Page 5 of The Defiance of a Scottish Heart
Still fierce,he thought.Still refusing to be caged.
He should look away. Should mount his horse and ride inland, put distance between them like he’d done for five years.
But his feet stayed planted on the cliff’s edge, and his eyes stayed locked on her retreating figure until she disappeared around the bend.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the wind. “I’m so damned sorry, Sheona.”
For the distance. For the hurt. For being too much of a coward to tell her the truth—that staying away from her was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and the most necessary.
For being his father’s son, and hating himself for it.
The wind carried his words away, and Taskill stood alone on the cliff, watching the empty path where Sheona had been, and wondering how long a man could keep running from the one thing he wanted most in the world.
Chapter Two
Sheona
The axe felt good in her hands—solid, honest, real. Sheona adjusted her grip and let it fly, satisfaction singing through her as the blade thunked into the center of the target.
“Beautiful throw!” Eva clapped, her eyes bright with admiration. “You’ll have to teach me that technique.”
“It’s all in the release.” Sheona retrieved the axe, running her thumb along the blade’s edge. Still sharp. Good. “You can’t hesitate. The moment you doubt, your aim suffers.” She loved it the day Eva had married her brother, but loved it even more when Eva volunteered to teach Sheona how to throw an axe. Sheona had learned quickly.
“Is that advice for axe-throwing or for life?” Eva asked with a knowing smile. She’d married into Clan Rankin but still returned to Clan MacVey to visit her family often. She’d brought Sheona with her this morn.
Sheona laughed. “Both, I suppose.” She lined up for another throw, finding the familiar calm that came with practice. This—the weight of the weapon, the focus required, the satisfaction of hitting her mark—this made sense. This she could control. She wasn’t as good as Eva yet, but she was working on it.
Unlike everything else in her life lately.
Her father had been acting strange for weeks now, muttering about duty and marriage and time running out. As if Sheona were a cask of wine about to turn to vinegar. As if her value decreased with every passing season.
She was nine and ten. Not exactly ancient.
And more importantly, she had no interest in marriage. Not since she’d learned—
“Sheona, look.” Eva touched her arm, nodding toward the gates. “Is that not your father?”
Sheona’s stomach dropped. Dermot Rankin sat astride his horse just outside Clan MacVey’s gates, his posture rigid with purpose. The set of his shoulders, the way he held the reins—she knew that stance. He was here for something, and whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.
“What’s he doing here?” Sheona murmured, dread creeping up her spine like cold fingers.
“I don’t know, but he doesn’t look happy.”
When did he ever, these days? Since Mama’s death a little over a year ago, her father had become someone else entirely. Angry, controlling, desperate to maintain order in a world that had turned upside-down.
And Sheona had become his favorite target.
“You’ll marry her now, Taskill.”
The words carried across the courtyard like a thunderclap. Sheona froze, her axe halfway to the target.
Marry. Taskill.
Nay. Nay, she must have misheard.
But Eva’s sharp intake of breath confirmed she’d heard the same thing.
Sheona’s hands went numb. The axe slipped from her fingers and thudded to the ground. Her feet moved without conscious thought, carrying her closer to the gates, closer to the nightmare unfolding before her.
