Muriel had not eaten a thing since the night she’d been taken from her home. She doubted she could have eaten even the tiniest morsel of food, for her stomach was filled with too much fear and dread.

The ferry ride across the sea to Skye had been tumultuous, to say the least. A storm had come in, rocking the ferry back and forth violently. She clung to Cora with all her might and prayed. She prayed for their safety, but mostly, she prayed that Rodrick would get to her in time.

Rodrick would come for her. This she knew to her marrow.

The only worry she possessed was that they would not figure out in time just who had taken her or where they were going. But she knew he would come for her. That thought was the only thing that kept her moving forward. Rodrick would not forsake her. He would not forget about her.

’Twas midday by the time the ferry landed on Skye. There was no reason to ask where they were going. The questions that loomed large were ‘why?’ and ‘for what purpose??’ What could Fergus possibly want from her? He’d already sold her once before. He and Anthara had washed their hands of her a year ago. Why on earth were they coming back into her life now?

On weak legs, cold and drenched from the journey, she followed her captors through the small village. As soon as Fergus and Anthara’s home came into her line of vision, her dread intensified to the point she felt light headed. This had been her hell on earth for many months. A hell she had thought she’d left behind. Now, she was back again. Muriel could not help but feel terrified and helpless. But this time, she was not without hope.

Rodrick will come for me, she told herself. He will kill ye all. Knowing this tiny fact bolstered her resolve and determination.

Soon, they were stepping over the threshold of the back door, returning her to the man who had been her tormentor and abuser.

Ye will no’ win again.

* * *

Fergus MacDonald jumped from his seat by the fire and walked toward Muriel. His smile might have fooled a complete stranger, but Muriel knew it for what it was: naught more than a mask to cover the face belonging to a most cruel and sadistic man.

“Muriel,” he said, still smiling as if she were a long, lost friend. He dismissed all but one of the men. The one who had taken her from her bed remained behind, standing near the door, quietly observing.

A year ago, she would have felt small and weak and very afraid in the presence of these men, but not this day. She was a different person now: a wife and mother. Instead of trembling, she gave Fergus a cold, hard stare and drew strength from deep within. Pushing her shoulders back and lifting her chin, she refused to take her eyes off him.

“’Tis good to see ye again,” Fergus said as he retook his chair.

“I can no’ say the same to ye,” she told him bluntly.

Her response surprised him. Cocking his head to one side, he studied her for the briefest of moments. With a nod toward the bundle in her arms, he said, “I would like to meet me daughter.”

Grinding her teeth, Muriel held Cora even closer. “She is no’ yers. She belongs to me husband, Rodrick. And I want to be returned to him immediately.”

Fergus raised a brow dubiously. “Well, now, I have ciphered it all out, Muriel and I ken fer a fact the babe be mine.”

“Nay,” she said, trying to calm the worry growing in her belly. “She belongs to Rodrick.” As far as she was concerned, Rodrick was Cora’s father.

Disgusted, Fergus pursed his lips together and gave a slow shake of his head. “We both ken that is no’ the truth.”

Ignoring his statement, Muriel said, “Release me and ye might live another day.”

He began to laugh then, throwing his head back and chuckling heartily like the fool that he was. “Och! Muriel!” he said after a time, “just who do ye think will be takin’ me life?”

Tilting her head ever so slightly, she glowered at him. “Rodrick.”

He stood then, shaking his head slowly, looking as though he held the greatest of secrets. “Ye mean the man I have locked away in me da’s dungeon?”

* * *

Nay! Muriel cried silently. Nay, that can no’ be!

Knowing Fergus’s propensity for lying, she refused to believe him. He is just tryin’ to scare ye to get ye to do what he wants. “Ye lie,” she accused.

“Do I?” he asked.

Although her stomach was drawing into knots, she refused to give up hope just yet. “Ye do,” she insisted. Thinking quickly, hoping to catch him up in his own false words, she said, “If ye have him, then show him to me.”

“Nay, I do no’ think so,” Fergus said, his smile gone now.

“Then bring to me the ring Rodrick wears around his neck,” she challenged.

Fergus looked to the man who had been standing quietly near the door. “Roger? Was Rodrick the Bold wearin’ a ring around his neck when ye captured him?”

Roger took a step forward and smiled deviously at Muriel. “Nay, I do no’ think he was, m’laird. But then, he put up a good fight. Until the blade of me brother’s sword near gutted him.”

Muriel sucked in a deep breath as she took a step back. Nay! Nay! Nay! That can no’ be!

“He be quite injured,” Fergus said. “He might live if he had a healer.”

The prospect of losing Rodrick was almost too much to bear. Tears welled in Muriel’s eyes, her resolve quickly fading.

In a few short strides, Fergus was standing so close to her she could feel his breath on her face. “Now, if ye were to cooperate and do as I say, then I will allow a healer to tend to yer husband’s wounds.”

Muriel felt light-headed and terrified all at once. If what he said was true, she could not chance angering Fergus. The image of Rodrick bleeding to death in a cold dungeon made her feel sick to her stomach. But if what he said was naught more than a lie? Either way, she had to either buy her husband’s freedom and life or give him time to get here. But what could Fergus possibly want from her that would justify him kidnapping her, her babe, and possibly killing her husband? Any answer that came to mind terrified her.

Fergus gave her very little time to think. “Ye see, me da wants to take away me inheritance. All I need do to keep it is to produce an heir. It matters no’ who the mother be, just that I have fathered one.”

* * *

Fergus wanted her babe.

Too paralyzed with the realization, Muriel could neither cry nor even speak. All she could do was to look at him in abject terror. He wants me babe.

“I care no’ a whit about the child, ye ken. But I have to prove to me da that I have fathered one,” he explained.

“Ye’re mad,” she finally ground out. “Ye will have to take this babe from me cold dead hands!”

He laughed at her distress and horror. “That could be arranged,” he said. “But I fear me da will want proof from ye that ’twas I who fathered yer bastard child.”

Bile rose in her throat. He was quite serious.

“Me da returns on the morrow. Ye and I shall go to him then and present the babe to him as mine. As soon as ye have convinced him of the truth — that ’twas I who fathered the babe— I shall have a healer tend to yer husband’s injuries and set the both of ye free. If ye do a verra good job, I might even let ye take the brat back home with ye.”

Her head swam with trepidation and outrage as words lodged in her throat. Fergus was as insane as the day was long; there was no doubt of it now.

“Do ye understand what I be askin’ of ye?”

Before she could curse him to the devil, Anthara walked into the room.

“Ah! Sweetin’!” Fergus said to his wife. “Look what I have fer ye!”

Anthara paused just inside the doorway, her eyes fixed solely on the babe in Muriel’s arms.

Fergus leaned in to whisper into Muriel’s ear. “Anthara believes she will be keepin’ the babe to raise as her own. Do no’ let her think otherwise, else I shall order Rodrick killed and ye as well. Do ye understand?”

The tears fell as Anthara approached. “The wet-nurse will no’ be here until the morrow,” she said as she began to pry Cora from Muriel’s arms.

“Nay!” Muriel cried out. “Leave her be!”

Roger grabbed Muriel about the waist as Anthara and Fergus pried her daughter from her arms. “Nay! Give her back to me!”

As soon as Anthara had a good hold on the babe, she turned to walk away, looking gleefully happy. Fergus grabbed Muriel’s arm and twisted it behind her back. “Quiet!” he whispered harshly. “Or I swear I shall have Roger here cut yer throat.”

Muriel’s heart began to shatter as she watched Anthara walk away.

Fergus continued his tight hold on her arm, but Muriel ignored the pain. It was nothing compared to the thought of never seeing her child again.

Yanking harder, Fergus began to speak again. His voice was deep, angry, and menacing. “Ye do as I say or ye shall never lay yer eyes on yer babe again,” he warned her. “Yer husband’s life and yer own rests solely in yer hands.”

Yer life will rest in them too, ye bloody bastard.