Page 3 of Trapped By the Exiled Bastard

She tried to remain inconspicuous in the corner of the tavern where Eamon had told her to wait for him. It was a fool’s errand to think that she would not be noticed; she had dressed in her finest deep blue travel dress and styled her hair just the way that Eamon liked it, eager to please him. She had gone so long since the last time she had seen her lover that, now that he had arranged to meet with her, she wanted to do everything in her power to make him smile. Whenever he gave her his rare approving look, her heart melted. She knew that he valued her only because of her beauty, but what difference did that make? She had long since learned that this was the only value men saw in women. And, perhaps, if she could please him enough, he might see more about her as they headed toward their future.

Of course, it wasn’t ideal that they weren’t married yet, but Elin was nothing if not practical. She was aware that the notions of romance that they spoke about in storybooks were as fictional as the magic in those same tales.

Men took what they wanted from women in this world.

A woman’s strength came from keeping her guard up, being aware of everything, and ensuring that she kept herself in the right position to earn a life worth living. Growing up in a ramshackle girls’ orphanage on the edges of the Grant territory, far from the intrigue of the nobles and the landowners, Elin had known from childhood what she needed to do to survive.

“Are ye here alone, lass?”

She looked up, broken from her reverie by a low, hungry growl of a voice. A broad-shouldered man with dark hair stood over her, a predatory grin on his face. Another, this one blond, stood beside him, his arms folded and his expression leering with anticipation. Elin held back a sigh, resignation so strong within her that it drowned out the fear and disgust that wanted to swell in her stomach. She had hoped to go unnoticed, but she could not pretend to be surprised that men like this had found and cornered her. Elin carefully glanced around her, looking for an easy way to slip away from these men, but found none. She swallowed, straightening her shoulders and speaking quietly but firmly.

“I’m waitin’ on me husband,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. She was waiting on Eamon, and he had told her that he would marry her one day, many, many times. Whether it was the truth or not was immaterial—the fact was that he wanted her, and he cared for her, and that was more than many earned in their lives when they came from the same place as her. “He wouldnae like it if I spent me time talkin’ tae ye fine men, apologies.”

The blond one nudged his friend. “I’m sure yer husband wouldnae want ye waitin’ alone,” he said.

Elin’s hair stood on end as her instincts told her what was about to happen. She shrank back, her eyes darting around as she tried to figure out her options. She could not cause too much of a ruckus in an attempt to defend herself; Eamon was on his way, and if she acted violently or too unladylike, it could entirely ruin his reputation. She wasn’t physically capable of overpowering these men, and nor did she think that even the most clever words would be enough to dissuade them.

“Me husband will be here any moment,” she warned, putting as much threat as she could into the words.

The brown-haired man reached out and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in unnecessarily harshly. He tried to pull her close.

“Let go of me.” She tried to shake his hand off her arm, but his grip was like iron. The other man moved closer, and his hand reached for her hair. Alarmed, Elin twisted, her voice rising as the panic finally hit. “Leave me alone!”

“Come on, lass,” the man holding her said, pulling her toward him. “We just want a wee bit of fun. We’ll even let ye choose who goes first.”

She wrenched her arm free. “My husband will kill the pair of ye. This is yer last chance.”

The two men seemed to find her protest funny. They laughed darkly and moved closer. Elin desperately stared around her, but either nobody else in the busy inn noticed, or they were simply pretending not to see what was happening. She knew it was most probably the latter. No one would risk themselves for her. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breath came quickly as she realized she was out of options.

Then it happened.

As if out of nowhere, a man appeared, hood down and stance full of fury. He was impressively tall, angular, and toned, his hair dark and eyes blue as the sky. A fresh scar decorated his sharp jaw and his eye was sporting a new bruise, all of which just made him look more intimidating as he insulted the men who were harassing, then drew his sword. Elin stared at the weapon, hypnotized not by the bloodstains but by the way the blade had clearly been taken care of, polished and sharpened and loved, wielded by someone who clearly knew it and the art of battle well.

The threatening men were scared away and scattered like rats in a sewer, but Elin could not even watch them go. Her eyes returned to the handsome stranger who had intervened to save her, and a flare of recognition shot through her. She had seen this face somewhere before, or at least one similar to it. Eamon had sketches of them all around, those awful traitors who were still the scourge of the nation. They were the quarry that the Grants still hunted to this day, determined to destroy the last of the clan that had turned against the alliance.

But even if she hadn’t seen those sketches, she remembered a long, long time ago the excitement of the whole land when the new alliance had ridden into town, Laird MacKenzie and his son, Theon, proudly at the forefront, with the bastard son a little behind. She’d been a child then, and he’d been barely much older, but there was no forgetting those blue eyes.

“Ye…” she stammered, disbelief stopping her voice.

“Please,” he murmured in a voice as smooth as a spider’s silk and as dangerous as its fangs, “I dinnae need thanks. Just go home.”

He turned his back to go, but Elin couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

How could she?

How could she just pretend and let him go?

“Ye’re the traitor’s bastard!”

The man, who she now knew was none other than Keir MacKenzie, spun to face her with a look of pure shock and horror on his face. His gaze grew dark, and for the first time, Elin felt truly afraid. She remembered the quiet threat in his voice and the gleam of his sword with its bloodstains. The men who had cornered her might have used her, maybe even hurt her, but her so-called savior was a wolf who could destroy her. Her pulse quickened as a thrill of terror pounded through her blood, and she saw death in the set of his jaw.

“Gua—!” she started, but before she could finish shouting for help, Keir had moved.

It happened so fast that Elin didn’t even see it, but one moment they were standing apart, and the next, he’d clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her so close that to anyone watching it would seem like a lover’s embrace. His breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in and whispered, “Keep quiet. We’re goin’ upstairs.”

Elin tried to fight against him, but she remembered suddenly how it would look for Eamon if she caused a scene in public. It would be easy for anyone to misinterpret how this looked; Elin in the arms of a handsome stranger, drawing attention to herself? The Grant heir would never live it down.

And so she stayed silent and, though her body went stiff, she did not resist as he dragged her toward the stairs and pulled her up toward what she guessed was his rented room, muttering darkly to himself the whole time. They reached the room, and he shoved her inside, turning and slamming the door behind him. Elin stumbled but did not fall.