Page 45 of Bound to Her Highland Lord
She moved too quickly for anyone’s comfort. The guards all moved at once, forming a tight circle around the couple, swords pointed directly at Sorcha’s and Oliver’s chests. Oliver acted on instinct. He jumped from his horse and drew his sword in one swift motion, positioning himself between Sorcha and the guard giving the orders. He threw a protective arm around her waist, keeping her at his back.
“Och, for God’s sake,” she muttered. “We are wasting precious time!”
He swallowed down a comment about the time they had happily wasted by the stream together, how it had delayed them by at least an hour, and she had not seemed too put-out by it then. Judging by the sharpness in her tone, such remarks would not go over very well.
“Here,” she called, making a show of removing all her weapons and tossing them on the ground, narrowly avoiding the guard’s feet.
“What are you doing?” Oliver hissed, adjusting the grip he had on his sword.
His heart hammered in his chest and for a brief moment, he wondered if this was what his father’s last moments had felt like, betrayed by the very people he thought would keep him safe. Sorcha gave him no time to contemplate such things, however, as she deftly disarmed him, twisting his hand into a painful position until he had to let go.
“Sorcha,” he seethed again.
She merely tossed his blade on the ground next to hers and stood beside him.
“Happy now?” she wryly asked the guards. “I dinnae ken if he has any other blades on him, but I swear to ye we are nae here as enemies but allies with verra valuable information.”
The guards all looked from one to the other, waiting to see who would make the final judgment call.
“When I left this place,” she all but shouted, “I was Captain of the Guard, giving the likes of ye orders! Now, take me to Lachlan and Aila Kincaid or I swear I will beat ye all senseless, without a single weapon to aid me.”
Her ire made Oliver tense. He was distinctly aware of the fact that not only were they unarmed, but she seemed determined to provoke the guards into action. More to the point, Oliver was an outsider of the very worst kind—an English lord.
He swallowed hard, hands itching and heart pumping as he readied himself for the fight that was sure to come. Belatedly, he realized that the only assurance he had ever gotten from Sorcha about his safety was that Lachlan was not the kind of man to kill him on sight. But she had never promised a lack of bodily harm.
“Sorcha,” he whispered, willing her to settle, almost pleading her name.
“Trust me, Oliver,” she told him softly. “I ken what I am doing. They will nae hurt us.”
A tense moment later, the guard finally relented under Sorcha’s pointed stare. He nodded to one man and then another.
“Ye, collect their weapons. Ye, tie their horses to yers. They will walk the rest of the way, and we will see what Laird Kincaid thinks of the intruders.”
“I am telling ye,” Sorcha shot back, “we are nae intruders.”
Despite her protests, she and Oliver walked wearily into the village and towards the castle courtyard. She scanned the village houses, looking for anyone who might recognize her, but the guards stayed too close for her to really be able to see anyone well.
Nervous butterflies filled her gut. It felt entirely out of place, to be so anxious about how her family might react to her coming home. But she was coming home a failure. She had left to rescue Taryn and instead was returning empty-handed with an English lord in tow nonetheless. It would take some serious explaining for everyone to see her point of view, but it was a risk she was willing to take. Oliver meant too much to her to accept anything else. The fate of all of their homes, their friends, their livelihoods, all meant too much.
Surprising herself, she reached for Oliver’s hand, intertwining their fingers together. She needed the comfort, the stability his presence offered. He took her hand without a word, but every step they walked, they walked together. He never moved more than a fraction of an inch from her side. And he never took his eyes off the guards and their weapons.
“It will be all right,” she promised him again in a hushed whisper. “As soon as?—”
Screeching and screaming cut off the reassurance she had been about to give Oliver. Her head whipped around to the castle, trying to figure out where such a sound could come from. And then she saw them.
Suddenly, the guards surrounding her and Oliver mattered little to Sorcha. And their attempts to stop her from breaking free from their control and racing toward the courtyards were allin vain. Oliver was left standing, as confused as the other men, watching her sprint towards the figures of fabric waving in the wind.
The three girls met in a collapse of tight embraces, warm welcomes, and skirts as they sank to the cobblestone floor of the courtyard, holding on to each other too tight to remain standing. For the first time since she left Kincaid Castle, Sorcha felt as though she could truly breathe again.
“I thought ye were gone! I thought ye were dead,” she cried hoarsely, her eyes and hands hardly believing that Taryn was clutching her neck just then.
“I thought the Baron had ye,” she cried back. “I thought he had captured ye, too.”
“I cannae believe ye are back,” Aila shouted, the three girls talking at once. “Ye are home. Ye are safe. Thank heaven for that.”
It was some minutes of embracing and scanning for injuries before the sisters untangled themselves and stood. Each now sported red ringed eyes and broad smiles, none willing to let go of the other.
“Sorcha,” Lachlan greeted affectionately. “‘Tis good to have ye home again. We have missed ye so. The children will be chuffed that ye are back.”
