Page 7 of Taken By the Exiled Laird

The MacFarlane man fell to his knees, his hands clutching his bleeding side, as Theon watched him. It was a deep wound, but a clean one. Survivable. Theon and his brothers had faced such wounds before and lived to tell the tale.

"Mercy," the MacFarlane man said. "Mercy."

Theon paused. He moved closer, standing directly before the man with his sword still raised. "Ye beg me for mercy? What is yer name?"

"Neil. Neil MacFarlane. Me cousin sent me tae fetch his bride."

"And ye have failed. What mercy is there for ye now?" Theon asked. He'd intended to leave, to let the man bleed until he or the driver could find help, but the revelation that this was a MacFarlane by blood and the pathetic plea gave him pause. "Do ye think yer cousin will forgive ye for failin'? Or that Laird Cameron will, when he hears what's happened tae his daughter?"

Neil gasped. "I dinnae seek forgiveness. Take the lassie and dae what ye will with her. She's bonny enough—surely ye can find use for her if ye spare me life. Use the lass, take me gold, whatever ye want. I'll never return tae MacFarlane. Naebody will ken."

Dark fury filled Theon at the cowardice before him—a man bartering a woman for his own pathetic life. This was what these clans did. This was the kind of man who lived in luxury while Theon and his brothers suffered, while everything they'd once known was nothing more than ash in the wind. Theon lifted his sword and pointed it at Neil's neck.

"I will give ye mercy," he said quietly. "The mercy of nae longer livin' with the cruelty ye and yer people bring tae this world."

Neil's eyes widened, but before he could say anything else, Theon made one final slice with the sword. Briana screamed through her gag and the driver retched, but Theon simply watched, impassive, as the corpse fell to the ground.

There was a beat of silence.

"The driver?" Graeme asked after a moment, in a very different tone than before.

Theon spun to face Allan, who was on his knees, pale, and shaking. "Take that fool's horse. Flee as far as ye can," he ordered. He would take no pleasure in killing an old man who knew nothing of battle. "Forget our faces. Forget what ye've heard. If I ever see ye again, ye're dead."

Allan stared up at him, then nodded shakily. "I…I will."

With a curt nod, Theon wiped the blood from his sword on the grass, then sheathed it. He turned back to the horses on the carriage. They were nickering nervously, but he calmed them and then finished untying them. Graeme led Briana over. She was shaking her head and shouting muffled curses and protests, her face pale and stained with tears, fury in her every movement, but Theon could neither understand nor care what she had to say.

He himself took her by the waist and hoisted her up onto one of the horses, then swung himself up behind her, securing her in place against him. Graeme got on the other horse, and with a nod to one another, both of them flicked their horses' reins in tandem.

It was time to go home. Or whatever passed for that these days. No point looking back—forward was the only thing that mattered now.

Chapter Three

An hour passed or more before they reached the deep center of the forest, so far off the beaten path that the whole place looked completely undiscovered. Briana had eventually stopped struggling only around twenty minutes before, but as they rode deeper into the wild, she perked up again, making muffled questioning sounds through the gag. Theon refused to acknowledge her. The less he thought of her as a person and the more as a transactional tool to help their cause against his enemy, the better. Besides, knowing the Camerons, she'd have nothing but poison on her lips.

They drove the horses forward until they reached what seemed to be an impassable wall of trees and continued forward. The optical illusion broke, and they emerged in a clearing deep in the wild with four ramshackle wooden cabins set up in a semicircle around a covered fire pit. A little further away, a large cleared training ground stood by a makeshift stable. This tiny little village was a world carved in secret, one that the Broken Blades had found as a refuge in the country that had turned against them. Like every one of these camps, it was only a temporary haven: none of them could stay in one place for longer than six months. Theon figured they had another three or four months in this place before they had to move on, though perhaps less now that he was making this gamble with the Cameron girl.

Graeme pulled his horse to a stop and Theon did the same. He slipped down off the horse then reached up and lifted Briana down as well. He expected to see her docile, maybe even broken. However, though her eyes were red and her face was streaked with tears, her glare was so venomous it felt like a physical attack.

Theon narrowed his eyes, then, without taking his eyes from her, called over to Graeme. "Deal with the horses?"

"Aye," Graeme said.

He sounded subdued, his usual buoyant nature somehow troubled. Theon knew that his friend was more softhearted than him, and he prayed that he kept his discomfited thoughts to himself. Thankfully, Graeme said nothing more, simply leading both horses over to the little stable to join their other three horses, muttering gently to them the whole time.

One of the doors creaked open, and Theon turned away from Briana at last to see his only brother by blood. Though they both carried their father's dark hair and impressive height, Keir carried the blue eyes of the mother who had been Laird MacKenzie's mistress. The bastard son of Laird MacKenzie was lean and angular where Theon was broad. Keir's eyes widened at the sight in front of him, and he rushed forward, shoving past Theon to reach Briana.

"Are ye mad?" he demanded with the same curt tone he'd used for his whole life. Keir had grown up knowing he was a bastard, loyal to the father who had nonetheless claimed him and the brother who accepted him but nothing and nobody else. Three years younger than Theon, he'd carried a resentful darkness with him for his whole life. All that said, though, he was no monster, and the alarm was clear in his expression. "Have ye grown so lonely ye've kidnapped a bride for yerself? God above!"

"Is that what ye think of me?" Theon snapped, anger bubbling quickly in a way that only Keir could ever conjure. He stopped and took a deep breath, reminding himself how this must look. He tried to fight back the unexpected shame that rose within him as he considered the image of him dragging around a bound girl. "Keir, she⁠—"

Keir ripped the gag from Briana's mouth. "Miss, are ye⁠—"

"Ye rotten, cowardly, thrice-accursed eejit! Pathetic, pus-ridden coward!" Briana shouted, gasping for air between each jibe. "Traitorous scum!"

As the torrent of insults continued, Keir spun on Theon, incredulous. "What in the blazes is this, Theon? Explain yerself."

"I would if she could shut her mouth for three bloody seconds!" Theon roared, his temper finally breaking. "That gag was the only blessin' we had remainin' tae us, and now ye've let the witch free."