Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
"Ye're bleedin' too much."
Her face had gone pale in the moonlight, and her breathing was too quick, too shallow.
He tore a strip of fabric from his tunic with sharp, efficient movements, the linen coming away clean despite the night's violence. The sound made her flinch.
"Here." He held out the makeshift bandage. "Bind it tight, or ye'll bleed all over me saddle."
She snatched the fabric from his hand without meeting his eyes. "I told ye I can manage."
"Aye, I can see that."
Tòrr watched with growing irritation as she fumbled with the bandage, her hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the cloth. Blood continued to seep through her fingers, dark against the silk of her torn sleeve.
"Christ's bones, lass," Cameron muttered, cleaning his blade nearby. "Just let the man help ye before ye faint dead away."
"I'm nae goin' tae faint," she snapped, but even as she said it, she swayed slightly.
Tòrr had seen enough. "Dae ye need help, or are ye determined tae prove yer point by bleedin' tae death?"
“I’m nae dyin’”
"Course nae. Just like ye're nae bleedin' through that useless knot ye've tied." He gestured at her arm where blood had already soaked through the cloth. "Hand it over."
"I..." She looked down at the blood-soaked cloth in her hands, at the way her attempts to tie it had only made the bleeding worse. "Fine. But be quick about it."
"Quick as I can." He stepped closer, noting how she tensed at his approach. "Hold still."
The gash was deeper than he'd thought, running from just below her elbow nearly to her wrist. The bastard's blade had sliced clean through silk and skin alike, and Tòrr felt his jaw clench at the sight.
"This will hurt," he warned, then grasped her sleeve and tore it further, exposing the full length of the wound.
"What are ye daein’?" She gasped, trying to pull away, her free hand flying to cover the exposed skin of her arm.
He caught her wrist to hold her still, ignoring the way she flinched at his touch. "I own ye now, lass. That means I dae whatever's necessary tae keep ye alive and whole. Modesty has nay place when ye’re life is at risk."
"Ye dinnae own me," she hissed, but she stopped struggling.
"The coin I paid yer faither says otherwise." He began wrapping the bandage around her arm with practiced efficiency.
"I highly doubt ye care about me wellbein’," she shot back. "More likely ye're worried about damaged goods."
"I'm worried about ye bleedin' all over the creation because ye're too proud tae accept help when ye need it."
"I never asked fer yer help!"
"Nay, but ye need it all the same." He tested the bandage's tension. "There. That should hold."
She yanked her arm back the moment he released it. "Are ye satisfied?"
"Far from it," he replied dryly. "But it'll dae fer now."
Cameron's laugh echoed through the clearing. "Christ, Tòrr. Did ye buy yerself a wife or a wildcat?"
"Remains tae be seen," Tòrr answered, watching as the lass stalked toward the horses with as much dignity as she could muster in her torn gown. "Though I'm startin' tae suspect it might be both."
The horses were where they'd left them, tied to a cluster of birch trees at the forest's edge. Tòrr's black stallion stamped restlessly, sensing the violence that had just passed, while Cameron's bay mare stood placid and unbothered.
When they reached the animals, Tòrr moved to lift the lass onto his horse, but she stepped back, shaking her head.
"I can mount a horse meself, thank ye very much."
"Nae with that arm, ye cannae." Before she could protest further, he caught her around the waist and lifted her sideways onto his saddle. "And nae in that gown."
The moment his hands touched her waist, something electric shot between them. He felt her go rigid in his grasp, heard her sharp intake of breath, and for just an instant, her eyes met his.
He swung up behind her.
She twisted to face him. "What's wrong with me gown?"
"Besides the blood and the fact that it's been slashed to ribbons?" He gathered the reins. "The fact that it is impossible tae move around in."
Her mask was gone, torn away in her struggle to free herself from his grip, and Tòrr got his first clear look at Liliane Munro's face.
Christ almighty.
He'd expected prettiness, perhaps. Most lairds' daughters were well-favored enough.
But she... she was something else entirely.
Her features were delicate but strong, with high cheekbones and a stubborn chin that spoke of Highland pride.
Her hair, freed from its pins during the struggle, fell in waves of gold and copper around her shoulders.
And those eyes, hazel shot through with flecks of green and gold, held intelligence and fire in equal measure.
She was beautiful. Breathtakingly so.
"Satisfied with yer purchase?" she asked bitterly, apparently reading something in his expression.
“I’m satisfied ye’re Roderick Munro’s daughter,” he replied coolly, swinging up behind her.
“Soon tae be a MacDonald, if God wills it.”
A low whistle came from the man already mounted nearby. “Ye’ve a strange way of courtin’, Tòrr.”
“Liliane,” Tòrr said shortly, jerking his chin toward him, “That’s Aidan Cameron. Me friend. Ignore him when he’s runnin’ his mouth.”
Aidan grinned, utterly unbothered. “That’s most of the time.” He gave a low bow. “Pleasure tae make yer acquaintance, me lady.”
“Thank ye,” Liliane responded stiffly. Twisting in the saddle to look at Tòrr, she spoke again. “What did ye mean, soon tae be MacDonald?”
“I mean I intend tae marry ye,” he said bluntly, spurring his horse forward. “The moment we reach Keppoch.”
At his statement, he felt her go rigid against him, heard her sharp intake of breath.
"Marry me?" Her voice rose to nearly a shout. "Ye cannae just decide tae marry someone! Marriage requires consent from both parties!"
"Daes it?" He kept his voice level, almost conversational. "That's nae what the law says. The law says a woman becomes her husband's property upon marriage, and I've already paid the bride price. The ceremony is just a formality."
“Me faither never agreed tae marry me off tae ye!” She was practically vibrating with rage now. “He had plans fer me, plans that didnae include some…”
"Some what?" There was ice in his voice now.
"Some Jacobite rebel who thinks he can steal women at auction!"
"I didnae steal ye, lass. I bought ye. Fair and square, in front of half the Highland nobility. Ye're mine by right of purchase, witnessed and bindin’."
She fell silent for a moment, and he could practically hear her mind working, searching for some way out of the trap that had closed around her.
"The marriage willnae be valid," she said finally. "Nae without proper banns, nae without me consent. Ye cannae just drag me tae some priest."
"I can dae whatever I damn well please," he cut her off. "Ye're under me protection now, which means ye're under me authority. If I say we're tae be wed, then wed we'll be."
"Ye're a brute," she whispered. "A barbarian."
"Aye," he agreed calmly. "But I'm yer barbarian now. Best get used tae it."
Cameron rode up alongside them, his brow furrowed. “Easy, Tòrr. She’s frightened.”
“She’s defiant,” Tòrr said flatly, not raising his voice. “There’s a difference.”
“I’m right here,” Liliane snapped. “Stop talkin’ about me as if I cannae hear ye.”
“Then stop actin’ like a bairn and start actin’ like the woman ye’re about tae become,” he replied evenly. “Me wife. The Lady of Keppoch.”
“Never,” she hissed. “Ye can drag me there, force yer ceremony, but ye’ll never have me willin’ participation in any of it.”
“I dinnae need yer willin’ participation,” Tòrr said coolly. “Only yer presence. The rest can be arranged.”
“Ye’re a monster,” she breathed.
“So ye keep sayin’.” His arm tightened at her waist. “But I’m the monster who just saved ye from yer faither’s men. Think they’d have treated ye gently after cuttin’ me down?”
“They were me faither’s men!”
“Aye. And they drew blood from ye without a second thought. That’s the man ye’re defendin’.”
Her jaw clenched. “He was tryin’ tae get me back.”
“He was salvagin’ his pride. Ye were only the tool.”
“Ye dinnae ken anythin’ about me faither.”
“I ken enough,” he said coldly. “He sold ye like cattle. He set dogs on the man who outbid him. That tells me all I need tae ken.”
“I’ll run away,” she spat.
“Where? Back tae him?” Tòrr’s gaze hardened. “He’s the one who put ye on that platform. And he willnae want ye back now.”
“I’ll make a scene,” she snapped. “Scream. Fight. Whatever it takes.”
“Then ye’ll be screamin’ all the way tae Keppoch,” he said quietly. “But ye’re still comin’.”
"And if I refuse? If I make such a scene at the altar that even yer bought priest willnae perform the ceremony?"
"Then we'll keep tryin' until one will." His smile was cold. "I have all the time in the world, lass. Dae ye?"
She twisted to stare at him. "Ye've destroyed everythin’!"
"Have I? Or have I given ye somethin' better than what ye had?"
"Better? Ye call this better?"
Better than whatever bargain yer faither would’ve struck,” he replied evenly. “I’m younger, richer, and I willnae beat ye fer sport. That already puts me ahead of most Highland lairds.”
"Such high praise fer yerself."
"I'm the only ally ye have left in this world.”
She laughed bitterly. "Ally? Ye bought me at auction!"
“Aye, I did. And now ye’re under me protection instead of some laird’s fists, Campbell’s schemes, or whatever bargain yer faither would’ve struck.” His voice hardened. “Count yerself lucky.”
"Lucky," she repeated flatly.
"Aye. Lucky." He spurred his horse faster. "Now stop squirmin' or ye'll fall off and break yer neck. And then where would we be?"
"Ye'd be down two hundred pounds," she said acidly.
Tòrr tried to mask his amusement at her statement.
The lass has spirit.
They rode in tense silence as the forest gradually gave way to open moorland, predator and prey bound together by law and circumstance.
"We’ll camp here. It’s getting late, and besides, ye're shiverin’."