Rescued by the Forbidden Laird (Preview)
Prologue
1713, Lennox Castle
Davina Lennox stirred at the sudden scrape, sharp enough to slice through her dreams.
Her eyes fluttered open to darkness, with her chamber still steeped in heavy shadows. She lay still, straining to listen.
Nothing.
Only the restless thud of her heart and the quiet hiss of the wind outside her window. She told herself it was no more than the house settling, the kind of noise old beams and stone made at night.
Her lashes lowered again. She could feel sleep hovering close. And then… cold, rough fingers clamped around her arms.
Davina’s scream tore through the stillness as she thrashed upright, the sheets tangling around her legs. In the pitch black, she collided with a solid body. The heat of this person, the reek of sweat and leather, were too close. She gasped in panic and shoved against them. She was mindless with fear as her nails raked and her fists thrashed around. Another set of hands seized her wrist, wrenching it back.
“Nay!” she cried, twisting her entire body with all her strength in an effort to free herself.
She staggered from the bed and lurched toward the door, her bare feet striking the rug in a frantic rush. The chamber spun in disorienting shadow, but she managed to claw the latch free. The door swung wide open and candlelight spilled in from the corridor. For a fleeting heartbeat, relief flared, but that was only until she saw them.
There were four of them. Four men in the night, looming at the threshold, all broad-shouldered and all masked with rough scarves and shadows. Light glinted off a blade one of them had in his belt.
Terror knifed through her.
Davina lunged forward, wild and desperate, striking at the nearest man with her fists. He grunted and staggered back, but another caught her by the waist. She kicked, screamed, twisted free enough to claw at his cheek. She nearly slipped past them into the corridor, feeling the hope of escape sparking in her chest.
She wrenched against their hold, opening her mouth to scream for help, but before she could cry out, she felt a sharp crack as a man’s palm struck across her cheek. Her head whipped to the side, the sting burning her skin. The taste of copper flooded her mouth and it made her gag. The brute raised his hand again, and she could see fury flashing in his eyes, but before the second blow could land, another caught his wrist.
“Enough,” he growled. “The laird gave clear instructions that she’s tae be brought unharmed.”
The man snarled but lowered his hand, grumbling beneath his breath. Davina tried to take advantage of the pause, inhaling to scream again, but a square of cloth was shoved between her teeth, muffling her cry into a helpless, desperate sound. The bitter tang of dust and linen filled her mouth as she gagged against it.
Her wrists were wrenched together behind her back and bound with coarse rope, the fibers biting deep into her skin. She twisted frantically, her chest heaving as the air in the corridor seemed too thin to breathe. Somehow, with a wild surge of strength, she slipped past their grasp and bolted.
Her bare feet slapped against the stone floor, her nightdress fluttering around her legs as she raced down the hall. Freedom was just ahead, if only she could reach the stairs, if only she could make enough noise…
A hand clamped around her arm, wrenching her back with brutal force. She cried out against the gag, but the sound was strangled and useless. Another man caught her waist, lifting her feet clean off the floor as she kicked and writhed. Her heel struck flesh, drawing a hiss of pain, but it wasn’t enough. They dragged her back, her body thrashing and her lungs burning with the effort of her muffled screams.
The walls seemed to close in, the flickering candlelight mocking her with its frail warmth. All her strength, all her fury was swallowed in their iron grips. Helpless, Davina felt the terror settle deep in her bones as the corridor spun around her, her world narrowing to the suffocating press of hands and shadows.
The men half-carried, half-dragged her through the dim corridor, her heels scraping along the stone. She twisted against their grip, feeling panic clawing at her chest. The gag bit into her mouth, smothering her cries, but her eyes darted wildly, praying to find for something she could use.
Suddenly, her hip brushed the edge of a small table set against the wall. In a desperate surge, she seized the heavy vase resting there with her still bound hands. Then, with all the strength born of her terror, she swung it backward.
The vase smashed against one of her captors’ temples with a sickening crack. He bellowed and collapsed, dragging the others off balance. The porcelain shattered on the floor, the shards scattering like a scream through the silence.
The noise echoed through the hall.
“Damn her!” the leader snarled, shoving her forward with renewed fury. “Move! Quickly, before the whole blasted castle wakes!”
From the corner of her eye, Davina saw a door creak open. A servant with hair still tousled from sleep stepped into the hall, blinking at the scene before him. His gaze widened with dawning horror.
“Help! The lady—”
He never finished. One of the brutes lunged forward and brought a heavy fist down upon the man’s skull. The crack of impact was sharp and sickening. The servant crumpled to the floor without a sound, his body motionless.
Davina’s heart stopped, terror choking her. Despite the shattering crash and the servant’s cry, no rescue came swiftly enough. The intruders surged forward with brutal efficiency, dragging Davina through the halls. She kicked and writhed, her nails clawing at their arms, but another rough rope lashed around her ankles, and she stumbled, utterly powerless.
“Head out! And watch her closely!” The leader barked orders, his tone sharp and furious.
They bound her tighter, her wrists biting under the cords until her hands went numb. The gag smothered her screams to a muffled sob as they hauled her out into the night.
The chill air struck her like a slap. Moonlight spilled across the courtyard, throwing their shadows long against the cobbles. Her heart pounded, each beat a hammer of terror as they thrust her toward waiting horses.
Behind them, the castle suddenly erupted. Doors began flying open and shouts were echoing down the corridors.
“Davina!”
It was her brother’s voice. Finley’s roar split the night like a battle cry.
Hope flared inside of her, sharp and aching, as she twisted in her captors’ grip. Through tear-blurred eyes, she glimpsed him: Finley, with his dark hair wild and a pistol in hand, men rushing at his side.
“Hold her!” the leader snarled.
They hauled her onto a horse, with her body thrashing more than before, but the ropes digging deep, keeping her bound. A man vaulted up behind her, pinning her to the saddle as another spurred the beast into motion. Hooves thundered against stone, drowning her frantic, muffled screams.
She heard the answering thunder behind them. It was Finley’s men giving chase, their steel flashing in the moonlight.
“Davina!” Finley’s voice carried, raw with desperation.
Her heart broke with every frantic beat. She tried to cry out, to let him know she was still there, still fighting, but the gag swallowed her plea. The distance widened, while the pounding hooves carried her farther and farther into the dark.
Eventually, her brother’s voice grew fainter, swallowed by the night.
Davina’s chest ached with the weight of it, the weight of a hollow, crushing grief. She had never felt so lost, so utterly torn from the safety of her world. And as the castle walls vanished behind her, she knew that Finley would not reach her in time.
She also knew that the night had swallowed them whole.
The thunder of hooves echoed all around, the gang riding as one shadowy mass through the castle gates and into the wild beyond. The wind clawed at her hair, dragging it loose from its braid until it whipped across her face. Tears blurred her vision, but she caught fleeting glimpses of the world rushing past: the dark smear of forest, the glint of moonlight on water, the rolling expanse of moor.
She twisted her head, straining to hear more. For a moment she thought she could almost see the gleam of torches and the flash of steel, but the distance grew.
“They’ll nae catch us,” the leader barked over the rush of wind. “Drive them hard!”
The others spurred their mounts, and the horses leapt forward with renewed speed. The pounding in Davina’s chest matched the frantic rhythm of the hooves. She fought against her bonds until her skin tore raw, but there was no give, no mercy.
The cold seeped into her bones, chilling her thin nightdress, but it was nothing compared to the dread gnawing at her. Every mile carried her farther from her home, from Finley’s reach, from everything she knew.
The man behind her shifted, pressing the edge of a blade against her side, a silent warning not to try again. Davina’s breath hitched and she could feel terror roaring in her ears. She stilled, though her heart screamed for freedom.
The ride became an endless nightmare.
Hours bled together, with the pounding hooves a constant drum that rattled her bones. Her body swayed against the saddle, bound too tightly to move and too weary to resist. Her breaths came shallow behind the gag, each one a struggle. Darkness tugged at her again and again, dragging her under until she drifted into unconsciousness, only to be jolted awake by another violent lurch of the horse.
By the time the black sky paled to grey, Davina’s limbs trembled with exhaustion. Her throat burned, her head throbbed, and her spirit felt frayed thin. Dawn crept over the land, unveiling a landscape of jagged hills and mist. At last, the horses slowed.
They stopped up before an ancient castle, stone walls rising stark against the morning light.
Rough hands dragged Davina down from the saddle. Her legs buckled, her body too weak to hold her, and she collapsed onto her knees in the dirt.
The leader approached, looming above her. With one swift tug, he tore the gag from her mouth and Davina gasped and choked, sucking in the cold air as though she had been drowning.
Her throat ached, but she forced words past them. “Where am I? What dae ye want with me?”
The questions rang in the silence, trembling with fear yet edged with defiance.
The man stared down at her, his face shadowed beneath his hood. He said nothing… not a single word. And that silence was worse than any threat, as his gaze sent a cold dread crawling along her spine.
He turned away without answering. At his gesture, two of the others seized her arms and hauled her upright. Her knees scraped against the stone as they dragged her towards a side entrance of the castle. The air inside was colder, as if the walls themselves remembered blood and betrayal.
The interior was vast yet grand in the arched doorways, in the carved lintels and the large hall.
The men hauled her deeper until they came to a chamber with high walls covered in tapestries, a hearth with a burning fire, and the needed amount of furniture. The echo of their footsteps filled the space like the toll of a bell.
They shoved her down onto the flagstones. The ropes at her wrists and ankles kept her helpless, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breath. Her eyes darted, searching for any path, any chance, but she was cornered, prey caught in the lair of hunters.
Then a voice, smooth and low, slid from the shadows.
“So… Lady Davina Lennox.”
She startled, her head snapping toward the sound. From the far side of the ruined chamber, a figure stepped into the weak light. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a cloak that appeared heavy and dark, he carried himself with the air of command. His features were cast in shadow, but his presence alone chilled her more than the ropes that bound her.
“Dae ye ken me?” he asked, his tone almost curious.
Davina swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Nay,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from the gag.
The man’s lips curled into a smile. Not warm. Not kind. It was a smile that belonged to wolves and serpents.
“I am nae surprised,” he murmured. “But ye will.”
The words slithered through the chamber, and Davina’s blood ran cold. The men laughed quietly behind her, the sound rough and cruel, as the man’s eyes lingered on her like a predator savoring the catch.
The man stepped closer, his boots grinding against the stones. The morning light caught his face at last. She could see harsh lines and eyes like shards of flint. His smile remained, though it had sharpened into something far crueler.
“I am Laird Donald Mackay,” he said, his voice low but carrying the weight of authority. “And ye, Lady Davina, are the key.”
Davina blinked, stunned. The name struck her like a blow, for it was one she had heard whispered in hushed tones: a man of power, tempered by ruthlessness, his lands marked by feuds and blood. She fought to find her voice.
“The key tae what?” she demanded, though her words trembled.
“Tae the truth, of course,” he said, with his eyes narrowing. “Me wife’s death was nay accident. It was nay fever, nay passing misfortune. Someone in The Triad knows what befell her. And through ye, yer precious family and their ties tae that secret circle of women, ye will help me uncover it.”
The Triad.
The name coiled through her mind like a shadow. She knew of it, of course. Everyone had heard whispers of a clandestine sisterhood, powerful women working in silence to protect, to unearth, to avenge. But that her captor knew of such a network chilled her to the marrow.
“I ken naething,” she whispered fiercely. “Ye have made a mistake—”
Before she could finish, his hand shot out, striking her across the cheek with a vicious backhand. Pain exploded in her skull, and she toppled sideways onto the cold stones. Her breath came in shallow gasps, tears springing to her eyes as she pressed her bound hands against her throbbing face.
Mackay crouched beside her, his voice a hiss. “Ye will ken. Or yer family will make sure of it. One way or another, I will have what I seek.”
He rose and motioned to his men. Two seized her by the arms and dragged her across the hall. They forced her into a side chamber, which was a cell of stone and shadow, where iron rings still jutted from the wall.
With brutal efficiency, they lashed her wrists to the cold iron. It burned into her skin, the stone damp and unforgiving at her back. The heavy door slammed shut, and the echo reverberated like the sealing of a tomb.
Davina sagged against the wall, feeling pain radiating from her cheek, while her heart was battering against her ribs. She tried to steady her breath, but terror pressed on her chest like a weight. The place were silent again, save for the sound of her own labored breathing.
Alone and imprisoned, Davina Lennox stared into the darkness and knew: her nightmare had only just begun.
Chapter One
1717, Near Lennox Castle
The morning air was crisp and the sun was still low enough to cast long streaks of gold across the hills. Davina quickened her steps, the hem of her riding habit brushing damp grasses as she left Lennox Castle behind. The town was not far, and though the road wound long around the valley and over the bridge, she had no patience for its meandering path.
Time was precious. She would cut straight across.
The stream ran fast from the rains the night before, its water cold as it rushed over smooth stones. Gathering her skirts, Davina waded in, feeling her boots slipping on the mossy rocks as she picked her way across. She was more than halfway, the far bank nearly within reach, when a sudden sound split the quiet. It was the sharp, thunderous beat of oncoming hooves.
Her head snapped up, and her heart jolted. Across the rise to her left, five riders burst into view, with their horses charging at full speed. Sunlight glanced off leather and steel, but their faces were unfamiliar. They were strangers.
Davina’s breath caught, her stomach clenching into a knot of dread. For a moment the world tilted, and she was back in the shadows of her chamber four years ago, with men’s hands dragging her down and muffling her screams. The memory hit her like a blow, leaving her blood cold.
“Nay…” she whispered, though no one could hear.
Panic clawed at her throat. She stumbled forward, splashing through the water in a frantic rush to the far bank. Her skirts dragged, heavy with the stream’s chill, but she pressed on, her gaze darting wildly for an escape.
Behind her, the riders shouted to one another, their voices carried over the rush of water and pounding hooves. The horses reached the stream’s edge, great beasts snorting and stamping as they prepared to ford it.
Davina’s breath came sharp and fast. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to flee before the nightmare began again.
She scrambled up the slick bank, panic urging her faster than her footing allowed. Her boots slipped on wet stone, while her heavy skirts pulled her down. She pitched forward, and a sharp cry broke from her lips as she lost her balance.
The cold rush of the stream rose to meet her face, but in that moment, strong hands caught her, hauling her back before she could strike the water. She stumbled against a hard chest, her breath sharp with shock and her gown already sodden and clinging uncomfortably to her form. Water streamed down her sleeves, and her bodice was plastered against her skin, outlining every curve. Heat flamed in her cheeks, though her heart still hammered with fear.
She lifted her gaze.
The man who held her was tall and muscular, his dark hair falling in disheveled strands across his brow. His eyes, which were piercing brown with amber flecks, locked on hers with unsettling intensity. A faint scar traced his jaw, which she assumed was a mark of battles past. His grip was steady and unyielding, as though he had no intention of letting her fall.
Goodness me, how strong he is!
For a single breathless moment, Davina froze. His strength and his steadiness should have reassured her. But memory betrayed her, dragging her back to other hands, other grips that had stolen her freedom. Fear surged like ice through her veins.
She shoved against him, her voice breaking sharp with anger that masked her terror. “What on earth dae ye think ye’re doing, charging at me like that?”
The man’s brows lowered. “Charging at ye?” His tone was incredulous. “Ye were about tae drown yerself in the stream. I was the one who pulled ye back.”
Davina blinked, stung by his bluntness, though her pride bristled more fiercely than her gratitude.
“I was nae about tae drown,” she retorted, hugging her soaked arms across her chest. “I was crossing perfectly well until ye and those men came thundering down like a pack of raiders.”
He released her at last, straightening to his full, imposing height. His expression was hard and unreadable, though a flicker of amusement sharpened his eyes.
“If rescuing a lady from cracking her skull against the rocks earns me scolding, I wonder what thanks would look like.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she became horribly aware of herself, of her wet gown clinging to her figure, of her hair plastered damply against her cheek and the chill of the morning air biting at her skin. His gaze flickered once, brief but undeniable, before he looked away with soldierly discipline. Still, it was enough to set her pulse racing in ways she did not welcome.
Davina stiffened, lifting her chin with what dignity she could muster while dripping stream water. “I didnae ask fer yer rescue.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Aye. But ye needed it.”
The words stung, though his steady presence made it impossible to dismiss him outright. Her pride warred with the unwelcome awareness of just how dangerously attractive he was, and how that scar lent him an air of hardened resilience.
She hated herself for noticing.
“Who are ye?” she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended. “And what business have ye here, coming down on me as though the very Devil were at yer heels?”
The man’s brows lifted. “I might ask the same of ye,” he said evenly. “What lady wanders intae a stream at dawn, alone, without so much as a servant tae steady her step?”
Her eyes flashed. “I dinnae answer tae ye, sir. It is hardly yer concern where I walk.”
“And yet,” he said, his arms folding across his broad chest, “ye would already be face-first in the water if nae for me.”
Davina bristled. She hated that he was right. She hated even more the heat that crept into her throat when his gaze met hers, as though he saw too much.
She lifted her chin. “I asked yer name.”
He tilted his head, studying her as though weighing how much to give away. “And I asked yers.”
Her mouth fell open in outrage. “Ye—! Dae ye make it a habit tae turn every inquiry back upon the lady who asked it?”
His eyes glinted, dark and unreadable, but there was amusement, she realized, though well-hidden behind his stern composure. “Only when the lady seems determined tae scold me fer saving her life.”
Davina sucked in a breath, furious at his insolence, furious at herself for noticing how the morning light caught the scar along his jaw, lending him a rough, dangerous sort of beauty. Her heart beat too fast, though she told herself it was only from fright, not from the way his nearness unsettled her.
“Sir,” she said, her tone low and icy, “ye will answer me plainly, or I shall—”
He leaned in slightly, enough that she caught the faint scent of leather and pine. “Or ye shall what?”
Davina’s lips parted, ready to unleash a cutting remark, when his voice cut across her, low and edged with challenge. “Or ye shall fall intae the water again?” His dark brow arched, and a flicker of wryness warmed his gaze. “Mind ye, I might nae rescue ye this time.”
Her jaw dropped. The sheer audacity of him made her cheeks flame hotter than the morning sun.
“Ye are insufferable, sir!” she burst out, planting her fists on her soaked skirts.
His mouth curved not into a smile, but into something that suggested he enjoyed her fury more than he ought. He straightened, folding his arms across his chest. As such, he was the picture of cool composure in contrast to her dripping indignation.
At last, he inclined his head slightly, as though bestowing a gift. “Arran Mackay,” he said. His voice was steady, unflinching, but she thought she caught the faintest tightening of his jaw as he added. “On me way tae Castle Lennox.”
The name struck her like a blow. Davina’s breath caught, her heart hammering. She took a sharp step back, while her skirts were still clinging wetly to her legs. Her instinct urged her to run away without looking back, but she knew well that he wasn’t alone. The son of the man who had abducted her had come with his men and there were at least a dozen of his men scattered about.
“Nay.” Her voice trembled with fury, with fear, with the ghosts of four years past. “Nay Mackay is welcome at Lennox. Nae now and nae ever.”
If her words surprised him, he didn’t show it. His gaze held hers, steady and unreadable. “Ye cannae ken that.”
“I can,” Davina snapped. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him as though he were the very devil himself standing before her. “I ken it because I was the girl, Davina Lennox, that yer laird, yer faither, dragged from her bed in the dead of night. I ken it because I was the one bound, gagged, and stolen away by Donald Mackay.”
The words tore from her throat, raw, jagged, and they seemed to strike him like arrows. For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Arran’s expression hardened, his jaw working as though he bit back words. His eyes, once flecked with that faint glimmer of humor, were dark now, shadowed with something resembling shame and anger, revealing perhaps a wound too old and too raw.
Davina’s breath came hard and fast, her body taut with outrage. Yet even as her fury rose, she could not look away from him, nor from the storm she saw brewing behind his eyes.
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