Page 7 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
She glanced around and realized with growing dread that the landscape was unfamiliar. These weren’t the well-worn paths on McEwan lands. The trees were denser here, the hills steeper, and there was no sign of farmland or villages.
How far does this brute plan to take me?
“Me clan will find ye,” she hissed suddenly. “And when they do, they’ll have yer head hanged above the gates of McEwan Castle.”
Her captor growled behind her. “I’m countin’ on it, lass. Let them come.”
She twisted to glare at him over her shoulder. “Ye’re sick,” she spat. “Truly deranged if ye think this is some grand plan instead of plain madness.”
“Oh, lass,” he murmured, a smirk in his voice, “ye’ve nay idea how mad I can be.”
Abigail let out a frustrated breath and pulled at the reins despite her bound hands. “I am nae some pawn in yer war games. I am Lady Abigail of Clan McEwan, and I demand that ye turn this horse around!”
“Demand all ye like,” the brute drawled. “Ye’re nae on McEwan lands anymore, and yer name means nothin’ out here.”
Her cheeks flushed as she stared straight ahead, furious at his smugness, furious at herself for being afraid. “Ye think this willend well for ye? That I’ll just sit quietly while ye drag me into whatever madness ye’re plannin’?”
“I expect ye’ll kick and bite and scream, aye,” he said coolly. “But in the end, ye’ll do exactly as I say.”
“I’d rather die than submit to the likes of ye!” she shouted, twisting again to face him fully.
His eye narrowed, his lips quirking up just slightly. “We’ll see about that, bunny.”
Abigail turned forward again, her whole body trembling. Not from fear this time, but rage.
Rage bubbled up so fiercely in her chest that she felt like it might burst through her ribs. She clenched her jaw so hard it hurt—anything to keep herself from screaming again.
If this beast wanted a fight, he was damn well going to get one.
How dare he steal me away like a sack of grain, like I dinnae have free will?
Every word he’d spoken echoed through her, and every smug grin he gave made her skin crawl.
She spotted it then—a thick patch of mossy grass just ahead, soft and sloped and edged with thick clover. Her eyes narrowed, her breath catching in her throat.
Now. It’s now or never.
She braced herself, twisting her body to the side, and launched herself from the horse with all her strength.
She hit the ground hard, rolling over the moss and tumbling down a small slope before landing with a grunt a ways from the road. Pain flared in her hip and shoulder, but she didn’t stop.
She scrambled to her feet, hiked up her skirts, and bolted toward the denser woods beyond. Behind her, she heard the thundering hooves pull to a halt and her captor’s voice barking sharp orders.
“Leighton! Circle around! She’s headin’ for the pines!”
Abigail didn’t look back. Fear seized her tighter than any rope, her lungs burning as branches whipped at her face. The trees closed in on her, the light dimming beneath the thick foliage. A low limb scratched her arm, drawing blood, but she pushed past it with a gasp, her heart pounding in her ears.
I must find cover—anything. A cave, a hole, or rocks to hide behind!
The forest blurred past her as she ran, and soon her legs grew heavy and achy with exhaustion. She stumbled over a root,caught herself, and kept running, her hair tangled and wild behind her. Panic coursed through her veins like lightning, and still she ran.
The heavy footsteps behind her grew closer.
He’s huntin’ me. Like a wolf after its prey.
She darted left, ducking beneath an inclined tree trunk and skidding down a bank covered in leaves. Mud caked her shoes, and bark scratched her palms, but she pressed on, deeper and deeper into the forest.
Please, let there be somewhere to hide… somewhere to breathe!
