Into the forest.
Into the darkness.
Ashcombe lunged toward her. "Stop her!"
Alpin blocked his path, their blades locking together. "She's already gone."
"Then I'll hunt her down."
"Ye'll try." Alpin broke the lock, spun, and landed a brutal kick to Ashcombe's knee. The English lord went down with a cry of pain. "But ye'll have tae get through me first."
He couldn’t kill him. Killing a duke, even an English one, would bring consequences Alpin wasn’t ready for. But he could make sure the bastard stayed down long enough for Mhairi to get away.
One more strike. Ashcombe's sword went flyin' into the underbrush. Alpin pressed his dirk to the man's throat.
"If I ever see ye on Scottish soil again," Alpin said softly, "I'll cut yer throat and leave ye fer the wolves. Understand?"
Ashcombe's eyes burned with fury. "This isn't over."
"Aye, it is." Alpin stepped back, blade still raised. "Now get out of me sight before I change me mind about lettin' ye live."
The English lord stumbled to his feet, clutching his injured knee. His remaining guard was already moving toward the horses. Within moments, they were gone, crashing through the forest like wounded animals.
Alpin took one breath. Two.
Then he turned toward the darkness where Mhairi had disappeared.
And went after her.