Page 1 of Wedded to the Twisted Highlander
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“Get yer hands off me. Dinnae touch me!” Astrid’s voice rang out with a mix of defiance and desperation.
She struggled against her captor to no avail. Every muscle in her body tightened as she tried to figure out her next move. Struggling through the whirlwind of emotions, her heart raced like a wild stallion.
The torches flickered and cast long shadows that danced across the stone wall. The scent of roast meat and spiced ale swirled about her as they made their way down the hall. Despite the temptations, all she could focus on was the man who held her captive.
“Let me go. I dinnae ken what else ye want from me. Had I nae apologized for what I’ve done? Then let me say it again, I’m sorry. There, now. Let me go.” Astrid met his piercing gaze, and while she hoped to find some semblance of understanding, all she saw was his unyielding resolve, cold and harsh as the granite of the castle.
“Words mean nothing here, lass. Ye’ve spun yer last tall tale, ye hear me?” he replied. His tone was deadly and reminded her of a finger trailing down her spine.
She swallowed hard as they approached the grand oak doors of the Great Hall. Terror rippled through her. Each ragged breath seemed to echo in her ears and only amplified the dread that pummeled her chest. Feeling her pulse in her throat, she glanced around for some escape, but there was none.
She held her breath as the doors swung open. A rush of warmth and light enshrouded them. Sounds of merriment sprinkled with music mingled with the clinking of tankards as the clan gathered around the tables.
Astrid’s stomach twisted with hunger for one brief moment at the sight of such a feast.
“Laird McFair,” her captor called over the din.
Heads turned, and the laughter faded into an uneasy silence that rattled Astrid to the core.
The Laird, a formidable figure, rose from his seat. Astrid’s gaze swept over the sea of faces and landed on the ruggedly handsome man narrowing his eyes. He was tall and well-built, with stormy blue eyes that made her heart rate quicken.
“Why have ye brought this lass here?” he asked, his eyebrow arched in suspicion.
“She has much to answer for,” Astrid’s captor replied, tightening his grip on her arm to assert his control and dominance.
Her heart sank as the gravity of her situation sank in. Panic clawed at her chest as she tried to inhale deeply to summon her courage from the depths of her being.
“Laird McFair,” she started, trying to keep her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. “I truly meant nay harm. I only sought to?—”
“Whatever eloquent speech ye had planned, I dinnae have the time to listen or to care.” The Laird’s voice was sharp and commanding as it rose over the murmurs in the hall. “And ye will speak only when I allow it.”
Astrid’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced at her captor, who seemed to revel in her discomfort. Her eyes flicked back to the Laird as she stood before him unashamed. It didn’t matter what punishment he would dole out—all she cared about was going back home.
By all accounts, she was trapped, and the best thing for her to do was accept her fate.
“Me Laird,” her captor started as he gave her a side glance, before bowing so low that she wondered if he was going to kiss the ground. “This thief thought that she could waltz in and take what doesnae belong to her. I want?—”
“Enough,” the Laird boomed, silencing everyone.
A mix of fear and indignation brewed within Astrid as she clamped her mouth shut. The loaf was smaller than the others, easy to swipe from the cart as she passed by. And it wasn’t even for her. But before she could utter a single word in her defense, the Laird stepped forward, his presence commanding the room. The murmurs and side conversations died down.
“Ye’ve brought this wench to me Hall,” he spoke, his voice practically rattling the windows.
Astrid didn’t flinch. Noise never frightened her. The Laird could scream till he was blue in the face and she’d just stare at him like a naughty child in need of a spanking.
“Astrid Fulton, Me Laird.” Her name tumbled from her captor’s lips like something he would scrap off his shoe.
It was bad enough that she was already the center of attention, but to be humiliated as well… Astrid found herself far more eager to receive her punishment.
“I dinnae care,” the Laird said as his eyes narrowed on her. Her breath caught in her throat again as she met his steely gaze. “Tell me. Did ye do what he said ye did?”
There was something unnerving about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was as if his eyes were shards of ice, both piercing and calculating. The way he studied her made herstomach twist and her heart flutter with trepidation. As if he was a predator assessing its prey.
Astrid swallowed hard, her throat as dry as a desert. The truth hung like a guillotine ready to sever her head from her body.
“Aye, I did,” she confessed. “But I didnae take but a morsel,” she blurted out, hoping to shed some light on the situation.
