by Paula Quinn
She punched him in the back, too angry to feel terrified, but he didn’t flinch or slow down. She pounded harder, but his back was cut from the same rock as his damned shoulder, and her fists ended up hurting.
Finally, he slowed his pace. She lifted her head to look up the slope. Her brother was nowhere in sight.
That was all the time she had to think before she was hauled over a saddle, belly down.
Immediately, she sprang up, ready to start clawing at his eyes. He landed in front of her and dragged her, still belly down, across his lap. With a swift flick of the reins, he sent them thundering away from the slope.
Och, dear God, help her. This couldn’t truly be happening. She had to stop it. But what could she do? With his large hand on her back, holding her down, she could barely move her head to look up at him. “Why are ye doin’ this?” Presently, trying to reason with him was her only option. “What do ye want? Coin? My kin have—”
“Nothing near what I want.”
His rich baritone voice fell over her like an oppressive blanket. His thighs were no less painful than his shoulder. Brute!
If he didn’t want coin…Bile rose up in her throat when she realized he must have taken her for his pleasure. She closed her eyes, drawing strength to ask, “Then why did ye take me?”
“Ye are a means to an end.”
Mailie stared at the ground flying past her vision. What in blazes did he mean by that?
“What end do ye mean?”
“No more questions. Ye’ll do as I say if ye ever want to see yer kin again.”
She’d had enough of him threatening her kin. Once her belly settled, she’d tear out his eyes. She was a MacGregor. She’d fight to her last breath. If he tried to ravage her, she’d find a way to kill him. “Just who do ye think ye are?” She lifted her head to glare at him, but from her position, her gaze barely reached his shoulder. “Ye threaten my kin and kidnap me, and then order me aboot?”
“That was another question,” he muttered.
She bent her head and sank her teeth into his thigh.
He held fast for as long as he could, but when she didn’t let up and sank her teeth deeper, he yanked her off him and out of the saddle.
Mailie sat on her rump in the leaves and shook the shock and confusion away. He’d thrown her from the saddle! At least they hadn’t been moving at the time.
Bastard!
He’d cast her from his lap. She was free! She bolted to her feet and took a quick look around. She had one chance. She had to run in the right direction. They were in a small forest. The distant sound of water rang through her ears. She took off in the opposite direction.
Her captor quickly blocked her path with his horse, almost knocking her to her arse again.
“Do ye think ye can ootrun me, lass?”
Och, she hated him! And she was afraid of him. Would he punish her for biting him?
He bounded from his horse with the grace of a smaller man and landed in front of her. Her heart nearly leaped from her throat, her legs too weak with momentary fear to run. He was big, even bigger than her uncle Rob. He was at least six foot four, mayhap five, and pure brawn. The width of his steel shoulders, draped in plaid, blocked the sun beyond the sparse stand of trees behind him. His inky hair fell in soft waves around his face, with some of it dashed across his piercing pewter eyes. She finally moved and took a step back as the sun shone on the terrible scar on the left side of his face. It looked like scaly leather rather than skin, and it went down his temple to his jaw and part of his chin. The rest of his face was strikingly beautiful. Pity, the frightening side was a more accurate likeness of his heart.
“Who are ye?” she demanded, summoning her strength of will. She wouldn’t cower to this beast.
“I’m called the Dragon of the Black Isle.”
Undaunted by his visage, or his title, she reached for a rock and threw it at his head. He ducked.
She turned and ran. She didn’t think about what he would do if he caught her. She just ran. “Luke—!” she screamed, and then fell to the ground yet again when her captor leaped for her.
He fell atop her back, knocking the wind out of her. She refused to faint and fought a wave of dizziness as he reached around her neck to cup his hand over her mouth. “I dinna wish to hurt ye,” he promised at her ear, “but yer kin will not stop me. I canna let them. I’ve taken down soldiers on more than one continent. If ye alert yer men, I can promise ye they will suffer yer will.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop them from growing wet with tears. What was he going to do to her? How could she stop him? If he hurt Luke, Edmund, any one of her kin—
He moved his weight off her for a moment to turn her over beneath him. He looked into her misty eyes, then ground his jaw as staunch determination cooled his silver gaze. She wondered if he felt her heart thrashing against him.
His body completely covered hers, consuming her senses. He smelled like the earth and the wind. He was more beautiful than a mountain crowned in ice, and more horrifying than a great dragon roused from its slumber. She felt small and powerless beneath so much strength, size, and stamina. Where was her kin, her brother? How would she escape this monster? She fought not to cry. She wouldn’t cry. “What do ye want from me?” she asked again, this time through clenched teeth when he uncovered her mouth.
“I want ye to stay quiet. Do that, and when this is all over, I will help ye if ye wish it.”
“When what is all over? What do ye plan on doin’ with me?”
He listened for any sounds other than the critters around them. She studied him in the silence, his face close to hers. His jaw was cut from granite and fortitude. The only sign of softness in him was found in his mouth, defined by a shadow of dark facial hair beneath his chin and above his upper lip like a master artist’s brushstroke. A mouth surely fashioned for more courtly words than threatening one’s kin.
“We must be gone from here.” He moved off her and rose to his feet. “Come,” he said, reaching for her. “I’ll explain in the boat.”
She refused his aid and stood on her own. “Boat?” she asked fearfully. Where were they going? How would her family find her?
“Aye,” he said, closing his fingers around her wrist and pulling her forward. “’Tis just around that bend. We can run.”
She intended on doing just that. But not to this madman’s boat. She might not be as strong as he was, but she knew how to incapacitate a man of any size. She’d already bitten him and thrown a rock at his head, and he hadn’t struck her. How far could she push him? She didn’t care if he beat her senseless; she would escape. She had to do it now before they crossed the water. She just needed time to run away. She was fast and light on her feet. Hopefully, she’d run straight into her brother’s arms. She refused to let the brute’s warnings against her kin frighten her.
She pretended to trip and then cried out and clutched her ankle. Still holding her wrist, he returned to her and took her other hand to hold her up.
Mailie wasted no time and rammed her knee into his groin.
But she missed. With quick reflexes, the bastard leaped backward in the nick of time. Landing on his feet, his brow dipped over lightning-streaked eyes.
Mailie knew running now was useless and didn’t resist when he yanked on her hand and started his damned running again.
When she saw the rowboat secured to the rocks along the bank, she refused to get in. He was mad to think he could row to…She looked across the firth. “Are ye takin’ me to yer home?”
He didn’t answer her question but chose to threaten her yet again. “If ye dinna get in the boat, we’ll swim. Either way, ye’re going.”
When her kin found her, she would beg them to let her strike the first fatal blow to this despicable monster. She hated him. She never hated anyone more in her life. Tightening her lips, she grasped fistfuls of her skirts and lifted them over her ankles to get in.
She sat and waited for him to set them free and g
et in opposite her.
“Come here, Miss MacGregor.”
She blinked. “Where?” There wasn’t anywhere for her to go but in his lap. Surely, he didn’t—
He did! He motioned to his thighs and then cast her a warning look when she blustered.
“Fine, ye beast!” She stood up and then nearly fell over the side when the boat rocked beneath her. He caught her and set her down between his legs.
“Put yer hands on my wrists and keep them there,” he commanded behind her. “I want to feel them at all times. I dinna trust ye not to try to jump from the boat, and since ye just proved my suspicion—”
“Proved yer—!” She spun around and glared at him. “I wasna tryin’ to jump! I was fallin’—” Ugh, she gave up trying to reason with an ogre. “I’m not a fool to fight ye in the boat,” she hissed at him, and then did as he said when he picked up the oars.
Cushioned in the strength of his thighs and the raw power of his arms as he moved them forward through the waves, Mailie wondered what he planned to do with her. He was taking her to the Black Isle. Caithness wasn’t far. She prayed this had nothing to do with Lord Sinclair. He wanted to marry her. She didn’t want to marry him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, penning letters to her father every month begging him to give her to him. Who else would have her kidnapped?
She was finished waiting for an explanation.
“How do ye know my name?”
“’Twas told to me,” he said, his voice blending with the waves.
“By who? Was it the Earl of Caithness, Ranald Sinclair?”
Her belly sank when he didn’t answer. Was Sinclair so determined to start a war with the MacGregors?
She turned and looked up at her captor again. “Ye did this fer him?”
He shook his head. “I did it fer me.”
Mailie didn’t understand. “Ye said ye would explain,” she reminded him, taking note of the muscles tensing up in his arms.
“Sinclair has something I want.”
“A means to an end.” She nodded, turning away. “I see. Ye’re goin’ to hand me over to him.”
“He said”—his rich voice along her ear heated her nerves—“ye wanted to be with him against yer father’s wishes.”
“And ye believed him.” She smiled but she really wanted to scream. “Ye’re a fool. God only knows what else he told ye.”
Behind her, his body stiffened but he said nothing as he rowed on toward the Black Isle.
At the edge of the bank, Ettarre sniffed the rocks, then looked out over the water and whined. She glanced over her shoulder. No one else was with her.
No one saw her jump into the firth.
Chapter Four
Mailie didn’t care how fearsome the Dragon of the Black Isle thought he was, or that he was made of solid muscle and little heart; she would make him regret kidnapping her. She was a MacGregor, damn it, and MacGregors didn’t take being abducted lightly.
She’d heard stories about men without a shred of honor or decency, but she’d never been around any of them longer than to bid them farewell. Now that one had captured her, she knew she hated them more than she’d thought.
“What kind of monster are ye to kidnap me from my kin?” she asked, now sharing a saddle with him and doing her best to keep her back from touching him—even though she was freezing and the warmth coming from his body tempted her to lean back against him.
“The worst kind,” he muttered behind her. He pulled part of his plaid free from his belt and closed it and his arms around her shoulders.
At his touch, she pushed away from him. “Ye’re an unrefined beast. I’d rather freeze to death than have ye—”
Using little force, he dragged her back against his chest and closed his strong arms around her.
This time, she didn’t fight back. She wasn’t a complete fool. Pressed close into all his warmth was just what she needed to keep from doing what she threatened.
She wasn’t comfortable enough to fall asleep, but when she heard a dog barking, she thought she was dreaming. It sounded like Ettarre!
Mailie sat up, breaking his hold on her, and bent to look behind them. Was her brother close by? Had he found them with Ettarre’s help? Her heart battered against her ribs. Now the brute would discover what real trouble was!
“Ettarre!” she shouted, then tried to leap out of the saddle.
“Damn it!” her captor mumbled and reached out his arm to catch her before she fell. “Are ye trying to get yerself killed?”
“I’d prefer death over goin’ anywhere with ye. Ettarre!”
The barking grew louder.
Her captor slowed his horse and turned it around to a halt. He pulled a pistol from a fold in his plaid.
Mailie’s blood went cold. “Shoot my dog,” she warned, all concern about consequences abandoned, “and I’ll hunt ye doun fer the next twenty years if I must, but I will kill ye in the most horrible way. I’m a MacGregor. I will no’ go back on my word.”
He slid his smoky silver gaze to her and stared as if he was trying to decide how sincere she was. Was that a hint of a smirk she saw hovering about his mouth?
“The pistol wasna fer the dog,” he said in his deep, beastly voice, “but fer who travels with it.”
Her blood boiled once again. Och, she’d had enough of his callous threats. Before she had time to fear the consequence, she turned from her perch and slapped him square across the face.
He didn’t budge, proving he’d braced himself for the blow an instant earlier. His warning glare made her heart go weak, but she was sick and tired of being afraid of him. She tilted her unrepentant chin up to him. “Put away yer pistol, Dragon. Trust me, ye dinna have enough balls. One of us will kill ye.”
She didn’t like the confidence in his gaze and was relieved when she finally saw her dog bounding over the hill. Alone.
“Let me doun to see to her.” She didn’t wait for his approval but pushed his arm off her and jumped down.
“Och! My dear, dear gel, ye found me!” she cried, pulling the scruffy blond hound into her waiting arms. She’d never loved anything more than Ettarre at this moment. She knew her joy over seeing something familiar was overwhelming her to the point of tears. She didn’t care. Some people had hearts. “Where’s Luke?” she asked.
“Come, Miss MacGregor,” the beast beckoned. Ettarre growled but didn’t leave Mailie’s side.
“I know, Ettarre,” she said, rising back to her feet. “I dinna like him either.” She patted her dog’s head and glared up at her captor. “She needs to rest.”
“No. Get on the horse.”
“Nae,” she countered. She sank one of her trembling hands into her dog’s thick fur and hid the other behind her back. She didn’t want him to know how afraid of him she was. She didn’t want to irritate him further, but she wouldn’t run her dog to death. “Ettarre swam all the way here. She’s weary and willna make it much farther. I willna—” She snapped her mouth shut when he bounded from the saddle and moved toward her. She took a step back and tried to keep her glare intact.
Without a word or a sign of fear of her dog, he swooped down and fit his arms under Ettarre’s shoulder and rump and lifted her in his arms. “Get on the horse,” he turned to command Mailie. “Ye can hold yer dog until she’s rested. If ye refuse to cooperate, I will leave her and take ye.”
She couldn’t wait for her brother to kill this man. She might have to do it before he got here, she thought, gaining her saddle. She appreciated that he was giving her a choice. Not a good one, but still a choice that would benefit Ettarre. She held out her arms for her dog.
She didn’t think it would be easy to hold Ettarre and keep her steady, but when he set the big, leggy hound in her lap, she didn’t know whether to say an extra prayer or curse her captor to the farthest pits of Hades. Ettarre was over a hundred pounds, and most of it felt like bones. Her head blocked Mailie’s vision. Her nails dug creases in Mailie’s thighs and arms, and they hadn’t e
ven begun to move yet!
Instead of riding with them, likely because there was no room, her captor took hold of the reins and ran on his own two feet beside the horse.
He didn’t run as fast as any mount but kept a steady pace while they traveled north, holding complete control over the horse. At first, all Mailie could think about were her sore body and trying to keep her beloved dog from falling and possibly breaking a bone. But a pair of leagues in, she began to take notice of her captor’s stamina. Who was he that he had reflexes like a supremely skilled hunter and the endurance of a battle-hardened warrior? Had he fought in one of the wars? Was that where he’d received his scar? Did his dragon skin cover any more of him besides his face and heart?
“Ye dinna strike me as the kind of man who would do Sinclair’s biddin’.”
“I dinna do any man’s bidding,” he replied, sounding only slightly winded.
“Whatever he offered ye willna be worth what my kin will do to ye.”
“’Twill be worth more than enough.”
“Ye say that because ye dinna know the MacGregors.”
He turned slightly to look up at her with gray eyes, as inviting as the steel of a blade. “I know there are some who still dinna believe the MacGregors of Skye exist. Your kin are legendary when it comes to revenge and savagery.”
“Sometimes,” she corrected, “blood and might are the only things the true savages understand.”
So he did know of her kin and still he kidnapped her. Why wasn’t he terrified of the consequences? Pity, if he wasn’t the biggest fool she’d ever known, she would have considered him quite courageous.
“I think Ettarre can run on her own now,” she told him, wondering how much farther he could go. Mayhap his confidence in being able to kill her kin wasn’t so exaggerated.
After setting Ettarre back on the ground, her captor returned to his place behind her and said little or nothing the rest of the way.
Mailie didn’t mind the silence and took in the rich beauty of cliffs, woods, and heaths, and the beaches where dolphins and seals protected villages. They traveled northeast, passed beautiful little bays and marshes, and finally arrived at the outskirts of the small coastal village of Avoch.