Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
"Fifteen men. Armed and ready tae ride."
James's voice cut through the chaos in the courtyard. Lachlann was already mounted, his hands white-knuckled on the reins as soldiers assembled around him.
"The eastern coves," Lachlann said, his voice hard. "They'll take her there. It's the only route that makes sense."
"That's a lot of ground tae cover." James swung into his own saddle. "They could be at any of half a dozen landin’ points."
"Then we split up." Lachlann wheeled his horse toward the gate. "Three groups. James, take five men to the northern cove. Malcolm, ye take the southern route. I'll go straight through the center path."
He kicked his horse forward. "Move out!"
They thundered through the castle gates, hooves striking sparks off stone. The morning sun hung low and bright, painting everything in sharp relief—the trees, the path ahead, the rocky coastline visible in the distance.
Lachlann leaned low over his horse's neck, urging more speed. Every second that passed was another second Alba was in their hands. Another second of terror for her. Another second he was failing the promise he'd made.
I swore tae protect her. Swore it tae Calum. And I've let her be taken from right under me nose.
The guilt was a living thing, clawing at his chest. Not just because he'd failed in his duty to his Covenant brother. But because the thought of losing Alba—of never seeing her smile again, never hearing her laugh, never feeling her hand in his—was unbearable.
He pushed the horse harder.
The path narrowed as they entered the forest, forcing them to slow slightly to navigate between trees. Lachlann's eyes scanned constantly, searching for signs—broken branches, disturbed earth, anything to indicate someone had passed that way recently.
"There!" One of his men pointed to fresh hoof prints in the soft ground. "Two horses. Movin’ fast."
"Good." Lachlann followed the tracks, his jaw set. "Stay sharp. They might have posted lookouts."
The forest opened up ahead, revealing a steep downward slope toward the coast. And there, picking their way along the rocky path—
Two riders. One carrying a limp form slumped against his chest.
Alba.
Red flooded Lachlann's vision.
"With me!" He spurred his horse down the slope, drawing his sword. "Now!"
The kidnappers heard them coming and tried to run, but their horses were already tired from the journey. Lachlann closed the distance in seconds, his men spreading out to flank them.
"Stop!" Lachlann's voice cracked like thunder. "Ye've nowhere tae go!"
The man holding Alba—rough-faced, with cruel eyes—pulled his horse around to face them. His hand went to the dagger at his belt.
"Come any closer and I'll cut her throat," he snarled.
Lachlann's blood went ice cold. "Ye harm one hair on her head and I'll make yer death last fer days."
"Big words from a man who's too late." The kidnapper's companion had already reached the cove below, where a boat sat waiting. "We've got what we came fer. And Torquil pays better than ye ever could."
"Daes he pay enough tae die fer?" Lachlann dismounted slowly, his sword still drawn. "Because that's what's goin' tae happen if ye dinnae hand her over. Right now."
The man holding Alba hesitated, his eyes darting between Lachlann and his companion below. Calculating odds. Weighing greed against survival.
That moment of hesitation was all Lachlann needed.
He moved.
Fast and lethal, closing the distance before the kidnapper could react. His sword swept up, catching the man's dagger hand and sending the blade spinning away. His other hand grabbed the bastard's collar, hauling him bodily from the saddle.
They hit the ground hard. Lachlann rolled, came up on top, his forearm pressed against the man's throat.
"Where is Thomas?" he demanded. "The guard who helped ye?"
The kidnapper choked, his face going purple. "Castle—still in the castle—"
"Good." Lachlann pressed harder. "Because I want tae deal with him meself."
Behind him, his men had surrounded the second kidnapper, forcing him away from his horse. The man tried to fight, managed to draw his sword, but Malcolm disarmed him with brutal efficiency.
"Secure them both," Lachlann ordered, releasing the first kidnapper and shoving him toward his soldiers. "Bind them tight. They're goin' back tae the dungeon."
He turned to Alba's horse.
She was still slumped forward, unconscious, held in place only by the saddle's pommel. Lachlann reached up carefully, easing her down into his arms.
Her head lolled against his shoulder, revealing a dark bruise blooming along her temple.
They hit her.
The rage that swept through him was so intense it nearly buckled his knees. He wanted to turn around, wanted to draw his sword and run both those bastards through for daring to touch her.
But Alba was more important.
"Me laird." James appeared at his side. "Is she…"
"She's breathin'. But they struck her." Lachlann's voice shook with barely controlled fury. "Hard, from the look of it."
"We should get her back tae the castle. Let Morag tend tae her properly."
"Aye." Lachlann carried Alba to his own horse, mounting carefully with her cradled against his chest. "James, take command. Get those bastards secured and bring them back. I'm ridin' ahead."
He didn't wait for a response.
Just turned his horse toward home and urged it into a careful canter, fast enough to cover ground quickly, but smooth enough not to jostle Alba too badly.
She remained unconscious throughout the ride, her breathing steady but shallow. Lachlann kept one arm locked around her waist, the other controlling the reins, his attention divided between the path ahead and the woman in his arms.
Please be all right. Please, God, let her be all right.
The prayer repeated itself over and over as they rode, the castle growing larger on the horizon.
I cannae lose her. I cannae.
The gates opened as they approached.
Guards rushed forward, voices calling out questions, but Lachlann ignored them all. He dismounted still holding Alba, refusing to let anyone else touch her, and carried her straight through the halls to his own chamber.
Not hers. His.
Where he could watch over her. Where he'd know immediately if she woke.
Morag was already waiting, summoned by a runner who'd seen them coming. She took one look at Alba and immediately began barking orders for water, clean cloths, and her medicine bag.
"Set her on the bed, me laird. Gently now."
Lachlann laid Alba down carefully, his hands reluctant to release her. Morag shooed him back, but he only moved a few steps, watching as the healer began her examination.
"The bruise is bad but the skull daesnae seem fractured," Morag said after a moment. "She'll have a fierce headache when she wakes, and probably some nausea. But I think she'll be all right."
"Ye think?" Lachlann's voice came out rougher than intended. "Or ye ken?"
"I'm a healer, nae a prophet." But Morag's tone was gentle. "These head wounds are tricky things. But her pupils respond tae light, and her breathin' is steady. Those are good signs. "
It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. But it was all he had.
Time blurred as Morag worked, cleaning the wound, applying a cool compress, covering Alba with blankets. Lachlann stood by the window, his arms crossed, watching every movement with hawk-like intensity.
Eventually, James arrived with news that both kidnappers were secured in the dungeon and Thomas had been found hiding in the stables.
"What dae ye want done with them?" James asked.
"Keep them locked up. I'll deal with them when—" Lachlann's gaze went to Alba. "Later. When I ken she's safe."
James followed his look, something shifting in his expression. "Ye should rest, me laird.”
"I'm fine."
"Ye're exhausted. And if she wakes tae find ye collapsed from lack of sleep—"
"She'll wake tae find me here. That's all that matters."
James was quiet for a long moment. "Calum's goin' tae hear about this eventually. About how far ye went tae get her back. About what she means tae ye."
The words hung heavy in the air.
"I ken," Lachlann said quietly. "And I'll face that when the time comes. But right now, me only concern is her."
James nodded slowly. "I'll post guards outside yer door. Let me ken when she wakes."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Morag finished her ministrations and straightened. "There's nothin' more I can do now except wait. Call me when she wakes, aye?"
"Aye. Thank ye, Morag."
The healer paused at the door. "She's strong, me laird. She'll come through this. And as tae ye, me laird, ye must rest as well. I will pretend I dinnae ken that ye disobeyed me and went ridin’ tae find her.”
He nodded but said nothing.
Then she was gone, and Lachlann was alone with Alba.
He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, his elbows on his knees, watching her breathe. The bruise on her temple stood out starkly against her pale skin. Her dark hair spread across his pillow like spilled ink.
I almost lost her.
The thought kept circling back, relentless and terrible. If he'd been slower. If he hadn't guessed the right route. If those bastards had reached the boat—
He would have lost her forever.
And the Covenant, his duty to Calum, his promises—none of it would have mattered because Alba would have been gone.
Lachlann reached out, his fingers finding hers where they lay on the blanket. He held her hand carefully, as though she might break, and bowed his head.
"Come back to me, lass," he whispered. "Please. Just come back."
The hours stretched on. Afternoon light gave way to evening, then to darkness. Servants came and went, bringing food he didn't eat, stoking the fire, lighting candles.
Lachlann never moved from his chair.
He sat there through the night, keeping vigil, his hand wrapped around Alba's, waiting for her to wake.
Alba's first awareness was pain.
Sharp, throbbing pain centered behind her left eye, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.