Page 27 of My Highland Love

“Cease,” he growled. “Fighting will do ye no good.”

She yielded, too spent to do anything else. He strode to a cluster of medium-sized rocks, then set her down against the rocks and returned to his horse. Rory approached, horse's reins in hand. Elise tensed. Their gazes remained locked until he disappeared from view behind her. Another man followed, then the next and the next, and she realized the horses were being tethered near where she lay.

Her keeper approached carrying a tartan and a small pouch. He stopped beside her, shook out the tartan, and squatted, settling the blanket over her. He regarded her. “We left MacGregor land long ago. You are in Campbell territory and wouldn't have a chance in hell in these hills. You cannot see, but 'tis barren country. Nothing for miles.”

“Why—” she stopped, seeing the implacable set of his jaw.

He reached into the pouch and produced a biscuit. He handed it to her. Elise took the food and watched him stride to where his comrades sat huddled on smaller rocks. She looked at the biscuit, then sniffed it. To her surprise, she detected no mold. A small nibble and her stomach rumbled. She pulled her knees up and reached for her foot. She unlaced one boot, took it off, then did the same with the other. She arranged the boots beside her and took another bite of the biscuit, while edging herself into a more prone position. She took another, larger bite.

“We should bind her hands.” Rory's voice abruptly broke the silence.

“Touch her and I'll kill you,” her captor said through a mouthful of food.

A pause followed, and Elise shivered as much from the threat as the cold. She pulled the tartan up over her shoulders, closing her eyes.

“You wouldn't be wanting her for yourself, would you, William?” Rory demanded.

“She isn't yours, Rory.”

“What if she escapes?”

“She was knocked half senseless,” William replied. “She couldn't manage it.”

“I know women who could,” Rory retorted.

“She wouldn't know which way was home.” William paused. “She's asleep.”

“Easy pickings,” Rory commented.

Grunts of approval from the men sitting in the group sounded.

“Mayhap not so easy.” William shifted, the sword strapped to his hip scraping against rock.

Elise shrank beneath the tartan and ate the last bit of biscuit. Finally, the men's voices quieted. A moment later, she heard a nearby rustling. She peered past a corner of her tartan and discerned the forms of men lowering themselves to the ground. She recognized William, still sitting with his back to her.

A close snigger told her Rory was among the men bedding down nearby. Her stomach wrenched. She glanced heavenward. Dawn was no more than four hours away. MacGregor territory lay southeast of Campbell land. They had ridden approximately fifteen hours. She could reach Brahan Seer by tomorrow afternoon. Marcus might not welcome her back, but she had to make sure he knew who was responsible for Allister's death. She thought of the wedding band sewed to the lining of her shift. She had planned to go from Michael's to Glasgow and catch the first ship away from Scotland. But Allister deserved recompense just as much as Amelia and Steven.

When snores at last told Elise the men had fallen asleep, she crawled from beneath her blanket. The biscuit had settled her stomach, but the trembling deep within persisted.

“Where are ye going?”

She stopped at the sound of William's voice and twisted to look over her shoulder. He still sat on the rock, back to her.

“I-I need a moment of privacy.”

“There are guards,” he said.

“What?”

“Out there.” He motioned with his head to the blackness beyond their camp.

Her blood chilled, but she forced her body into motion and crawled around the rock.

* * *

Marcus tensed at sight of a figure moving in the shadows where the Campbell horses were tethered. “Did you notice any of the guards returning to camp?” he demanded of Michael, who squatted beside him on the hill from which they watched.

“Nae,” Michael whispered.