Read Online Her Wicked Highlander: A Highland Knights Novella by Jennifer Haymore - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Haymore
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her kneecap.
Sutherland didn’t care. “Stand up, you clumsy bitch,” he grumbled, tugging on the rope. She stood on wobbly legs that hadn’t been given an opportunity to move in hours. A warm stream of blood soaked through her stocking.
He shoved her toward her cottage door. She stumbled, but this time managed not to fall. “Wait…”
“What d’you want?”
“I… must relieve my bladder,” she said, trying to think.
His lips curled in distaste. “I’ll come with you.”
“You dinna need to—”
“I’m not stupid, Aila MacKerrick. You’d best to remember it.”
“But—”
“I’ll be keeping you in my sight till I’ve got what I want from you.”
And then? she wanted to ask. But she remembered Gin and what had happened to her after Sutherland was done with her, and she kept her mouth shut.
She needed to get away. She knew Max would come as soon as he could, but a terrible thought had begun to fester in her mind during the hours of travel from Beauly Castle. Shouldn’t he have already caught up with them? Sutherland hadn’t seemed to be rushing. What if Sutherland had hurt him?
If Sutherland wouldn’t let her out of his sight, she’d never be able to slip away. She knew these woods down to the location of every tree and bush, but how could she escape from him if her hands were tied and he kept that blasted gun pointed at her?
She’d need to incapacitate him somehow. Hurt him.
She just needed to find the right time.
He didn’t let go of her all the way to the privy. She used it—awkwardly, given the trussed state of her wrists—staring defiantly at him the whole time. At least let him think she was being honest about needing to go, that she wasn’t buying time to devise a plan of escape.
She finished, and he grabbed her wrists again, yanking her along with him back to the house. He opened the door to her cottage before pushing her inside. She nearly stumbled yet again, because inside the cottage was utter chaos—clothes and furniture everywhere. A mattress and her pillows had been cut open in the main room, and straw and feathers were strewn across the floor. Dishes and crockery had been thrown from shelves and lay in scattered pieces everywhere.
Aila choked on a sob. This was her home—it contained all her possessions, everything her parents had spent their lives working for. And this crazy zealot had come in and torn it all to pieces with no regard for any of it.
“Shut up.” Sutherland glanced around as if seeing the place for the first time, then kicked an iron pan on the floor. “Bloody hell,” he squealed, grimacing in pain.
She couldn’t hold her tongue a second longer. “That’s your fault,” she snapped.
Sutherland’s lips curled up in a snarl, and his sandy brows snapped together so there was no space between them. He drew back his hand and slapped her across the face. Her head whipped to the side.
“You wilna be speaking to me like that, Aila MacKerrick, do you understand? I’m to be your laird, and you’ll be treating me with the respect due your liege lord.”
What the hell? He was a true and thorough madman.
Her cheek throbbed, and she tasted blood again—the cut inside her cheek reopening. She battled successfully against the very strong urge to spit at him, but she couldn’t stop the glare she threw in his direction.
Why hadn’t Max come?
If she thought too hard on that, she’d despair. She couldn’t think that way. He was all right—he had to be.
“Come now.” Sutherland grabbed the knot between her wrists and dragged her into the kitchen, where he shoved her into one of the chairs at the old oak table. She thought he might feed them—or at least himself—but he ignored the pantry. Instead, he simply sat across from her.
“Now, where is it?” he asked, placing his forearms on the table and leaning forward.
“Where’s what?”
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Dinna play the simpleton, woman. The King Richard Dagger. I’ve
Sutherland didn’t care. “Stand up, you clumsy bitch,” he grumbled, tugging on the rope. She stood on wobbly legs that hadn’t been given an opportunity to move in hours. A warm stream of blood soaked through her stocking.
He shoved her toward her cottage door. She stumbled, but this time managed not to fall. “Wait…”
“What d’you want?”
“I… must relieve my bladder,” she said, trying to think.
His lips curled in distaste. “I’ll come with you.”
“You dinna need to—”
“I’m not stupid, Aila MacKerrick. You’d best to remember it.”
“But—”
“I’ll be keeping you in my sight till I’ve got what I want from you.”
And then? she wanted to ask. But she remembered Gin and what had happened to her after Sutherland was done with her, and she kept her mouth shut.
She needed to get away. She knew Max would come as soon as he could, but a terrible thought had begun to fester in her mind during the hours of travel from Beauly Castle. Shouldn’t he have already caught up with them? Sutherland hadn’t seemed to be rushing. What if Sutherland had hurt him?
If Sutherland wouldn’t let her out of his sight, she’d never be able to slip away. She knew these woods down to the location of every tree and bush, but how could she escape from him if her hands were tied and he kept that blasted gun pointed at her?
She’d need to incapacitate him somehow. Hurt him.
She just needed to find the right time.
He didn’t let go of her all the way to the privy. She used it—awkwardly, given the trussed state of her wrists—staring defiantly at him the whole time. At least let him think she was being honest about needing to go, that she wasn’t buying time to devise a plan of escape.
She finished, and he grabbed her wrists again, yanking her along with him back to the house. He opened the door to her cottage before pushing her inside. She nearly stumbled yet again, because inside the cottage was utter chaos—clothes and furniture everywhere. A mattress and her pillows had been cut open in the main room, and straw and feathers were strewn across the floor. Dishes and crockery had been thrown from shelves and lay in scattered pieces everywhere.
Aila choked on a sob. This was her home—it contained all her possessions, everything her parents had spent their lives working for. And this crazy zealot had come in and torn it all to pieces with no regard for any of it.
“Shut up.” Sutherland glanced around as if seeing the place for the first time, then kicked an iron pan on the floor. “Bloody hell,” he squealed, grimacing in pain.
She couldn’t hold her tongue a second longer. “That’s your fault,” she snapped.
Sutherland’s lips curled up in a snarl, and his sandy brows snapped together so there was no space between them. He drew back his hand and slapped her across the face. Her head whipped to the side.
“You wilna be speaking to me like that, Aila MacKerrick, do you understand? I’m to be your laird, and you’ll be treating me with the respect due your liege lord.”
What the hell? He was a true and thorough madman.
Her cheek throbbed, and she tasted blood again—the cut inside her cheek reopening. She battled successfully against the very strong urge to spit at him, but she couldn’t stop the glare she threw in his direction.
Why hadn’t Max come?
If she thought too hard on that, she’d despair. She couldn’t think that way. He was all right—he had to be.
“Come now.” Sutherland grabbed the knot between her wrists and dragged her into the kitchen, where he shoved her into one of the chairs at the old oak table. She thought he might feed them—or at least himself—but he ignored the pantry. Instead, he simply sat across from her.
“Now, where is it?” he asked, placing his forearms on the table and leaning forward.
“Where’s what?”
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Dinna play the simpleton, woman. The King Richard Dagger. I’ve
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