On top of it all, Cait thought it was Emily's fault the laird might try to kill her brother. Emily didn't understand her friend's reasoning, but in that moment, she understood very little. Only that she could not bear one more scowl leveled her way simply for being born.
She turned and started walking. She didn't know where she was going, but it didn't matter. She could not go to that castle, an impregnable fortress where she would meet nothing but more rejection and malice. She shivered as she remembered the look of the stone wall and the towers rising up above it.
There would be no Cait there, ready to stand sister. She would be taken from Emily… by Drustan. It had been decreed.
For a moment, her thoughts left her own dire straits and her worry centered on Cait. Would the women of the clan shun her as the Sinclairs had shunned Emily, or would they accept her as the Sinclairs had accepted Susannah? She hoped for her friend's sake it was the latter, but she wasn't going to the Balmoral holding.
She had been shunned enough.
In fact, she wasn't going anywhere other people told her she had to go. Never again. If she disappeared in the forest, Talorc could not send her home. Then Abigail would be safe. Yes, that was the way of it. As hard as life within her father's keep was, it would be easier for Abigail than braving the sickening prejudice she would face in the Highlands, and that was before the Highlanders discovered her deafness.
Emily stumbled on something, but managed to stay upright. She could not see what it was through the moisture glazing her eyes. She was not crying. She would not cry; it was merely that she was cold and her eyes stung because of it.
There were voices behind her. Cait and the soldiers. She had to get away from them. She started walking faster.
A hand landed on her shoulder. "Stop, Lady Sinclair."
It was the voice of the blond soldier. She didn't know his name and she didn't want to know it. She didn't want to know another thing about this land that was so inhospitable. Its beauty hid a terrible flaw.
She tried to keep going, but the soldier's hold tightened, pulling her to a halt. "You must come with me."
"No." She jerked out of his hold and started running.
He chased her and she ran faster, swiping at her eyes so she could see. Her tunic caught on a branch and she tore it yanking free, then held her skirt as high as she could, running as fast as her legs would go. She had to get away.
She had no warning before the soldier grabbed her again.
She didn't think about what she did next, but acted on the instinct to protect herself. She bent and grabbed a piece of driftwood from the ground, then swung it in an upward arc with all her might, hitting the soldier where her father had taught all his daughters it would do the most damage.
The soldier yowled like a scalded cat and grabbed between his legs, falling to his knees, his face contorted in agony.
Emily was too distraught to feel remorse and she started running again, this time intent on making it to the forest before another soldier tried to stop her. If Ulf came after her, he would probably hurt her, no matter what Lachlan had said about Balmoral soldiers not harming women.
Ulf hated her… just as all the Highlanders hated her. Except Cait. She hoped Cait would find happiness with Drustan.
"Emily, stop!"
That was Lachlan's voice, but she couldn't obey. If she did, he would take her to his castle made of stone and her heart would be ground to powder by more hatred from his clan.
"Emily!"
She pushed herself to run faster, but she was still several feet from the edge of the forest when a heavy body landed against her, knocking her to the ground. She fought, but she could not dislodge his weight. She kept trying, but no matter how hard she tried to get her legs under her, she failed. Finally, spent from her efforts, she lay still.
Lachlan rolled off of her and turned her onto her back before standing up.
"Why did you run away?" he demanded, his voice tight with fury, his expression set in stone harder than his castle.
Did he hate her, too? "Please let me go."
"Where, you daft woman? You have nowhere to go. Surely you must see that."
The smell of the sea surrounded them, reminding her that she could not go back. "The forest. I want to go to the forest."
"Have you really gone daft then? There is nothing for you there but wild animals."
"At least they won't hate me. Please, Lachlan. I can't go to the castle… I don't want to meet your people."
"You have no choice."
She scrambled to her knees and scooted away from him.
"If you run again, I will lock you in the tower. Your door will only be opened to serve your meals."
Emily jumped to her feet and ran. He caught her before she'd taken four steps. She hadn't expected any less.
He turned her to face him, his expression good and mean. "I meant what I said, lass."
"Yes." Tears were streaming down her face now and she could not stem their flow. "Lock me in the tower and I won't have to see anyone. I will not have to face their hatred."
It was a much better plan than her confused notion of hiding in the forest.
"Hatred? Whose hatred?"
"Your clan's. The women will be just like the Sinclair women… or worse. They'll believe I soil the air they breathe just because I'm English and the soldiers will all glare at me all the time. If I do something wrong… they'll hurt me. I was just waiting for it before and now I know it will happen. Ulf already wants to hurt me," she reminded Lachlan of that irrefutable fact before bursting into more sobs.
He pulled her roughly against him, his hand patting awkwardly on her back. "I won't let him."
"You will. You hate me, too. You have to. I'm your enemy." Even as she said the words, she pressed into the solid safety of his body.
Somehow, this all had to be a nightmare and therefore she was not acting forward. Nothing had to be proper or make sense in dreams.
Lachlan could not stand Emily's bereft tone and having her soft curves so close to him was driving him as daft as she sounded. But he did not believe she was crazy. Just hurt, very, very hurt. It was true that the Highlander's dislike of the English was deeply ingrained, but the Sinclairs had obviously taken it to levels far beyond anything he had seen before.
"The Sinclair soldiers hurt you?"
"Not yet, but it was bound to happen. Don't you see?"
"And Talorc?"
"He hates me most of all. He called me his enemy and no one cared, but they all think I'm wicked because I said I would rather be married to a goat than to him."
"Was this before or after the marriage?" he asked, feeling his first twinge of sympathy for the Sinclair laird.
To have his bride chosen for him would have been insult enough, but to have her say in front of witnesses that she would rather be married to a goat would have been galling indeed.
"Before." She hiccupped on a small sob and burrowed closer to his rapidly growing arousal, but she did not know it.
She was too innocent to realize it. He was sure. And the knowledge tormented him.
"I do not like your tears."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop crying."
"I'm t-trying…"
He could tell she was. She sucked in one small, shuddering breath after another.
He could hear his brother making disparaging comments and Cait was upset that he was holding Emily so close. He frowned. His life as a laird made for very little privacy, but right now he wanted the prying eyes and ears of his fellow werewolves off of the vulnerable woman in his arms.
He swung her up against his chest and something strange twinged inside him when she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the curve of his throat. Lust. 'Twas all it was. He wanted her and he could not have her. It was nothing more than that. If he could bed her a few times to rid himself of the affliction, it would leave him.