Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The escort Finley left her with was small, just four men, all wearing expressions that said they'd rather be anywhere else. They didn't speak to her as they rode, didn't meet her eyes.
Enya had stopped expecting otherwise years ago.
The road narrowed as they drew closer to the coast, trees pressing in on either side. The light had almost faded, shadows stretching long and dark across the path. Somewhere ahead, Lewis waited. The castle. The husband she'd never met.
The lie she'd agreed to live.
"Dae ye think they're waitin' fer us?" Amelia asked quietly. She'd moved her horse closer to Enya's, close enough that their stirrups nearly touched. "The royal convoy and... and him?"
"I dinnae ken." Enya's hands tightened on the reins. "Perhaps they thought we'd nae come today. The sea delayed us enough."
"Or perhaps they're all warm inside, drinkin' wine and laughin' about the cursed Cameron lass."
"Amelia."
"I'm just sayin' what ye're thinkin'." Her maid's chin lifted, defiant even in the growing dark. "And I still say we should've told yer braither tae go hang himself with his own schemes."
One of the guards glanced back at them, and Enya lowered her voice. "We've been through this."
"Aye, we have. And I still think it's shite." Amelia's hands twisted in her reins. "Ye shouldnae have tae spy on yer own husband, Enya. Ye shouldnae have tae—"
The attack came so fast, Enya didn't even have time to scream.
One moment the road was empty. The next, men were everywhere—pouring out of the trees like wolves, faces covered, blades already drawn.
The guard in front went down first, struck from his horse before he could even reach for his sword. His head hit the ground with a sound that made Enya's stomach turn.
"Ride!" Another guard was shouting, wheeling his horse around. "Ride, damn ye."
But there was nowhere to go. He was dragged down from his horse. The ambush had them boxed in, front and back. Enya saw another guard dragged from his saddle, saw the flash of steel, heard Amelia's sharp cry of fear.
Then hands were on her—rough, cruel hands yanking her from her horse. She fought, kicking and clawing, but she might as well have been fighting the tide.
Her boots hit the ground hard enough to jar her teeth, and someone wrenched her arm behind her back.
"Amelia!" She could see her maid struggling in another man's grip, could see the terror on her face. "Let her go! Let her—"
"Shut your mouth." The voice at her ear was thick with an accent she didn't recognize. Not Highland. Not Norse. Something else entirely. "Unless ye want me to shut it for ye."
Enya tried to twist free, but his grip only tightened.
Around them, the Cameron guards were being overwhelmed—outnumbered three to one, exhausted from the journey, caught completely off guard. It was over in moments.
"Check them," someone ordered. "Coins, weapons, anythin' worth carryin'."
This was a robbery. Just a robbery. They'd take what they wanted and leave. They had to.
But even as Enya tried to convince herself of that, she knew it was a lie. The way these men moved, the way they'd positioned themselves, this wasn't opportunistic. This was planned.
"Got four horses," one of the attackers called out. "And some coin, but nae much."
"What about the women?"
Enya's blood ran cold.
The man holding her shifted his grip, forcing her chin up with fingers that dug into her jaw. She tried to pull away, but he was too strong. Too close.
"Let's see what we caught," he muttered.
The moment his eyes met hers, everything changed.
She felt it, the way his breath caught, the way his fingers went rigid against her skin. Saw the exact instant recognition gave way to something darker.
"Christ preserve us," he whispered.
"What?" Another man moved closer. "What is it?"
"Look at her eyes."
Nay. Nay, please.
But he was already turning her face toward the others, displaying her like a prize. Like something unnatural that needed to be examined. And she could see it happening, the shift from simple greed to something far more dangerous.
"Two different colors," someone breathed. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Ye ken what that means, dinnae ye?" The man holding her was grinning now. Grinning like he'd just found gold in the dirt. "A lass marked like that? There's men who'd pay a fortune for somethin' so... unusual."
Enya's heart was hammering so hard she could barely breathe. "I'm meant fer Lewis. I am the Hawk's bride. If ye touch me—"
"If we touch ye, no one will ever know." His breath was hot against her ear. "We'll be long gone before anyone realizes ye're missin'. And by then, you'll be halfway to the continent, fetchin' a price that'll set us up for life."
"And this one?" Someone had Amelia now, was forcing her forward. "What about her?"
"Pretty enough. We'll take her too. Different market, but she'll sell."
Amelia made a sound like a wounded animal, and something in Enya snapped.
She drove her elbow back hard, felt it connect with something soft. The man holding her cursed, his grip loosening just enough—
She wrenched free, stumbling toward Amelia. "Run! Run, we have tae—"
A fist caught her across the face.
The world tilted. Enya hit the ground hard, tasting blood, her vision swimming. Strong hands hauled her up again, and this time the grip was brutal enough to make her bones creak.
"Stupid bitch," her captor snarled. "Ye'll pay for that."
The sound of hoofbeats cut through the chaos like thunder.
Two riders exploded into the clearing, moving so fast Enya barely registered them before the first attacker went down. Not fallen. Not stumbled.
Dead.