To Dream of a Highlander(3)

She tried to press past him but strong hands wrapped around her waist and hauled her back against the wall. A fist to her face sent the world spinning and fiery pain flared through her cheek.

His leather armour squeaked while he positioned himself, forcing her thighs apart with a painful grip. Somehow Catriona muffled her scream while she fought and thrashed against the giant. Tears dripped freely down the sides of her face. Rape—maybe death—was all that awaited her now.

One hand pinned her wrists above her head, while the other concentrated on yanking up her heavy skirts. Still she whipped about. Whatever he took, he would not take easily. Defeat beat heavily in her breast but she refused to give up yet.

Her attacker pressed back briefly to free himself and something warm splattered across her chest. The grip on her wrists loosened and Catriona blinked as the Viking’s wrathful expression turned to one of confusion. He made a gargling sound as more liquid spilled onto her and the tip of a sword burst from his chest. Holding back the scream that tore from her throat proved impossible this time as the point hovered close to her own chest. The Viking fell away and clutched the wound as the blade withdrew. Scrabbling away, she looked on in horror as his head dropped and he collapsed to the floor. Any relief she may have felt was replaced with shaking terror when a larger Viking took his place. He sheathed his sword and eyed her.

“Who are ye?” he demanded.

His brogue confused her. A native of one of the western isles perhaps?

“I-I am Lady Katelyn.” The words tumbled out before she considered it. Why keep up the lie for this Viking? Yet, she could not let the truth out, not even to her enemy. Not when Gillean, Katelyn’s betrothed, might add to Bute’s troubles.

Catriona tried not to sob. All her fighting had been for nothing. She would never hold off this man. His blue gaze flicked over her and he lunged forward and snatched her into his hold.

“Come with me,” he ordered before throwing her over his shoulder.

The pain in her cheek muddled her thoughts but she still fought his grip. Catriona clawed at his back, fingernails cracking against his leather armour. His shoulder winded her as he hefted her into a firmer hold, strong arm clamped tightly around her. Desperation seared through her while her kicks weakened. The blow to her face must have done more damage than she thought. Vision blurred, her stomach lurched and blood pounded into her face. She was weakening. Who knew what would happen now? The Viking was already carrying her out of the rear of the castle. Everything passed in a haze. Shouts and the scrape of swords were distant now and she realised she was losing her senses. Where was he taking her?

Time slipped by in ebbs. It seemed that suddenly they were far from the keep, the lush green of the island grass shooting past her. Her kidnapper’s gait was fast and sure but at times it felt as if she were suspended in time, her thoughts growing more confused, limbs becoming weak. If she could only fight the brute of a man. Grey rocks appeared to come too close to her head as he descended the slowly rolling hills. Catriona suspected they were headed toward the coast.

To return to Norway?

Once, a long time ago, the Norsemen kidnapped Scots women and took them to their homeland, never to be seen again. Mayhap she was to be a prize of war.

Shingle crunched under his boots. They were by the sea. The man stopped and her heart tripped. Suddenly the arm around her loosened and she plummeted down. Rough wood met her rear and she scrabbled to right herself. Sitting in the damp bottom of a small boat, Catriona glanced fearfully around at the men surrounding her, all sat on benches and ready to row. Her throat grew dry and tight, and she considered screaming. For what though? No aid would come.

He climbed into the boat and Catriona blinked up at him. The huge fair warrior barely glanced at her as he stepped over the benches and shouted to the men in his unusually fluent Gaelic.

“We must away—with haste. Dusk will be upon us soon.”

When he faced her, Catriona was unable to prevent herself from scurrying back, nearly knocking into one of the other men’s bare leg. But instead of grabbing her or threatening her, he simply smiled. His strong features lit with the grin.

Gaze skipping from man to man as the grey light of dusk settled over them, she rose and peered over the edge of the boat. They were not yet away from the beach. Another man had jumped out to push the boat from the shoal. There was still a chance for escape.

Catriona stood abruptly, making the vessel rock and prepared to jump overboard.

***

Finn glanced behind him, noting the hazy flicker of light on the hills. Either a fire had been lit in an attempt to burn out the defenders or the Norse had taken the keep and were in full command now, lighting the torches and readying to claim the island as theirs.