Page 70 of Ruining a Highland Healer
Valora stared at him. The pain was receding, but her mind still swam. Her thoughts were sluggish, slow, but she still knew the truth of what had happened.
“Ye had yer men take me,” she accused. “Ye had them render meunconsciousan’—”
“Ye left me nay other choice,” he said, with maddening calm. “Ye made it so terribly difficult, Valora. I let ye go once. That was me own mistake. I willnae make it again.”
Valora froze, her mouth falling open in shock. She could hardly believe just how insistent Laird Keith was, just how hellbent on having her. This went past the alliance with her father, with her clan; she was certain of it. This was bordering on obsession.
“Ye have nay right,” she said through gritted teeth, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Ye have nay right tae take me from me home an’—”
Laird Keith raised a hand, not in threat but to silence her.
“It’s yer home now, is it?” he asked with a mocking chuckle. “I’m nae here tae argue, Miss MacNeacail. The ceremony is bein’ arranged right the now. Me men are settin’ the chapel. It willnae be grand, but it will be bindin’.”
Valora blinked a few times, uncertain she’d heard him correctly. “Ceremony?”
He smiled again, and this time it chilled her to the bone. There was nothing warm or friendly about that smile. It never reached his eyes, and it seemed to twist his entire face into an unfeeling mask.
“Aye,” said Laird Keith, as he gestured at her vaguely. “Ye’re already dressed fer it.”
Dread dropped like a stone in her stomach. She was still wearing her wedding dress, the one she was meant to marry Torrin in. And now, Laird Keith threatened to ruin what was meant to be the happiest moment of her life.
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “Nay, I’m nae marryin’ ye.”
“Ye are,” Keith said simply. “Ye’ll walk tae that altar, or ye’ll be dragged. But it will happen, Valora. One way or another.”
The woman, who was now standing near the basin at the far corner of the room, looked away as if ashamed. Valora looked at her for help, but she had the suspicion that even if she cried out, even if she fought, she would receive no reaction in the end.
Her breath came short, shallow. The cot shifted beneath her as she stood, bracing herself. Her knees buckled slightly, but she remained upright, even as her vision swam from the pain.
“I willnae walk tae any altar with ye. Torrin?—”
“Torrin Gunn willnae find ye in time,” Keith interrupted smoothly. “He’ll come. That’s expected. But he’s far behind, an’ ye’ll be me wife by then.”
“Ye’re mad,” she whispered, the reality of her situation settling heavy on her shoulders. Laird Keith truly was going to force her to marry him and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
“Nay,” Keith said, stepping forward. His hand brushed her cheek, and she recoiled. “I simply have a plan. An’ I’m willin’ tae dae anythin’ it takes tae complete it.”
He gestured again to the gown that was half-hanging off her frame, the back undone—most likely by the woman herself, who had tended to her.
“Fix it.”
“Nay.”
Keith nodded to the woman, wasting no time. “Make her, if she refuses again.”
Valora’s body moved before her mind had caught up—she moved back on trembling legs and plastered herself to the wall, her chin lifting defiantly. She would buy herself some time. She would think of a way to get out of there, even if it was the last thing she would do.
She would not break.
Come, Torrin. Come quickly.
She prayed and prayed, even as the woman grabbed her and forced her to turn around so she could lace the dress. Because when she walked down that aisle, it would not be to say yes; it would be to fight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Mud soaked the hem of her gown, each step through the crooked roads of the village pulling more chill into her bones. Valora kept her head high, though her wrists burned from the rope that had only just been cut. The bruises from the rope’s grip were already blooming along her forearm, but she did not wince, did not flinch. Her shoes sank into the wet ground with every forced step, the sound squelching and steady, surrounded by silence. The villagers watched from behind shutters and half-closed doors, too fearful or too complicit to interfere.
The chapel ahead was little more than a ruin. Its roof sagged in the middle, rain-stained and soft, caving further in with every passing moment.
