Page 1 of Taken By the Ruthless Highlander
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“Let us out of here!” Tormod demanded, his voice rising with anger as he violently shook the bars.
“Tormod, please, ye’re scarin’ Poppy,” Morgana scolded as she cuddled her younger sister, pressing the child’s head to her bosom to muffle their brother’s screams.
“She should be scared,” Tormod snapped over his shoulder, before returning his full ire on the iron bars of their cage. “Ye heard the charges against ye. They mean to kill us.”
“Nae us… Just me,” Morgana whispered, the words tumbling from her lips.
She glanced down at the girl in her lap and tried to muster a smile. Poppy was trembling in her arms.
Morgana held her youngest sister closer, pressing her lips into a tight, thin line. If her glare could kill, her brother would be lying dead at her feet. But she had heard enough about death for one day. Rolling her shoulders back, she sat a little straighter and plastered on a smile to mask her uncertainty.
“Why did that old fart have to come down that alley? Curse the day that man laid eyes on ye. I wish we never crossed paths,” Tormod huffed as he slammed his hand against the bars as if to test their strength.
“We cannae question why things happened the way they did. There’s nay changin’ what has been. All we can do is move forward. And I promise ye all, I’m nae goin’ to let anyone die,” Morgana reassured.
“What if Eloise and Feya are already dead?” Poppy whimpered as she clung tighter to her.
As much as Morgana wanted to comfort her little sister, the truth was that she didn’t know what was to become of them or their sisters. Eloise could have easily slipped into a nook somewhere and was hiding. But where was Feya? She could be scavenging herbs, mushrooms, or even eggs out on the moors, for all Morgana knew.
But all Morgana could do was hope that Feya had long since escaped. The thought of her entire family being wiped out at once was too much for her to handle.
“They’re nae, and we willnae speak of such things. What do I always tell ye? Ye have to think good things. The world is filled with far too much evil as it is,” Morgana said, trying to keep the fear from her voice.
“How can ye sit there and just accept yer fate? Ye realize they’re framin’ ye, aye?”
“And what am I supposed to do about any of this, Ronnie?” Morgana turned to her sixteen-year-old brother, who was cowering in the corner of the cell.
There was no way to hide his fear; it was plastered all over his face. As much as Morgana wanted to pull him close to her, the ire in his gaze forced her to keep her distance.
“At least Tormod willnae go down without a fight,” Ronnie shot back as he rose and marched over to Tormod, curled his fingers around the bars, and began shaking them.
Morgana sat with Poppy, watching the spectacle. If they were to die, then she wouldn’t stop them from lashing out. As for her, she continued praying silently, begging for some mercy for her siblings.
Her chest tightened with sorrow as her gaze drifted to each of them. Tormod had barely become a man at just the tender age of nineteen. There was so much he could have done for this world. To think that his light would be snuffed so soon tore Morgana’s heart to pieces. Tears pooled in her eyes as she turned her attention to Ronnie.
“My sister isnae a killer!” he shouted, his voice cracking at the end.
A single tear slipped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. How he defended her with every ounce of his being. The sight of them was bittersweet.
“I dinnae think they care about that,” Tormod said as he dropped to the damp ground from exhaustion. “Ye ken, I really didnae think this was how I would leave this world.”
“It’s exactly how I figured I’d go,” Ronnie scoffed, following his brother’s lead and giving up his noble defense.
“That’s nae a very pleasant thing to say,” Morgana chastised, her brow furrowed.
“I figured one of ye would get me swingin’ from the gallows, or maybe as some warnin’ to our clan as the crows pick at my eyes,” Ronnie continued.
“Will ye stop,” Morgana hissed. “Can ye nae see that ye’re botherin’ our sister? Poppy is scared enough as it is, and ye shouldnae add to her fears.”
“Sorry, Poppy,” Ronnie grumbled, just as the clanging of keys against metal caught Morgana’s attention.
She leaned closer as husky voices drifted to her ears. The door was far too thick for any of the conversation to leak, but something about the urgency of the situation gave her hope.
The heavy door moaned in protest as it opened, and the sound made little bumps race over her skin.
“Cohen? What are—” Morgana started as she watched the Laird’s man-at-arms rush inside the cell.
