The Highlander's Defiant Captive (The Lairds Most Likely 4)

"No, you're not," she said bitterly.

His answer was to urge the big horse into a smooth gallop that at least was easier on her than the jolting trot.

Mhairi closed her eyes and told herself she wouldn't cry. She was a Drummond, and Drummonds were brave and stalwart. She especially wouldn't cry in front of this mongrel of a Mackinnon who wasn't fit to lick her father's boots.

But as the horse settled into a long run westward through the hills, grief and terror twisted her stomach into painful knots. What horrific fate awaited her at the Mackinnon stronghold?

Chapter 2

Callum reined Kelpie to a stop in a small glen. Around them, the strange shadowy twilight of the north glowed through the summer night. "Are ye tired, lassie?"

The girl in his arms didn't respond. She hadn’t responded to any of his remarks. Not that he’d exactly been chatty as they galloped across the hills toward Achnasheen. He’d been too busy keeping his horse on track, his captive safe in the saddle, and his attention behind him, in case the Drummonds came in pursuit.

"My father will see that you die in agony and disgrace," she said coldly. She’d been quiet so long, the sound of her voice startled him. "It will be my immense pleasure to watch ye suffer."

"Your father has to catch me before he can fulfill your gruesome fantasies," he said dryly.

"By now, they’ll ken I'm missing."

He dismounted and turned to lift her from the saddle. She wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to tug on his wound. He hoped to hell it didn’t start bleeding again.

When she staggered, he caught her arm. Her contemptuous gesture as she jerked free spoke volumes for her courage, if not for her prudence. He already knew she was brave. She hadn't screamed or cried. Even when she tried to appeal to his sympathies, she’d spoken more like a captive queen than a humble prisoner.

Humble? He doubted this fiery lass knew the meaning of the word.

She was a proud wee thing, and even their short acquaintance told him that she was used to following her own will. At twenty, most girls were married, mother to a bairn or two. Only the fact that she was the Drummond's darling child, the comfort of his old age, had saved her from being wed long ago.

"Aye, but people would only note your absence when they sat down to supper. The folk at Bruard are used to the chieftain’s daughter running wild."

"Ye seem to ken a lot about what goes on in my father's house."

He ignored the snide comment. "Their first thought will be that you're lost in the hills."

That elicited a scornful snort. "As if I’d get lost. I've been roaming those hills since I was a wean."

He shrugged and led the horse across to the burn to drink. "Nonetheless, I doubt they'll think you've been taken until they get my message."

The girl might try to run, but with her hands tied and her legs stiff from hours in the saddle, he doubted it.

He should have known better than to underestimate her.

A muffled grunt behind him made him release Kelpie's bridle and stalk over to where Mhairi struggled to rise from the hollow where she’d stumbled.

"That was foolish," he said mildly, taking her arm and hoisting her to her feet. He ignored how she wriggled to break his hold.

"I willnae stand by and let ye…use me without doing my best to get away."

Callum didn't argue with the accusation. She’d learn what he wanted of her soon enough. Better that happened once he had her safely locked away in Achnasheen.

"Where would ye go? You have nae idea where ye are."

"We've ridden west. I just need to use the moon to find my way home."

"We’re well into Mackinnon land, lassie. Not a soul here will offer a Drummond the hand of friendship." He hauled her across to a hummock. "Sit down."

"No."

He shrugged. She was spoiling for a fight. He couldn’t blame her, even if he had no intention of entering into a slanging match. "Then stand. But we’ve got a good few hours of riding before we get to Achnasheen. Ye might appreciate this chance to rest."