she realized that the numbers were too far out of balance for the outcome to be in question. The thought of watching Hayden fall hit her like a shaft being driven through her chest. She struggled to draw breath, that lump returning to clog her throat completely.
“Not so fast,” Pherson Dalry declared.
Hayden stiffened, his body becoming a mass of tension.
“Leave the lass be, Dalry. She’s on yer land because she risked her life for another. You and I can quarrel about the English another day.”
“Aye, I’ll agree with that.”
Relief blossomed sweet and swiftly, but Pherson’s lips lifted into a smile that chilled her once again. His blue eyes settled on her and the calculated look in them made her struggle for breath again.
“But I will be inviting the lass on up to me home. Seeing as how she looks like she could use a bit of hospitality.”
“No thank ye.” Elspeth stepped out from behind Hayden to speak her mind and the man pushed her back almost before she finished rejecting Pherson’s invitation.
“Careful there, Elspeth Leask, I’ve delicate feelings.” His men snickered, reveling that the man was anything but tender hearted. “Ye’ll walk yerself over here or I’ll fetch ye through Hayden Monroe, and that is a solemn promise.”
His men abandoned their jesting expressions, becoming focused, deadly so.
“You’ll stay behind me.” Hayden’s voice was low and deadly, but it was the sight of Pherson’s men guiding their horses around them that forced her decision.
“I won’t watch ye die, Hayden.” She stood up on her toes to whisper in his ear.
“Ye will stay.” He grabbed a handful of her skirt, but Elspeth jumped back and the wet fabric slipped through his grasp, forcing his hand down the length of her skirt until a full yard was stretched out between them. He shot a deadly look at her, but had to jerk his attention back to the men circling them.
A blade flashed in the afternoon sun and sliced through her skirt. She tumbled backward from the force of resisting Hayden’s strength. The moment she stopped, a hand reached down and lifted her off her feet.
“Ye bloody savage!”
She didn’t care about Father Simon Peter anymore and neither did Hayden. He cursed loud and profanely.
“Release her, Pherson, or I swear I’ll begin a feud that will leave half yer women widows.”
The man holding her pressed her over his horse so that her head was hanging halfway down the side of the animal.
“Now, lad, ye just called me a friend of the English, so what am I to do but prove that I am as Scottish as ye by stealing yer bride and holding her for ransom?” Pherson Dalry chuckled as the man holding her rode up close to him.
“I’ll be waiting on ye, Laird Monroe. Take too long and I might take a liking to the lass.”
Hayden snarled something that was lost as the Dalry retainers reeled their mounts about and took off. Without a horse, Hayden was left standing where he was, but Elspeth caught a glimpse of his fury. It was etched into his face, and even the bouncing of the horse didn’t prevent her from seeing it.
He’d come for her.
At least she hoped he would. The fact of the matter did not support her hope, though. She didn’t have a rich dowry, and paying a ransom would take all that she did have. There was no contract binding her to Hayden and making it his responsibility to rescue her. Once his temper cooled, his men might well be able to counsel him into the wiser thing—riding back to Monroe land where he could begin the process of selecting another bride.
That made her heart ache. She wasn’t even sure how it was possible to lament losing him when she had known him so short a time.
Would he come for her?
She prayed he would.
Hayden suddenly understood every cruel execution method he’d heard that was used in England.
Prisoners were boiled alive. Those who printed verses against the Queen were burned at the stake, and he felt the rage that would see a man
“Not so fast,” Pherson Dalry declared.
Hayden stiffened, his body becoming a mass of tension.
“Leave the lass be, Dalry. She’s on yer land because she risked her life for another. You and I can quarrel about the English another day.”
“Aye, I’ll agree with that.”
Relief blossomed sweet and swiftly, but Pherson’s lips lifted into a smile that chilled her once again. His blue eyes settled on her and the calculated look in them made her struggle for breath again.
“But I will be inviting the lass on up to me home. Seeing as how she looks like she could use a bit of hospitality.”
“No thank ye.” Elspeth stepped out from behind Hayden to speak her mind and the man pushed her back almost before she finished rejecting Pherson’s invitation.
“Careful there, Elspeth Leask, I’ve delicate feelings.” His men snickered, reveling that the man was anything but tender hearted. “Ye’ll walk yerself over here or I’ll fetch ye through Hayden Monroe, and that is a solemn promise.”
His men abandoned their jesting expressions, becoming focused, deadly so.
“You’ll stay behind me.” Hayden’s voice was low and deadly, but it was the sight of Pherson’s men guiding their horses around them that forced her decision.
“I won’t watch ye die, Hayden.” She stood up on her toes to whisper in his ear.
“Ye will stay.” He grabbed a handful of her skirt, but Elspeth jumped back and the wet fabric slipped through his grasp, forcing his hand down the length of her skirt until a full yard was stretched out between them. He shot a deadly look at her, but had to jerk his attention back to the men circling them.
A blade flashed in the afternoon sun and sliced through her skirt. She tumbled backward from the force of resisting Hayden’s strength. The moment she stopped, a hand reached down and lifted her off her feet.
“Ye bloody savage!”
She didn’t care about Father Simon Peter anymore and neither did Hayden. He cursed loud and profanely.
“Release her, Pherson, or I swear I’ll begin a feud that will leave half yer women widows.”
The man holding her pressed her over his horse so that her head was hanging halfway down the side of the animal.
“Now, lad, ye just called me a friend of the English, so what am I to do but prove that I am as Scottish as ye by stealing yer bride and holding her for ransom?” Pherson Dalry chuckled as the man holding her rode up close to him.
“I’ll be waiting on ye, Laird Monroe. Take too long and I might take a liking to the lass.”
Hayden snarled something that was lost as the Dalry retainers reeled their mounts about and took off. Without a horse, Hayden was left standing where he was, but Elspeth caught a glimpse of his fury. It was etched into his face, and even the bouncing of the horse didn’t prevent her from seeing it.
He’d come for her.
At least she hoped he would. The fact of the matter did not support her hope, though. She didn’t have a rich dowry, and paying a ransom would take all that she did have. There was no contract binding her to Hayden and making it his responsibility to rescue her. Once his temper cooled, his men might well be able to counsel him into the wiser thing—riding back to Monroe land where he could begin the process of selecting another bride.
That made her heart ache. She wasn’t even sure how it was possible to lament losing him when she had known him so short a time.
Would he come for her?
She prayed he would.
Hayden suddenly understood every cruel execution method he’d heard that was used in England.
Prisoners were boiled alive. Those who printed verses against the Queen were burned at the stake, and he felt the rage that would see a man
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