Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
"Lady MacKinnon!" Finn's voice, urgent and close. "Are ye hurt?"
"I—I dinnae ken." Alba tried to move and gasped as pain shot through her shoulder. The door—now above her since the carriage was on its side—was wrenched open, and Finn's weathered face appeared, illuminated by the moonlight.
"Can ye climb out? Quick now, lass, we need tae—"
An arrow took him in the throat.
Alba screamed as Finn's eyes went wide with shock and he fell backward, disappearing from view. The sound of fighting erupted around the overturned carriage, steel on steel, men shouting, the wet thud of blades finding flesh.
"Dougal!" Alba called out, her voice shaking. "Dougal, what's happenin'?"
No answer came. Only the sounds of battle, growing closer.
Alba's hands were trembling so badly she could barely grip the edge of the doorway, but she forced herself to move. She had to get out, had to run, had to—
A hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her through the opening.
She stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to wrench herself free. Alba scrambled backward, her boots slipping on the damp grass as she tried to put distance between herself and her attacker.
"Easy now, lass," a rough voice called out. One of Torquil's men stepped into the moonlight, his sword drawn. "Nay need tae make this difficult."
Alba spun and ran.
Her skirts tangled around her legs, slowing her down, but fear gave her speed. She crashed through the underbrush, branches tearing at her hair and face, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Behind her, she heard shouts—multiple voices, multiple men. They were spreading out, cutting off her escape routes.
"There!" someone yelled. "She's headin' fer the trees!"
Alba veered left, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. If she could just reach the forest proper, lose them in the darkness—
A figure stepped out from behind a tree directly in her path. Alba tried to stop, to change direction, but her momentum carried her forward. Strong arms caught her, and she screamed, kicking and clawing with everything she had.
"Feisty little thing, arenae ye?" the man grunted, trying to pin her arms.
Alba drove her elbow back into his ribs with all her strength. He cursed and loosened his grip just enough for her to twist free. She ran again, but her foot caught on a root and she went down hard, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs.
Before she could recover, hands grabbed her shoulders, hauling her upright. She fought wildly, screaming into the night, her nails raking across someone's face.
"Christ! The wee bitch drew blood!"
"Just hold her still!"
Two more men appeared, and now there were too many hands, too much weight. Alba thrashed and kicked, connecting solidly with someone's knee. The man howled and stumbled back.
"Enough!"
The voice cut through the chaos like a blade. The men holding Alba went still, though they didn't release her.
Torquil MacLean emerged from the shadows, his expression dark with fury. He walked slowly toward her, and Alba renewed her struggles, trying desperately to break free.
"Let. Me. Go!" she snarled, her voice raw from screaming.
"Such spirit," Torquil said, almost admiringly. He gestured to his men. "Bring her."
They started dragging her back toward the road, and Alba dug her heels into the ground, making them work for every step. She twisted, bucked, threw her weight in every direction, but there were too many of them.
"Help!" she screamed again, though she knew it was futile. "Someone help me!"
"There's nay one comin', lass," Torquil said calmly, walking alongside as his men hauled her forward. "Yer escorts are dead or dyin'. Yer braither's in England. And yer friends from the ball are long gone by now."
Alba's boot connected with one man's shin. He cursed viciously but didn't let go.
They reached the overturned carriage, and Alba's stomach lurched when she saw Finn's body lying motionless on the ground. Dougal was slumped against a tree, blood streaming from a wound on his head, barely conscious.
"Nay!" Alba screamed, renewing her struggles with desperate fury. "Ye bastard! Ye killed them!"
"They were in me way," Torquil said simply. He nodded to his men. "Hold her."
They forced Alba to her knees, though she continued to fight, her whole body shaking with rage and terror. Torquil crouched down in front of her, close enough that she could smell the wine on his breath.
"Now then," he said softly, reaching out to grab her chin. Alba jerked her head away, and his expression hardened. "We can dae this the easy way or the hard way, Alba. But either way, ye're comin' with me."
"I'll die first," she spat.
"Nay, ye willnae." Torquil's smile was cold and cruel. "Because I tried tae dae this the proper way, lass. Gave ye the chance tae come willingly. But ye chose tae reject me, ae humiliate me in front of half the Highland lords."
"I never—ye had nay right."
"I have every right!" His voice hardened, and suddenly the charming facade was completely gone, replaced by something ugly and dangerous.
"Dae ye ken how long I've been plannin' this?
How many alliances I've had tae forge, how much gold I've spent?
The MacKinnon lands border mine now, and with yer braither away in England, it is the perfect time tae secure them. "
He stood abruptly and gestured to his men. "Get her on the horse."
They hauled Alba to her feet, and she immediately tried to break free again, throwing her weight backward. One man lost his grip, but another caught her around the waist.
"Nay!" Alba twisted, managing to get one arm free. She swung wildly, her fist connecting with someone's jaw.
"Bloody hell!" the man roared, and suddenly there were more hands on her, liftin' her bodily off the ground despite her frantic struggles.
"Calum will kill ye fer this!" Alba screamed as they carried her toward Torquil's horse. "The Covenant will hunt ye down! Ye'll nae get away with—"
"The Covenant will dae naethin'," Torquil interrupted, his smile returning, sharp and vicious. "By the time yer braither returns from England, we'll already be wed. And there are... ways tae ensure a marriage is bindin', even if the bride is less than willin' at first."
Horror crawled up Alba's spine as his meaning became clear. She thrashed harder, screaming until her throat was raw, but Torquil's men were too strong.
They lifted her up, and Torquil mounted behind her, his arm locking around her waist like an iron band.
Alba drove her elbow back into his ribs with all her strength. Torquil grunted but didn't release her. Instead, he pulled a dagger from his belt and pressed the cold steel against her throat.
"Be still," he hissed in her ear, "or I'll make sure ye regret it."
Alba froze, the blade biting into her skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
"That's better," Torquil murmured. "Now, we're goin' tae take a nice quiet ride tae me lands, and ye're goin' tae—"
"Put. Her. Down."
The voice cut through the night, cold and deadly as winter ice.
Lachlann MacNeil stood at the edge of the clearing, his sword drawn and moonlight gleaming off the steel.
He wasn't wearing his mask anymore, and his face was terrible in its fury, grey eyes burning like storm clouds lit by lightning, jaw clenched so tight Alba could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
Relief flooded through her so powerfully she nearly sobbed. "Lachlann!"
"MacNeil." Torquil didn't put her down, and his hand didn’t move. "This is nay concern of yers. The lady and I are just gettin’ tae ken each other."
"If ye dinnae put her down in the next three seconds, I'm goin' tae gut ye like a fish and leave yer corpse fer the crows." Lachlann's voice was perfectly calm, which somehow made the threat even more terrifying. "One."
Torquil's men shifted, hands moving to weapons. They outnumbered Lachlann twelve to one.
"Two."
"Ye're alone, MacNeil," Torquil said, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice now. "And I have half a dozen men. Dae ye really want tae die over this?"
"Three."
Lachlann moved.
Alba had seen him train before, had watched him practice with sword and dirk in the yards at home when he visited Calum. But this, this was different. This was Lachlann as she'd never seen him: a warrior in full fury, moving with lethal precision through Torquil's men like death incarnate.
He struck the first man before anyone could react, blade opening a red line across the warrior's throat.
The second managed to raise his sword in defense, but Lachlann's blow shattered through the guard and took him in the chest. The third got a dirk into Lachlann's shoulder, but if it hurt him, he gave no sign—just grabbed the man's wrist, twisted until bone snapped, and threw him into two others.
It was over in seconds. Bodies on the ground, groaning or still. Lachlann standing in the center of the carnage, blood dripping from his blade, breathing hard but steady.
And Torquil, backing away with Alba still in his grip and a dagger now pressed to her throat.
"Stay back," Torquil warned, and Alba felt the cold kiss of steel against her skin. "Stay back, or I swear I'll—"
"Ye'll what?" Lachlann took a step forward, and there was something predatory in the movement. "Kill her? Then ye lose everythin' ye wanted—her lands, her clan's alliance, whatever sick fantasy ye've been nursin' in that twisted mind of yers."
"I'll hurt her, then. Scar that pretty face so no other man will want her."
"And I'll kill ye slowly fer it." Another step. "But ye're nae goin' tae hurt her, Torquil. Because ye're a coward, and cowards dinnae have the stones tae follow through on their threats when they're cornered."
Torquil's hand trembled against Alba's throat. She could feel his fear, could smell the acrid scent of his sweat mixing with wine and blood. He was realizing, too late, that he'd made a terrible mistake.
"I... I'll tell everyone," Torquil said, his voice rising. "I'll go tae the king, tell him ye attacked me without provocation, that ye stole the lady I was courtin'."
"Dae it." Lachlann's smile was vicious. "Please. Give me an excuse tae hunt ye down and finish what we started here taenight."
For a long moment, no one moved. Alba could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, could feel the dagger's edge biting into her skin hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.
Torquil's arm tightened around her waist, and Alba felt him shift his weight, preparing to retreat toward his horse. But Lachlann was already moving, closing the distance between them with predatory focus.
"Stay back!" Torquil warned, pressing the blade harder against Alba's throat. She gasped as the steel bit deeper, warm blood trickling down her neck.
Lachlann stopped, but his eyes—those storm-grey eyes—were calculating, watching every twitch of Torquil's muscles, every shift of his weight.
"Ye're nae walkin' away from this," Lachlann said quietly. "Let her go, and I'll make it quick. Keep holdin' her, and I promise ye'll beg for death before I'm done."
"Big words from a man who's outnumbered," Torquil sneered, though his voice trembled slightly. He started backing toward his horse, dragging Alba with him. "One more step and I'll slit her throat right here."
Lachlann's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of dirt and stones from the ground. In one fluid motion, he hurled it directly into Torquil's face.
Torquil flinched instinctively, his head jerking back, his grip on both Alba and the dagger loosening for just a heartbeat.
It was all Lachlann needed.
He lunged forward, his hand closing around Torquil's wrist—the one holding the dagger—and twisted viciously. Torquil screamed as bone cracked, the blade falling from his nerveless fingers.
At the same moment, Lachlann's other arm wrapped around Alba's waist, yanking her away from Torquil with such force that she stumbled into his chest.
"I've got ye," Lachlann murmured against her hair, already moving, putting his body between her and Torquil. "I've got ye, lass."
Torquil clutched his broken wrist, his face contorted with pain and rage. For a moment, he looked like he might charge at them despite his injury, despite the fact that Lachlann now held his bloodied sword pointed directly at Torquil's heart.
"This isnae over," Torquil hissed, spittle flying from his lips. "She's mine. The king will hear of this, I'll make sure of it. I'll tell him ye attacked me without provocation, that ye stole the woman I was courtin'."
"Run," Lachlann said softly, his voice deadly calm. "Run now, while ye still can. Because if ye're still standin' here when I count tae three again, I will gut ye where ye stand and damn the consequences. I dinnae bluff."
Torquil's eyes darted between Lachlann's face and the sword point, seeing the absolute truth of the threat.
"One."
Torquil backed toward his horse, his good hand reaching for the reins.
"Two."
He mounted clumsily, his broken wrist hanging useless at his side, his face twisted with pain and humiliation.
"This isnae over, MacNeil!" he shouted, wheeling his horse around. "The king will—"
"Three."
Lachlann took a single step forward, and Torquil spurred his horse into a gallop, crashing through the trees toward the road.
His remaining men—those who could still move—scrambled after him, dragging their wounded with them, the sounds of their retreat echoing through the night.
Lachlann stood perfectly still until the hoofbeats faded completely into the distance. Only then did he lower his sword and turn to Alba, his hands immediately moving to her face, her shoulders, checking for injuries.