Page 4 of Saved By the Highland Beast
“Scream all you want, little miss!” Their leader laughed as one of his friends ripped her cloak from her back, tearing the garment in two. “We are in the middle of the wilderness, there’s nobody to help you out here!” His menacing laughter carried across the water.
Sophia began to kick and fight as her captors wrestled her around in the water, making her face the shore as they ripped her dress.
Her horse began to neigh and stomp in an attempt to break free.
“Calm down there, beast.” The leader continued to laugh, enjoying the panic and fear he was creating. “There will be more than enough time to deal with you once we are done with your mistress—” He suddenly stopped talking, his arms spread wide at his sides as his eyes stared into the distance beyond the lake. His body gave a tiny jerk as he stepped forward.
The men stopped their harassment and looked at their friend. “What’s the matter with you, Charles?” one of them asked with a frown.
The man whom Sophia came to know as Charles dropped to his knees in the water, toppling forward to reveal an arrow protruding from his back. The tip had seemingly pierced through his heart.
“It’s the highland bastards!”
The tight grip on Sophia’s wrist loosened, and the soldiers began to run away as the sound of horse hooves grew nearer.
Five or six men wearing green kilts came riding to the lake as Sophia toppled over into the water, landing on her back. The world disappeared in a splash for a second as she came back up and gulped for fresh air.
The Scotsmen had already circled the men with their horses. One of them jumped from his horse and pulled out his sword, and the rest acted as backups, herding the men in as they were taken down one at a time. Sophia marveled at the skill the man used. He worked his way through the group until one deserter was left. The soldier who wrestled her arm behind her back.
“Ye thought ye gave us the slip back there, did ye nae?” the swordsman growled, holding his stance and swinging his sword in with one hand.
“I’ll never yield to you, Scottish dogs!” the deserter yelled as he turned and ran, breaking through the horses.
Sophia waited for the men to give chase but looked in confusion as they stayed where they were. None of them seemed bothered by the fact that the soldier ran away.
“Dae ye mind?” The swordsman looked at a burly man who was mounting a chestnut horse.
The man shook his head with a sigh, as if the request were tiresome, but reached behind his back and drew a bow along with an arrow. Lifting his weapon with ease, he took aim.
The arrow zipped through the air with expert precision, hitting its target square in the back.
The deserter toppled forward and lay motionless as the man turned his attention back to the group. “I would nae have to do that so often if ye would just get on with the matter instead of making a speech.”
The swordsman shrugged. “I like to have the final say in a matter. I dinnae ken what ye want me to do about that. We can’t all be perfect an’ to the point like ye, my laird.” He looked at the water. “We forgot about the lass.”
All heads turned and looked in Sophia’s direction, making her take a step back in fear.
“I would nae do that if I were ye, lass,” the swordsman said kindly, his voice devoid of the malice she’d heard with the English deserters. “The lake is filled to the brim with muck. We’ll be fishing ye out for days if ye go for a swim.”
The tallest of them, whom the swordsman called laird, swung his leg from the horse and dropped to the ground, making his way over to her with lengthy strides. The light was too dim to allow her to make out any kind of discernible features, but from his silhouette, Sophia could tell that he was a muscular man with a square jaw and long flowing hair that fell down his back in a braid.
She recoiled again when he came walking toward her through the mud and water.
“Naebody will harm ye, lass,” he said gruffly as he reached out his hand to offer his help. “The English bastards are dead.”
She took a deep breath and hesitated before placing her hand into his, using her other hand to keep the shreds of her dress over her chest. “Thank you.”
He paused for a second in the dark as his warm hand enclosed hers. “An English lass?”
“I was on my way to McGill Castle.” She raised her voice to explain. “The laird is expecting me there.”
“Is that so?” he asked softly. “What is yer name, lass?”
She held back for a second, wondering if she should trust this man, who was twice her size and could wield an arrow with expert precision.
“Is it Sophia Harrison?” he asked when he saw her reluctance to answer.
“How do you know my name?”
