Eva sat rigid, unsure of what to do with her hands other than hold the front of the saddle for dear life, which was very difficult given the necklace in her hand, but what else could she do? If she let go of the necklace, her only piece of her mother would be gone forever. If she let go of the saddle, the warrior behind her might just let her fall off.

The warrior behind her… Drawing breath was difficult. Every suck of wind left her lungs burning and her heart pounding. She was frightened, angry, surprised, horrified, and also intensely speculative. Her mind whirled in a thousand different directions, none of them connecting or making any sense.

She’d just been abducted.

Ripped from everything she knew.

By a Scottish warrior who was unfairly handsome and bold in his heathen woolen plaid and bare legs. And he’d known her name. Had the bard been successful in getting her letter to her relatives in Scotland? Was that why he’d been sent?

Or was there another more nefarious reason? She wanted to ask, but she didn’t dare.

Was he going to kill her? Bury her in a shallow grave where no one would ever find her? Ravage her first and then pass her amongst his friends?

She chanced a glance at the warrior who rode beside them. He was just as tall, just as dark, and just as scary looking. What had he called him? Tomaidh? What a heathen name it was… And what was her captor’s name? She didn’t even know. Everyone simply called him laird, a savage sounding lord.

Eva shuddered.

Everything she’d heard about Highlanders from her father—for that was most assuredly what this warrior was—had been true. They were savage, brutish killing machines that took what they wanted, including women, without thought.

Her mother had been a Lowlander, and when she’d run away from her betrothed at the tender age of sixteen, she’d found Lord Northwyck at the border, where he’d fallen in love with her. They’d married almost immediately. Her mother rarely talked about her family in Scotland, only saying she came from the Lindsay Clan, and that they’d disowned her.

A flash of the chapel door splintering to reveal this massive devil of a horse and his master assaulted her memory. It had taken every ounce of her willpower not to faint right then and there. How easy it would have been to simply let her consciousness slip away as the ensuing scenes took place. But then she would have missed the blood pooling beneath Belfinch’s head. Most of all, she would have missed the satisfying and uncharitable happiness when he did fall.

Zounds, but when her father fell and clutched his chest, Eva had been certain he was going to die, but he’d kept on breathing, his eyes wider with terror than even her own. With so many of their men decimated by the heathen Scots, she doubted very much that anyone was coming after her.

But this man had promised that Belfinch would. That he wouldn’t be pleased with her being taken. He would more likely be angry that his coin had gone missing. She had no idea of how much was in that purse, but it probably amounted to a great fortune.

The warrior who’d picked her up off the floor of the chapel had barely slowed down since he’d kicked his horse into a gallop, and he showed no signs of doing so. When they’d entered the woods, there had been a slight change of pace, but they still whipped past trees, and she’d had to duck to avoid being struck by a low-hanging branch more than once.

The danger of being knocked in the head was a good reason to pay attention, if only she weren’t being distracted by the hard thighs beneath her bottom. At her back, his hard chest. Around her middle, hard arms.

Everything about him, including his demeanor, was hard. The line of his square jaw. The breadth of his shoulders. Even the color of his tempestuous gray eyes. They matched the storm clouds that threatened to explode at any moment into a thunderous downpour.

And yet, he seemed a better alternative to the man she’d been about to wed. At least so far. He could prove to be entirely worse. She wasn’t certain what frightened her more—the idea of marrying a man she knew was evil, or being abducted by a man who could be evil. Either way, she was his hostage. And either way, she had no say.

But that didn’t mean Eva didn’t have a lot to say.

Why, if she could leap off this horse and give the bloody savage a piece of her mind, she’d do it. Well, after she put a good amount of distance between them. Because despite his massive size, he moved incredibly fast. And she had no intention of being tossed over his shoulder, or over his knees again…

Tears threatened between bouts of panic and moments of sheer hysteria. Her dear mare, Mimsy, whom she’d had since she was a girl of twelve, and her cat, Monkey, who curled up in the spot between her shoulder and neck every night when she slept. The people who’d served her house for all her life. The villagers and peasants she’d cared for. Dearest Jacqueline, her older sister and best friend, didn’t even know she was gone. Her favorite pillow. Her best shoes. Her cloak.

Eva glanced down at the string of pearls and jewels she clutched for dear life. At least she still had her mother’s necklace. She gripped it so tightly it had to be leaving precious indents on her palm. It wouldn’t be long until she dropped it. And that wouldn’t do. With this being the only tie to her mother’s family, perhaps she could use it at some point to prove who she was. Or gain their help. She had to put it somewhere… Without a satchel for safekeeping and not being able to settle the clasp around her neck, she did the next best thing and shoved it down her bodice. The necklace was warm against her skin from having clutched it for so long. She’d expected the warrior to make a comment on what she’d done, but he remained oddly quiet.

Eva’s mind raced with what she wanted to say, what she wanted to do, and all the while, she kept her tongue in check, because she was fairly certain he’d make good on his promise of a gag. And that she could not abide. Just the idea of having a dirty rag shoved into her mouth made her want to retch. Besides that, she had a fear of not being able to breathe. As it was, she had struggled most of her life with breathing out of her nose, especially in the spring when everything was blooming.

A massive sneeze at that moment shuddered her against him, and then launched her backward with the force of it.

“What in blazes?” he mumbled.

“A sneeze, pardon me.”

“G’bless ye.”

Eva mumbled her thanks, a little surprised he had the manners to issue her such a sentiment. Perhaps she’d been right in her assessment of a softness beneath all that hardness.

“Dinna do it again.”

And just like that, he proved her wrong once more.

“I cannot help it if I sneeze,” she countered with a roll of her eyes.

“Hold it in.”

She jerked her head to the side, trying to eye him up, which didn’t matter considering it was still very dark out. “How am I supposed to do that?”

He pinched her nose. “Like that.”

She batted away his hand, exaggeratingly drawing a deep breath. “Preposterous.”

“Try it.”

“I will not.”

There was a rumbling in his chest that vibrated against her back. Was he growling? Or laughing?

The gall of the man. But to his credit, he did not answer her, nor did he threaten to gag her to keep her from sneezing. And when the next one came—as they inevitably came in threes—she did try pinching her nose, but that only caused her ears to pop, and she let out a shriek.

He shushed her, as the men around her grumbled their irritation. “What the devil is wrong with ye?”

“That was the worst idea. I would not subject anyone to such a tactic, sir.”

“Holding your nose when ye sneeze?”

“Aye.”

“Huh. I will remember that Sassenach wenches are delicate, except when it comes to sneezing. For I’ve never seen one so violent as yours.”

She gritted her teeth, not wanting to satisfy him with a response. Instead, she concentrated on the softness of the horse’s mane flicking over her hand. Even in the darkness, she could see the sleek black tresses as they trailed over her hand. The coloring reminded her of her captor’s hair, too. It was just as wild and was probably flying with the wind as they rode, but she didn’t want to look. Not that she would see. And why should she care anyway? She should ignore him and everything about him.

But then again, that would be very stupid.

She should get to know her captor, shouldn’t she?

She shuddered.

Dear God, she didn’t want to know him. She wanted to find out the truth about her mother. She wanted to go home.

Nay, she didn’t want to go home. Because going home meant marrying Lord Belfinch. Going home meant having to face the weakened man her father had become, and wondering why she’d become so worthless to him that he would rather toss her out than protect her.

She could go to Jacqueline, not that she knew the way. She’d likely only get lost. And there was also the chance that her sister’s husband would send her back.

Somehow, she had to contact her king. Then again, King Edward II was not known for his kindness. In fact, many said he was crueler than his father Longshanks had been. Knowing she was half Scots would likely not help her case. Eva had never met the king. He was busy with the civil war and rising tensions with France, which was largely why she thought Belfinch had been so easily able to abuse her father.

She had to find someone who would fight for her. Or at the very least help her father get rid of Belfinch’s greedy hands. And of course, save her from this heathen.

Though the savage had knocked the man out with one blow, she was certain that Belfinch would come out of it thriving. He was a wicked fiend, and one little knock on the head wasn’t going to stop him from the plans he had. Though she still wasn’t entirely certain what they were, and at this rate, she might never know.

The smell of smoke hung on the air, startling her from her thoughts. Eva breathed in deeply, taking note of the strong scent.

“There is a fire,” she said, suddenly fearful for those who might be involved.

“There was a fire.” As he spoke, the laird stiffened, his hold on her waist tightening.

“Was? You know of it.” Eva wriggled in his grasp, hoping he’d take the subtle hint to ease his grip.

“Aye.” There was a bite to his tone that hadn’t been there in any of their previous conversations.

He didn’t say more. But the fact he’d known about it was telling enough. The barbarian behind her had to have been the cause of a massive fire. By the scent of it, an entire village had burned. It would seem attacking her castle hadn’t been all he’d done on this voyage. Did he have to destroy everything in his path? Eva imagined she could hear people still crying out in anguish with every blow of the wind. How could he be so brutal?

Why was she even asking?

He’d had no reservations about hacking the guards to death or taking her. If there was one thing she should remember, it was that this man was very dangerous.

And any kindness he’d shown her since was simply a show to force her into letting her guard down.

Suddenly, he veered the horse off the road, his men scrabbling to follow. With every stride of the horse, the scent of smoke grew. They broke through the trees to find the burned village. Only the stone foundations remained of what had to be at least twenty or thirty huts. Black shadowy angles of wood jabbed at the ground and sky.

Tears trekked down her cheeks at the destruction. Thankfully, she did not see any bodies, though she knew they had to have been there. Death hung in the air. What if this were the Lindsay lands? Her mother’s people? She wouldn’t know. And she couldn’t ask. That bit of information she had to hold close for now.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked quietly through her tears.

“So ye could see the devastation men left unchecked can cause.”

Was that a confession? A way to bring her terror, to let her know he would burn her if she didn’t comply? The warrior was thoroughly confusing. He acted in violence but had not attempted to harm her. Had not tried to kill her father or Belfinch.

What was she supposed to make of that? Of him? Of his words?

Eva didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Tomaidh glanced at her, his expression unreadable in the darkness. Why did she get the feeling she was being blamed for this?

Moments later, without a word, the laird turned his horse back toward the wood and the road beyond.

As the minutes turned to hours, Eva’s spine started to hurt from holding it so rigidly away from her captor. She didn’t want to touch him any more than she had to. The murderer, this destroyer of lives. But her eyelids dipped closed, her back slumping before she bolted upright. More than once, she knocked her head against his solid chin. After half a dozen times of knocking against him, he grunted.

“Is that how ye intend to escape, Princess? Knocking me into oblivion with that hard head of yours?” There was a note of humor in his tone that belied everything she knew about him, so she forced herself to ignore the teasing note and focus on that scent of smoke, the suffering of the people, both of which still lingered in her memory.

“When I make my escape, you will not see it coming.” It was a risk for her to say something like that, but she didn’t care. She needed him to know that despite his threats and the danger, she did intend to stand up for herself.

Even if it scared the wits out of her.

But rather than issuing a rebuke, gagging her, or smacking her as Belfinch had done, the brute laughed so uproariously loud that several of his mates shifted in their saddles to watch. The vibrations from his chest went straight to her toes. Confusion warred inside her, and she forced herself not to think about him, about his reactions, or anything. For there were no answers that made sense.

Most confusing of all was her reaction to him. The fact she didn’t feel as terrified by him as she certainly should be. Body aching, exhaustion causing every limb to shake, Eva forced herself to relax a little bit, to sleep. If he’d not killed her yet, he wouldn’t decide to do so simply because she fell asleep.

A short time later, she woke and started to squirm with an urgency in her bladder that refused to be ignored. The sun was starting to rise, giving everything along the side of the road a faintly orange glow. Dew glistened on the grasses, bushes, and tree leaves, reminding her of her thirst as well. When was the last time she’d had anything to eat or drink?

“Stop moving,” he growled behind her.

“I cannot.” She wriggled again, trying to find a position that didn’t pinch her bladder to the point of pain. But with every jostle of the horse’s stride, she was renewed with vigor at her body’s insistence on relief. Her hands cramped as she clutched the saddle to situate herself better. Probably from having gripped it so tightly throughout the night.

“Aye, ye can. Just stop.”

She squirmed, feeling her insides warning she needed a chamber pot, or garderobe, or bush, else the warrior was getting the brunt of it.

“I need to… I have to…”

“Och, for the love of,” he grumbled and then blew out a whistle to his men.

They veered off the road into the woods, and when they came to a stop, Eva realized this would be her first chance to make an escape. With her gaze darting around, she took in the various trees, bushes, the sound of trickling water, how many men there were, and the sheer daunting amount of weapons.

The laird, whose name she’d yet to learn, set her on the ground, and she almost buckled under her own weight. At some point during their long ride, her body seemed to have forgotten how to function. Her feet were tingly and numb, her legs wobbly. She stretched and shook out her limbs, forcing blood to flow back into them.

The men dismounted, walking past her without looking in her direction, thank goodness. Because she’d not been able to get a good look at them last night, and now that she could see them all in the daylight, she fairly gaped with horror. They were all as tall as trees and built like mountains. As fierce and forbidding as their leader.

Every one of them looked just as brutal as their laird, too. Hard lines, jagged edges. They made a terrifying bunch.

Eva forced herself to look down toward the ground as they passed by so as not to show them exactly how she felt, for she was certain it was written all over her face. When she could feel every wiggle of her toes, she started heading in the opposite direction of where the men had taken up refuge to meet their own needs.

“Where are ye going?” The savage wrapped his strong grip around her arm, stilling her forward momentum.

“I need privacy.” She looked up at him like he had lost his head and was struck silent.

In the light of the rising sun, his features were dangerous but also incredibly…beautiful. If he’d not just abducted her out of a house of worship—which he’d insolently ridden his horse into—she might have thought he was a woodland fairy or a god sent to tempt her. But she was all too aware of how very human he was—and that if he were from another realm, it would be filled with hellfire.

He gave a subtle shake of his head, indicating where the men had gone. “Over here.”

Eva yanked against his hold, surprised when he let go. “That is where your men are. I’m a lady, and I will not be subjected to such barbarism.”

A wickedly arched brow rose on his forehead. “Ye may be a lady, but ye’re also my captive.”

“And what does that distinction matter?” Her hands flew to her hips before she could stop them, so she forced them to drop at her sides. “If you intend for me to be ravaged by your men, by all means, let us get it over with.”

“What?” He actually looked surprised.

Was he really going to make her spell it out for him? “They are…doing what they needed to do, the same as I need to do. And should I be exposed to their…parts, or they exposed to mine…” Oh dear heaven, her face was blazing hot, and she kept tripping over her words, not able to put a single thought through to him.

He looked behind him at the men and then raised his eyebrows with dawning understanding as he turned his gaze back to hers.

“Ah, I see. Well, go ahead then.” He waved her in the opposite direction now. “But I’m coming with ye.”

“What? Nay!” She almost stomped her foot.

“Och, Princess, ye mentioned afore ye planned to escape. Ye dinna think I’ll actually let that happen, do ye?”

Eva gritted her teeth. Of course he would want to make certain she didn’t escape, she knew that much. Foolish of her to have thought it would be so easy. Even still, she dug in her heels. If she didn’t at least try, she’d regret it.

“Just stand here. I will be right around those bushes.”

Straight-faced, he shook his head.

Eva crossed her arms over her chest. “You plan to watch me then, ye wicked rogue?”

A slight, mischievous grin curled his lips, once more unsettling her from the hard vision of him she wanted to keep in place, but the grin vanished just as quickly as it had come.

“Go on then, lass, but know I’m watching, and if ye should run, I’ll be right behind ye.”

The idea was in itself unnerving, as she was certain he could run faster than her by the sheer fact that his legs were so much longer. For a moment, she envisioned running through the woods, only to have him tackle her from behind, his hard body pinning hers to the ground. But rather than a fearful shudder racing through her, it was one of desire.

In disgust, she whirled around and marched toward the bushes she’d indicated to before he could change his mind and come after her. What was wrong with her? This man was a killer. Not a beau. Apparently, her baser side couldn’t tell the difference.

With a harrumph, she rounded the bushes.

Once there, she lifted her skirts and took care of business efficiently. In her ducked position, she realized he couldn’t possibly see the top of her head. And the gown she wore was a dulled enough shade of blue that it wouldn’t be a beacon of color through the bushes. Which meant this moment might be her chance to escape. But as she tried walking forward two steps, she understood how very awkward it was. If she continued, her legs would give out on her in protest.

Lowering herself to all fours, Eva crawled forward one step, then two. This was a lot easier. Biting the inside of her cheek, she forced herself not to breathe so she could hear if her captor was coming after her. So far, nothing. She made it perhaps fifteen feet forward when her skirt snagged on an uprooted tree root. She tugged it lightly, but it wouldn’t budge, and so she tugged harder and the sound of the fabric ripping rent the night air.

“What was that?” the warrior called over the bushes.

Eva sucked in air, cursing herself for not paying more attention. “I tore my skirt.”

“Careful. Come on now. Ye’ve wasted enough time back there.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to crawl away, then get up and run. All the way back to England. All the way to Jacqueline. How she’d get there was not entirely certain, but she would, by God.

His boots crunched on the opposite side of the bush. He was coming closer. If she was going to make good with her escape plan, there was no time to think. She had to just go.

With that thought in mind, she went back to crawling but stopped short when something furry ran over her hand and took a good nibble on her pointer finger.

Eva let out a shout, jerked her hand up, and shot back on her heels, scrambling toward the bush. A squirrel scurried around and then headed toward her, arms outstretched as though possessed by a demon, making her scream all the more.

Next thing she knew, the warrior had her up in his arms, and the animal had completely disappeared.

“What the devil?”

“Something…bit me.”

“What?”

Eva held up her finger with the tiny drop of blood on the tip. “An animal bit me.”

“How in blazes did it get to your finger?”

“I was crawling,” she admitted before realizing it.

“Crawling?”

“I…dropped something.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Eva’s heart thumped against her ribs hard enough to crack them, and she felt dizzy from the rush of nerves and exhaustion.

“That’ll teach ye to try and escape.” He swept her up into his arms, carrying her like a lover—or a child.

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” she said petulantly.

He grunted. “Whatever ye say, Princess.”