Page 3 of Taken By the Exiled Laird

"Get up slowly," he instructed under his breath. "Nae sudden movements."

Graeme nodded, and, as casually as they could, both men got to their feet, leaving a small pile of coins on the table as payment. They started to move toward the door, but before they'd gotten more than a few feet, the room descended into silence.

"It's them! I kent it! They're worth a thousand Scots pounds apiece!" someone shouted. "They're the bloody Broken Blades!"

At the mention of the price on their heads, the spell broke. The room descended into chaos, people shouting and screaming in confusion, women grabbing their children away, and men rushing forward to try to be the one to claim the prize. There was no time to think. Theon bolted for the door, shoving past every person who got near him, trusting that Graeme would not be too far behind. A burly woodsman hurled himself toward Theon and was met with a sharp elbow to the stomach, knocking the wind from him. Theon didn't spare him a glance as he burst through the tavern door and out into the night air.

"A thousand!" Graeme's voice exclaimed cheerfully from behind him. "We've gone up again!"

People spilled out from the tavern behind them, and, worse, villagers and guards started toward them, catching the scent. Theon kept running, but he knew they'd never escape at this rate. With the two of them as targets and so many sudden enemies behind, they'd be caught in no time.

"Circle!" he barked.

"See you there," Graeme replied.

Out of the corner of his eye, Theon saw Graeme dart in the opposite direction toward the town walls, while Theon himself kept running toward the forest. Shouts of dismay and confusion echoed in their midst, and Theon took advantage of that momentary respite to lose himself among the trees. Not many villagers would follow him in here at night, but he couldn't stop now. A thousand pounds was more than many of these people would ever see in their lives, and he could hardly trust that they wouldn't risk themselves for such a sum. He raced through the trees, lungs burning, heart pounding, knowing he was too far from anywhere to make it to safety before his pace gave out but knowing equally that he couldn't stop.

Suddenly, the treeline broke in front of him and he stumbled out onto a rough, graveled road. He could hear shouting in the trees behind him, but the storming thunder of hoofbeats and wheels on the ground was louder. Theon spun to see a carriage hurtling toward him, the driver's eyes wide as he saw the man on the road, the horses going too fast to quickly stop. He jumped back, giving the carriage enough space to pass without trampling him.

"This way!" someone shouted from the forest.

There was only one option. As the carriage raced past, Theon grimaced and jumped, catching hold of the door with only the faintest grip. He swung wildly until he managed to get his feet gripped on the step then wrenched the door open with all his might. A woman’s scream pierced his ears, but Theon didn't have time to say a word before he ducked inside and pulled the door tight closed behind him.

The carriage kept going, leaving danger behind, and Theon briefly wondered how Graeme had managed to make his own escape. With any luck, Theon had distracted enough of them to allow Graeme to slip away.

"If ye're here tae rob me—" the woman's indignant voice cut across his thoughts.

He turned and finally looked at the carriage's other passenger. She was probably a few years younger than him in her early twenties or so, with chestnut hair braided in an elaborate style on her head and eyes like summer grass, which at this moment were narrowed and glaring at him. She wore a fine blue dress and a beautiful necklace no doubt worth more than the carriage they rode in, and she would have been quite beautiful if it wasn't for the scowl.

"Forgive me, I willnae bother ye long," he told her. "I'm⁠—"

But the woman's face suddenly drained of color, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open. She raised a shaking hand, pointing at him, and exclaimed, "You?"

Chapter One

Briana Cameron had no particular hopes for an exceptionally happy marriage, but she did intend to be content and comfortable, whatever cost that might incur. She wanted to make sure that her new husband was pleased with her enough that he would offer her the freedoms favored wives often earned from doting husbands; perhaps even offer her the esteem of being involved in raising their children when they arrived.

The thought of the process of bearing children, especially with Malcolm MacFarlane, intimidated her somewhat, but she pushed the thought from her mind. She had worked too hard to secure this match, doing everything she could to encourage her father to give her to the relatively young MacFarlane heir rather than the horrible old McDonell man who had been her original suitor. It did not matter that there was no love or affection there; Briana would do her duty well enough to please Malcolm, make him desire her, and ensure that she lived the rest of her life in peace.

With that in mind, she'd chosen her finest dress to wear this morning, asking her favorite lady's maid, Anna, to do her hair the way her mother had worn it when Laird and Lady Cameron were married. She'd cried when her father had revealed that she'd have to leave Anna behind, but only when nobody else could see.

To his face, she'd simply nodded and said, "Of course, Father. I would never dream of takin' anything that belongs tae ye."

Now that she was on the way to her new home, she had lulled herself into a strange detachment. If she only focused on the now, then there was no fear, no anticipation. It was a trick she'd learned from her mother before she'd died, and now it was getting her through this too. She would relax, ensuring that only the best version of herself was presented to her new husband by the time she arrived at the MacFarlane lands. Briana had almost fallen into a light slumber when the door flew open and the world turned upside down.

She screamed as the stranger burst inside and tumbled onto the seat across from her, his tall, strongly built frame taking up much of the already cramped space. Briana was already taller than most women, so with both of them in there, there was barely any room. She reached for her necklace, ready to offer it in exchange for her life, but the stranger—an outlaw, she assumed—paid her no mind, instead slamming the door closed and then sagging back into the opposite seat.

He was breathing heavily, obviously having just been running. His dark curls were tousled, swept by the wind. Briana's eyes lingered on the broad shoulders and the sharp jawline in a way that made her heart race from the danger and a darker excitement inside of her. Pushing down the thrill, she arranged her expression into a glare, ready to defy this strange man who had possibly come to hurt her.

The man looked up as she started to speak, and the words died on her lips. One look at those deep gray eyes and that slightly crooked nose was enough to shatter her composure forever. She'd dreamed of this man for so many years, alone in her bed with the secrets nobody could take from her. She'd slept with the memory of his gaze as her comfort, the remembrance of his voice still prickling down her spine, for ten long years. She'd only been a girl the last time she saw him, and he had been barely more than a boy, but there was no mistaking him. The years that had piled onto him had done nothing to change the way she felt when his eyes were upon her, nor the way her heart and soul reacted as he leaned slightly forward.

Was he real? He couldn't be. Theon MacKenzie only lived on now in her dreams. She'd forced herself to believe that, even when rumors of his leading the Broken Blades had swept through the clans like high tide. She'd preferred to believe that he'd died rather than been a party to his clan's treachery—part of the reason so many had died. She'd told herself over and over again that the Theon the whispers spoke of was an imposter. A ghost. Anything but the man who'd been the first to set her heart aflame.

Her breath stuttered, and she raised a hand to point at him. Her arm was shaking and the words weren't coming properly, but she managed to stammer out, "You?"

He met her gaze, and she saw no recognition in those steel-gray eyes. He quirked his mouth into a little half smile, calm as stone despite the stunt he had just performed, and inclined his head.

"Ye ken me? I'm afraid ye have me at a disadvantage, me lady. But dinnae fear, I willnae harm ye," he said. "Forgive me intrusion, but yer carriage was the only chance I had tae escape people who certainly wouldnae have greeted me so graciously."