Page 1 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

CHAPTER ONE

ABBOTT HALL, LONDON

Acrash louder than any Margo had ever heard before rang through the halls of the estate. She jerked awake, scrambling out of bed as she tried to force her eyes to adjust to the predawn light filtering in through her window.

“Move, quickly!” a servant yelled in the corridor.

Eleanor.

Two sets of shoes hurried past her door. A few seconds later, she heard boots echoing on the marble floor. Her heart pounding in her ears, she covered her body with a robe and grabbed a candle from her nightstand.

“What is happening?” she asked, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she crossed the room.

When she reached her door, she pressed her ear against the wood and held her breath. There were more sounds of chaos on the other side; male voices she did not recognize shouted, and the muffled flight of the staff members was so quiet she had to strain to hear it. The commotion was close, but she could slip out.

I have to. What about Eleanor?

Taking a deep breath, thinking of her little sister just a room away, Margo opened the door and peeked into the corridor. The noise grew louder, but without anyone directly in front of her, she could not stop herself from throwing it open and rushing into the hall. As quickly as she could, she held her candle up to one on the walls next to her chambers.

Before she could go any further, the boots grew closer. Now, she was able to pick out some of the words being said. A chill ran through her body when she realized that it was not Englishmen storming her father’s manor.

Highlanders.

Margo took a few desperate steps toward her sister’s door. She did not get very far before Highlanders flooded into the hallway. As if her body was no longer her own, she froze in place, unable to do anything but watch as massive men wrapped in dark tartans poured into the corridor with terrifying precision.

She shuffled backwards, only two steps at first. Then two more when the men just kept coming. Her mind raced as she tried to conjure the reason they were here. Her father had many enemies, but she could not recall the last time he had provoked Highlanders.

In the midst of the chaos, there was one man radiating calm command. He was taller than the others, and his long brown hair nearly touched his shoulders. He pushed it from his face as he surveyed the hallway, and when his deep, earthy brown eyes met hers, it was as if time itself stopped.

She felt like she was being watched by a predator. Even as the other men encroached on her, she could not move away. Something deep in her told her that if she moved even an inch, he would pounce.

I cannae stay here.

Margo took a deep breath, her mind calculating the fastest way she could reach her little sister. They both knew the servants’ passages better than they knew the backs of their hands. With any luck, Eleanor would be there before she even arrived. All Margo would have to do was get downstairs.

Before she could bring herself to move, the door to her father’s chambers swung open. The men storming the hallways did not yield when they saw him. It wasn’t until the tall, intimidating man standing at the end of the corridor barked, “Enough,” that the chaos paused.

“What makes you think you have any right to storm my manor?” Margo’s father demanded, trying to make himself sound more imposing even though he must have been twice as old as the leader of the invading men. “Are you no more than savages? You will leave at⁠—”

“Cameron MacLeod,” the Highlander said, cutting through her father’s empty demands. He sounded almost like he was discussing the weather, like he had not stormed someone’s residence before the sun rose. “Laird of Clan MacLeod.”

Margo’s brow furrowed. The name was not familiar to her in the slightest, and she could not recall her father speaking of a Cameron, nor any Highland Lairds. Finally, she tore her eyes away from Laird MacLeod, looking to her father for some sign of recognition.

Saints… It looks as though he’s seen a ghost.

Terror flashed in her father’s eyes, something bone-deep that she had never seen before. There was a tremor in his hands that he attempted to hide by clasping them behind his back. He put on the twisted, charming smile that she had seen him use to wriggle out of difficult situations before. It was cowardly, and she deeply resented it.

“Duke of Essengham,” her father said primly, his tone shifting from anger and accusation to that of a man welcoming guests, “Benedict Abbott. Cameron MacLeod, what a surprise to see your ghost in my halls! We all thought you dead.”

“Nay dead,” Laird MacLeod said, nodding for his men to bring forward a chest.

Margo’s stomach dropped when the Laird’s guard pulled it open. She recognized the seal on the documents immediately. It was her father’s; a badger pressed into the parchment with red wax. Behind her, she heard her father’s breath catch.

“This is nae the only trunk we’ve brought along,” Laird MacLeod said almost conversationally, stepping forward and pulling out the page sitting on top. “Ye see… I’ve been goin’ through the documents that me late father left me, and I’ve realized somethin’. The Lord Abbott that executed this sale kent that the MacGregor lands were failin’ and that they were worthless investments.”

MacGregor was a name familiar to Margo. Her grandfather, she thought. The lands must have been brought into the marriage by her mother.

“Ye took advantage of me father’s desperation,” Laird MacLeod continued, seemingly pleased with the way her father’s face was paling. “Ye sold this land at outrageously inflated prices, and ye kent that the soil was ruined beyond recovery. Because of ye, Clan MacLeod was driven deeper into famine and debt.” He glanced around the corridor, a thoughtful look on his face. “And while me people were starvin’, ye’ve rebuilt yer own fortune.”