Page 3 of A Match Made in Heather

Instead, she struck out in a rasping breath—“Why did you take it?”

His heart stopped beneath a searing flash of pain. He knew then that he’d lost her.

Yet the desperation inside him refused to surrender. Not until she’d broken him irreparably. “Stand up to your family, Arabel. For once, put yourself before them.”

“Please don’t make me choose between you and my family,” she pleaded, all of her trembling so hard that her voice shook.

Through the humiliation flaming inside him, he rasped out, “You already have.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“No! I just need time—” She started after him. “Garrick, don’t leave, not like this!”

“Go into the house with your family, Arabel.” He threw a furious glance over his shoulder, not slowing his strides but freezing her mid-step. Then he muttered beneath his breath, the anger and anguish clawing at his chest, “Where you belong.”

“Garrick, please!” she called out, not daring to run after him. “I need you to understand—I needyou.”

But at that moment,heneeded time and distance away from her to tamp down his anger, clear his pounding head, and decide what to do about his future and her. And to salvage what was left of his heart.

He inhaled hard and deep, and his lungs burned with the cold night air as he kept walking into the darkness. But he felt none of it. The pain inside him was too brutal to allow for any other sensation.

“That you, McGuiness?” A man stepped out of the shadows near the stables.

So did a second. Even in the darkness, Garrick recognized them. Branan Wilson and Torquil Brown, fellow grooms who had always caused problems for him.

“Aye, that’s him,” Brown answered. “Who else would be sneakin’ ’round here tonight?”

Garrick pulled back his shoulders, clenching his fists for a fight. He didn’t reply as he stood his ground and the two men approached like circling dogs.

Brown spat on the ground. “Worthless son o’ a McGuiness.”

“Ye dinna belong here,” Wilson sneered. “Ne’er have.”

Garrick’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Then make me leave.”

Wilson nodded. “Plan to.”

The two men grabbed him by his arms and shoved him back against the stable wall. He fought against them but couldn’t break free. They were solid muscle and gristle, as tough as Scottish thistles.

A flint struck from a few feet away, and a small flame blazed. With his arms pinned against the stone, unable to move, Garrick watched as Duncan MacTavish, the estate agent, carried a lantern toward him.

“Attemptin’ to steal Rowland’s daughter, eh?” MacTavish’s weathered face was set hard. The man had never liked him, but he’d been forced to keep Garrick in employ because Malcolm Rowland, Arabel’s great uncle, did.

“Not stealing,” Garrick dared to counter. He smiled with all the confidence that only a twenty-one year-old could possess in the face of destruction. “Going willingly.”

“Not wit’ ye, lad,” MacTavish corrected. “Not tonight, nor e’er.”

Knowing not to answer, Garrick clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw worked. Every muscle in his body tensed with fury.

“Got orders from Laird Rowland,” MacTavish explained. A sneering smile curled his lips. “Not t’ let any trouble happen on m’ watch. An’ you, lad, are nothin’ but trouble.” He grabbed Garrick by the hair and yanked his head down until their eyes were level. “Ye think Angus Rowland would let his daughter spend her days rottin’ away in some tenant cottage, slavin’ like a servant to fix yer meals an’ scrub yer floors?” He shoved back Garrick’s head as he released him. “After tonight, the lass’ll never give ye a thought. Especially once yer long gone from here an’ she’s wedded to a laird, as her papa wants.”

Her father might have wanted that, but Arabel knew her own mind. “She’ll never turn her back on me.”

“How do ye kin we knew ye were meetin’ her tonight?” Rowland laughed, such an evil and vicious sound that it slithered down Garrick’s spine. “She set her family on ye.”

“No, she wouldn’t do that,” he countered. But doubt twisted his gut, because only a few minutes ago he’d also been certain she would marry him.

“The Rowlands sent me to deal wi’ ye, an’ ’tis ’xactly what I’m doin’.” MacTavish gestured to the two grooms. “Make certain he ne’er sets foot here again.”