Sins of the Highlander by Connie Mason Page B

Lachlan’s mind that Mad Rob had lain with her already.
    Why else would he have taken her?
    Much as it galled him to take another man’s leavings, Lachlan needed the hefty dowry and other benefits the match brought him. But he’d not abide a cuckoo’s egg in his nest.
    Even if Elspeth didn’t become pregnant, women died of one ailment or another all the time. He might do well to speed her along with one.
    He’d avoid another accident if he could help it, though. Might remind folk of MacLaren’s wife.
    There was an old hag in the next glen who had slow-acting poisons that she assured him were undetectable, if ever he had need for one.
    But for now, he had to find the little Stewart bitch and marry her.
    “Alistair,” he called down to his bride’s father, “I found a sign. Your daughter’s heading north.” He waved the little piece of silk in the air. “And she’s alive!”
    After all this trouble, she’d better be.
    ***
    Elspeth screamed.
    The last thing she saw before Rob and the wolf disappeared into the brush was his long claymore flying into the air, end over end. It came to rest in the middle of the path, point stabbing the ground, blade quivering right in front of Falin’s nose.
    “Oh, God!” Elspeth covered her mouth with her hand. Without his sword, what chance did Rob have against the beast?
    Without the man on his back, Falin lost heart for the fight. The stallion reared and wheeled and took flight back down the game trail in the direction from which they’d come, with what was left of pack hot after him, howling like demons from the pit.
    Elspeth couldn’t see Rob and the big gray. The woods were too dense, and daylight came slowly to the forest. But she could hear them.
    And that was probably worse.
    It was awful. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether the wild, fierce sounds came from the wolf or from the man.
    Or to know which of them screamed.
    Then suddenly there was silence. Not a twig broke; not a bird sang. She held her breath. Her heart pounded in her ears.
    “Rob?” she said softly.
    No response.
    “Rob!”
    No one answered her.
    She hunkered down on the branch, trying to decide what to do. She still had Rob’s boot knife. And his claymore stood in the middle of the path. She doubted she could even lift it, let alone wield it.
    Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Mad Rob may have ruined her wedding and her reputation, but in a scrape, he’d made sure she was safe. He’d done all he could to protect her.
    Her chest felt as if someone had dropped a lodestone on it.
    She suspected Rob was dead. Horribly dead. No matter what he’d done to her, she was heartsick about that.
    What about the wolf?
    There was no sound of padded feet moving stealthily toward her.
    But she couldn’t remain in the tree forever. Eventually, the pack would tire of chasing Falin and return. She needed to be long gone by then. The cloak had been dragged from the stallion’s back during the melee and was draped over a thornbush.
    She’d freeze without that. Especially since now there was a wide swath missing from her skirt and chemise that bared her right leg to mid thigh.
    How Mother will scold me when she sees how I’ve ruined my beautiful wedding dress , she thought disjointedly.
    As if it signified anything.
    She swung herself down, dangling from the bough again. She still had a ten-foot drop, which wouldn’t have troubled her if she’d had both shoes.
    Elspeth released her hold and tried to land mostly on her right foot. Her ankle turned, and she went down hard.
    And found herself nose to nose with a dead wolf.
    She scrambled to her feet. There were several carcasses littering the path. She ought to have felt revulsion, but she was numb.
    Then she limped over to retrieve the cloak and throw it around her shoulders. Her ears pricked to a new sound.
    Someone was humming. She recognized the tune as one of the bawdy drinking songs her father and his men sang late at night after they were all deep