Page 6 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
“Dinnae follow us,” the Laird barked.
As his men ran out of the kirk like ants scurrying over the hillside, he gripped the horse’s reins, and the beast reared back on its hind legs. Emily felt a guilty rush of pleasure as a strong arm secured her against the wide body behind her, and they galloped away across the Highlands.
A little while later, they were trotting over the heather. The horizon stretched vast and open before them, boggy moorland surrounding them on every side.
Throughout the ride, Emily had been keeping an eye out for ways of escape, and she was fairly certain she had found one.
To her left, a copse of woods stretched toward the edge of a hill. If she could run to it, she was sure she would be able to hide out until nightfall. After that, she would make her way back to her father’s castle and see what would become of them all.
“Stop squirmin’,” her kidnapper chided as his arm tightened around her again.
“Ye have me on this horse against me will—what do ye expect?”
“For ye to do as I say,” he murmured.
“I have nay intention of doin’ that. In fact, as soon as I can, I shall escape ye,” she stated, with more confidence than she felt.
“Ye are half me size,” he replied. “How will ye get away?”
He sounded weary, as though it was tiresome to point out something so obvious.
Emily felt her irritation spike at being so quickly dismissed. He clearly didn’t see her as any kind of threat.
“I am nae so helpless as ye may think. I could kick ye between yer legs.”
At that statement, she felt his arm loosen ever so slightly around her, and she took her chance.
Flinging her leg over the horse’s neck, she launched herself from the saddle. She was expecting him to grab her easily, but she had taken him by surprise. He cursed colorfully as she landed on her feet and began running toward the copse ahead of her.
The ground was more uneven than it had looked from the horse’s back, and ferns and heather peppered the boggy patches. Before she had taken more than a few steps, she was ankle-deep in murky, black water.
She waded as fast as she could toward the clump of silver birch trees and kept going even as she heard the horse galloping behind her. To her annoyance, the horse slowed to a walk beside her as she struggled.
She looked up at the man’s brooding gaze. He made no attempt to pull her back into the saddle. Her shoes were soaked in icy water, and her skirts began to absorb the rest as she felt herself become weighted down.
She continued doggedly, refusing to give in. The patient horse walked beside her casually, mocking her attempt at putting any distance between them.
As she reached the trees, she used the trunks to pull herself out of the peaty earth and gave a small cry of triumph.
“Congratulations. Now, what are ye goin’ to do?” the man asked from behind her.
To her dismay, the ground ahead was no better. The water was much deeper here and transformed steadily into some kind of marshland. She surveyed it for a little while, trying to find the best route.
She turned to look back at the man. His bulky body was utterly relaxed, leaning forward on the pommel of the saddle, waiting for her to make her decision. The Laird seemed entirely unconcerned by her flight.
She clenched her jaw and stepped down into the marshes. More cursing followed behind her as she began wading through the water, but she knew she had made a mistake as soon as she started. The water was up to her waist, and the mud beneath her feet sucked her down at every step.
Something sharp speared her leg. She cried out in pain and then yelped as a giant hand plucked her from the water and lifted her effortlessly back onto the horse.
She struggled, soaked to the skin, out of breath, and furious.
“Let me go, I have to get back!”
He roughly turned her around on the saddle, forcing her to look up at him. There was a grimace on his face now.
“Ye’re so eager to get back to yer betrothed, is that it?”
“Take yer hands off me.”
