Page 2 of Kilty as Sin
There were four horses in the hollow below, tied to the scraggly bushes which were the largest thing this glen could support. Three of the four men who’d ridden them were crouched around a pile of sticks they were clearly trying to light, arguing and insulting one another.
The fourth man…
The fourth man had just pulled a woman from his horse and seemed unconcerned by the way she was beating his back with her bound fists.
Barclay’s eyes narrowed behind the helm.
They’d caught the MacDonald lass, after all.
Caught her, bound her hands and feet, and gagged her. But she wasn’t making any noise. Just fighting for all she was worth…
Without taking his eyes from the enemy, Barclay reached down to loosen his sword in the scabbard. At moments like this, he wished he had his friend Drummond’s skill with a bow. Being able to hit these men from a distance would even the odds a bit.
Briefly, Barclay considered whistling for Horse, but knew that would give away his location too quickly.
Damnation! Ye needsomekind of distraction afore ye charge down at four armed men!
The three men around the attempted fire had noticed they were no longer alone, and now stood, cheering and calling praise, even as the man carrying the lass swatted her arse. She didn’t cease her struggles, however, and Barclay had to admire that.
Had to admireher.
Then the bastard holding her swung her off his shoulder, holding her upright before him, and her golden hair swung from in front of her face.
Barclay sucked in a breath.
Admireher?
Holy mother of St. Pancras and all that was good and holy in this world…
He could worship this woman.
She wasstunning.
Her build was delicate, her features refined. MacDonald’s daughter was soft and gentle and everything Barclay had ever imagined a lady to be.
Even from this distance, he could see her blue eyes above the gag, wide and full of an emotion he assumed was fear.
Dinnae fash, lassie,he wanted to yell. He wanted to assure her she’d be safe.
But he still needed a distraction.
“Why’d ye tie her ankles,” one of the men whined loudly, even as he squatted at her side, reaching for his knife.
The first man responded something too low for Barclay to hear, but a third kicked the squatting one. “Untie her feet, Rab. How else can we spread her legs, eh?”
Even from his spot on the hill, Barclay heard her whimper, and his heart clenched.
Bad luck? Hell, this was the worst. Even as he’d followed the trail, he’d half-hoped these men had also been sent by Laird MacDonald to find and rescue the wayward daughter. But Barclay’s worst fears had been realized.
They meant to rape her.
As the first man held her shoulders, the third began to scrabble at her skirts. The lass tipped her head back toward the noon sun, her dark blonde hair spilling down her back, and Barclay imagined he could see her tears.
Distraction, distraction, distraction. He searched about madly, even as he pushed himself up to his knees. Could he sneak down upon them? Or just hurl himself madly down the slope and hope he was fast enough to throw them into confusion?
Distraction, St. Pancras, a distraction! Aught at all!
If only the sweetly refined MacDonald lass would faint! Suddenly forced to deal with her deadweight would absolutely distract the men, and Barclay couldn’t imagine such a gentle lass could do aught except faint…
