Page 9 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

“Men. Maybe twenty. Perhaps more. Surrounding the carriage. The guardsmen are trying to hold them back.” Sorcha’s voice trembled and fear drained the colour from her face.

Destiny stemmed the panic rising inside her. She had to think. Who were these men who dared to attack? She swallowed tightly as she crept closer to the window and looked for herself. The scene was total confusion, yet Destiny could make out a splash of blue and green tartan as she tilted her head up, quickly ducking down to avoid arrows that continued to besiege the side of the carriage. Mackenzies? Why would they attack the Gunn clan? Their clans were friendly as far as Destiny could remember.

Another glance outside and she saw the coachman and two guards fighting eight men with swords in front of and alongside the right side of the carriage. The men who had travelled with them were severely outnumbered and would not be able to protect the two women in the carriage much longer. As if punctuating her point, an arrow ripped through the window, grazing Destiny’s arm with a sharp, stinging heat that stole her breath. She sucked in a gasp as blood beaded along her skin beneath her travelling coat.

“Get down.” Sorcha seized Destiny’s sleeve and dragged her to the floor.

They crouched low; backs pressed hard against the side of the carriage away from the attack, the cramped space suddenly too small to breathe in. If they stayed, they would have no chance of survival.

A quick check out of the other window showed nothing but undisturbed forest. “We have to leave.” Destiny grabbed the pistol that had fallen to the floor and shoved the weapon into the waistband of her skirt.

Sorcha swallowed hard. “Is it clear?”

Destiny nodded. She drew a deep breath and leapt from the carriage.

“Stop!”

A sudden chill gripped Destiny and she glanced over her shoulder. A large man dressed all in black crashed through the undergrowth towards her. Behind him, several more men in black had joined the battle the coachman and the one still standing guard were waging on the Mackenzies.

Destiny grabbed Sorcha’s arm and pulled her along faster, trying to outdistance the man in black.

“Perhaps we should use the pistol?” Sorcha asked as they jumped together over a fallen log.

Destiny stumbled when they landed in a hollow behind the log. She staggered, and bolstered by Sorcha, managed to keep herself from tumbling, and ran on, but pain stitched through her ankle.

“Stop,” the man repeated. “I mean you no—” He broke off, cursing.

A glance over her shoulder revealed that the man in black had fallen to his knees in that same hollow. Good. Destiny hoped he had broken his leg. But a heartbeat later he was back on his feet, continuing his pursuit. Yet now his features were dark. In that same moment, Destiny noticed a second man a short distance behind the first.

Continuing to run, she frantically racked her brain for a solution. The men were faster, gaining on them with every step. There really was no place to escape them. Perhaps they should turn and fight. But they had only one bullet to try to stop the two men, and while Destiny was a fair shot, she could not take down two men that way.

As though reading her thoughts, Sorcha pulled her hand from Destiny’s as they continued to race through the undergrowth but heading deeper into the woods. “We must split up. It might slow them down for a moment as they decide who to pursue.”

Destiny hitched a breath. “Agreed.” She pulled the pistol from her waistband then handed it to Sorcha. “Take this. Use it. Promise me you will do whatever it takes to survive.”

“What about you?” Sorcha accepted the pistol.

Forcing a confidence she did not feel into her voice, she said, “I have a plan.” Then, with a tight-lipped smile, she jerked to the right, heading towards a grove of tall trees.

“I promise to survive,” Sorcha said before heading in the opposite direction.

Be safe, my friend, Destiny prayed before cursing Cameron Munro for the hundredth time for sending for her at all. After ignoring his bride for months, why could he not have continued to do so? Instead, she would die at the hands of a ruffian.

“Stop.” A guttural sound came from close behind Destiny.

Pushing herself to even greater speed, she searched the trees ahead, her gaze desperate for a suitable limb to grab. When a stout branch loomed close, she hiked her skirt up, shoving the length and the hem of her travelling coat into her waistband, then jumped, grabbing the stock, feeling the rough bark digging into her hands. Ignoring the pain in her injured arm, Destiny gritted her teeth as she strained to pull herself upwards. She lodged her boots against the branch until it was solid beneath her, and she could stand. Before the man was upon her, she scrambled up two more branches, putting a sizeable distance between them.

He stared up from beneath her, breathing hard. “I have caught you. Come down.”

Destiny frowned. Such odd words from her attacker. Why was he not threatening to shoot her with a pistol or an arrow?

Her breath was ragged as well as she clutched the trunk of the tree. “I have no intention of making this easy for you.”

His clothing was covered in a fine layer of dirt, the kind of dust gathered while riding a horse on dusty roads. Beneath the linen lay evidence of the well-developed muscles of his arms and chest.

Dirt and blood lay splattered across his bristled cheeks and forehead, and brown hair hung down around his stony jaw. “Then perhaps I will climb up after you.”

“You could.” She dug her grip into the tree trunk, preparing to fight. “But I have the tactical advantage. I could step on your hands or knock you off-balance and watch you fall to your death.”