Page 77 of The Laird who Craved her

He studied her in heavy silence, and Claire met his intimidating stare without flinching once. "If ye expect me to beg," she stated firmly, "ye will be disappointed."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a grim smirk. "I never thought ye would."

"Then tell me who ye are," she demanded.

Again, he said absolutely nothing. The silence stretched between them until even the exhausted horses seemed to quiet their breathing. At last, he urged his mount closer, so close she could hear the stiff leather of his saddle creaking in the cold air. When he finally spoke, his voice was pitched low enough that only she could hear the venom in his words.

"Yer husband may nae remember me..." Callum began softly.

Claire frowned deeply, completely thrown by the words.My husband?The bizarre title struck her before the true meaning could. She was not married to Finn. Surely he did not think...

"...but I remember him well," the man finished, his eyes burning with a dark fire.

A terrifying chill crept slowly through her blood. This violent abduction had never been about her at all; it had always been about Finn MacRae. She searched his scarred face desperately. Had they met before? Was this stranger one of the rival clansmen Finn had spoken of? Someone left over from the bloody border wars? Someone seeking vengeance?

"What do ye mean?" Claire breathed.

The stranger only looked at her for another long, calculating moment before turning his horse forward once more. "Keep riding," he commanded the men.

The others obeyed immediately, spurring their mounts forward. Claire twisted frantically in her saddle to look back at him.

"Answer me!" she yelled.

No reply came. Ahead of them, the ancient forest thickened until even the fading afternoon light struggled to reach the mossy ground, and the riders disappeared completely into the gathering mist. Claire's pulse hammered violently against herribs. Whoever this man was, he knew Finn, and somehow, she feared that reality was far worse than not knowing him at all.

Darkness settled over the Highlands far sooner beneath the dense tree canopy. By the time the riders finally slowed their mounts, the last faint traces of daylight had vanished completely into a thick blanket of freezing mist that clung low to the forest floor. The scarred man leading them raised a heavily gloved hand.

"We stop here," he announced.

The horses gradually came to a halt in a small clearing. Claire's legs trembled violently as she was pulled roughly from the saddle. The hours of grueling riding had left every single muscle in her body aching, but she stubbornly refused to let these men see her pain. She landed hard on her feet, barely keeping her balance. One of the men reached out to steady her, but she jerked away from him fiercely.

"I can stand," she snapped.

A few of the men exchanged amused, arrogant glances. "Feisty thing," one noted.

"Aye," another chuckled darkly. "I almost pity MacRae."

Claire completely ignored their taunts, her attention remaining entirely fixed on the scarred leader. He was already issuing quiet, efficient orders to his band.

"Nae fire bigger than necessary," he instructed. "Two men watching the southern trail. Rotate the horses."

Not a single man questioned his authority. Within minutes, a small, weak fire crackled to life beneath the shelter of the towering pines, though the thick mist quickly swallowed most of its meager light. Claire sat exactly where they had ordered her to sit, her wrists bound tightly before her with rough, abrasive rope. She tested the knots discreetly, finding them entirely too tight to slip. One of the younger men noticed her struggling.

"Dinnae bother," he advised lazily.

"I was only stretching," Claire lied smoothly.

He snorted in disbelief. "Aye, I am sure ye were."

The others busied themselves with their meager supper, speaking in low, hushed voices that carried little meaning over the crackle of the flames. Only their leader remained entirely apart from the group, standing near the very edge of the camp and staring intently into the impenetrable darkness beyond the trees. Claire watched him carefully for several long moments before she finally spoke up.

"Ye have a name," she called out to him.

He did not turn around to face her. "So do ye."

"Ye ken mine," Claire pointed out.

Silence answered her. She let out a frustrated sigh. "I would rather stop calling ye 'the man who kidnapped me'."