Page 15 of The Laird who Craved her

"The raiders, they came back!" Claire said, her voice rising in a frightened gasp as she lunged toward the carriage window, her small hands gripping the wooden frame until her knuckles turned a deathly white. Inside the coach, Molly let out a sharp, terrified shriek, burying her face in her apron.

When strangers saw they were noticed and the MacRae Laird blocking the path with his hand on his broadsword, they did notcharge. Instead, they yanked their reins, their mounts skidding on slick grass as they turned and fled toward the hills.

“After them!” Finn barked immediately, his voice booming across the valley like a clap of thunder.

Douglas did not hesitate. With a fierce Highland yell, the old man-at-arms dug his spurs deep into his horse’s flanks, the beast leaping forward in a frantic sprint that tore up the trail after the fleeing riders.

Finn’s blood surged hot, a familiar, burning adrenaline that drowned out every other thought in his head.

"Stay inside the coach!" Finn roared down at Claire, his voice raw. "Douglas, cut them off at the ravine!"

Finn didn't wait to see if she obeyed. He wheeled his black stallion, planning to circle through pines and flank the riders before reaching the high rocks. His horse tore through thick brush, branches slicing his doublet and thighs as he pushed it to the limit. The wind howled, carrying Douglas's frantic shouts as the chase neared the mountain.

Finn had just cleared the first thicket, his eyes locked on the narrow pass ahead, when a sound pierced through the roar of the wind and the pounding of hooves.

It was a scream. Sharp, terrified, and unmistakably Claire’s.

Finn’s heart stopped, a sickening ice-cold grip seizing his chest before his fury doubled. He didn't think; he simply yanked the stallion's head around so hard the animal nearly lost its footing in the clay. He didn't care about the riders on the ridge anymore. He didn't care about the ambush.

I willnae forgive meself if anything happens to her.

He tore back toward the path like a demon possessed.

The carriage driver was on the ground, groaning and clutching a bloody knot on his temple. Molly was hanging out of the coach door, crying hysterically, her hands clawing uselessly at the air.

And Claire… she was fighting for her life.

A fourth raider, a massive brute hiding in the ditch, seized Claire from beside the carriage. He wrapped his greasy arm around her waist, dragging her toward the forest while she fought fiercely, kicking and hitting him in the face and throat, her velvet skirts twisting around his boots.

"Let me go, ye miserable bastard!" she shrieked, her elbow driving hard into the man's ribs.

"Quiet, ye little southern bird," the man grunted, yanking her off her feet.

Finn hit the raider like a storm.

He didn't even wait for his stallion to fully halt. He threw himself from the saddle while the beast was still moving, his massive boots striking the mud with a deafening splash. Before the raider could even turn his head to look, Finn’s large, scarred hands slammed into the man's collar.

With a guttural roar, Finn ripped the man backward, the sheer force of his strength snapping the brute away from Claire so violently that she fell hard into the wet heather. The raider flew through the air, his heavy body crashing into the dirt and rolling twice before he could even raise his weapon.

Finn didn't give him a chance to breathe. He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, hauling the man up again by the front of his filthy leather coat, lifting him until his toes barely touched the ground.

“Who sent ye?” Finn snarled, his face twisted into something entirely monstrous, his green eyes burning with a homicidal light that made the raider’s wild expression freeze.

The man spat a mouthful of blood onto Finn’s chest, his lips curling into a manic, broken-toothed grin despite the fingers crushing his windpipe. "Ye are too late, MacRae," the man wheezed, his eyes darting toward Claire as she tried to scramble to her feet.

Finn didn't let him finish the sentence.

With a swift, practiced motion born of a hundred battles, Finn drew his dagger from his belt and drove the steel deep into theman's chest. There was no time for interrogations, not when the man's words were a direct threat to the woman shivering in the dirt behind him. He twisted the blade once, his jaw locked in a grim, unyielding line, and watched the light flicker out of the raider’s eyes.

He let the corpse drop into the mud, not wasting a single look on it, and turned immediately toward Claire.

The fury was still pounding violently through his veins, his breath coming in ragged, heavy gasps that clouded the cold air around him. He closed the distance between them in seconds.

Finn dropped to his knees in the wet heather right in front of her, his large hands immediately reaching out.

“Are ye hurt?” he demanded, his voice rough, lacking any of the flat composure he usually forced upon himself.

Claire shook her head shakily, her dark, wavy hair falling across her face in wild, damp tangles. Her gray eyes were wide, the pupils completely blown with terror, but as she looked at him, the panic seemed to steady into something else. She reached up, her trembling fingers brushing against his arm. "Nay. Nay, I... I bit him. I think I broke his nose."