My eyes flutter open,a musty smell filling my nostrils as dim morning light filters through the grimy cabin windows. I try to move, but coarse ropes bite into my wrists, holding me captive.
Fantastic. This is what I get for being spontaneous and traveling to Scotland on a whim. Kidnapped by some kilt-wearing hooligans. Not exactly the romantic getaway I had in mind.
Scanning the room, I search for anything to help my escape. A rusted lantern, a moth-eaten blanket, a questionable chamber pot. Slim pickings for a damsel in distress.
A tiny part of me hopes Cal will come bursting through the door, his sword raised high, ready to save the day. But who am I kidding? This isn’t some cheesy rom-com movie.
Based on how men have treated me in the past, Ican’t help but think that Cal is probably back at the tavern, sipping whisky and enjoying his freedom from the crazy Canadian girl who dragged him into this mess.
I pull in a deep breath and try to squelch those ridiculous thoughts. We’ve got a special connection. He wouldn’t do that to me! But I can’t stop thinking about my parents’ failed partnership. “Don’t fall for that happily-ever-after nonsense,” they’d warned me over and over again. And yet, each time I did fall, the pain of hitting rock bottom was a little more intense, a little harder to bear.
In this unexpected twist of life, I find myself yearning for a partner. Not just any partner, but a heroic one with a distinct Scottish lilt and captivating blue eyes that hold an entire ocean within them. A man who wears leather boots that echo with stories of the Highlands, and a tartan kilt as much a part of him as his own skin. My heart whispers his name—Callum.
But I quickly shake my head, trying to banish the thought. I have to be my own hero. I can’t rely on anyone else, especially not when it comes to matters of the heart.
Wriggling my hands, I test the give of the ropes. If I can just loosen them a bit, maybe I can slip free and make a run for it. I don’t have a clue where I am or how to get back to Aven Valley, but anything is better than being a sitting duck in this dank cabin.
“Come on,” I whisper, my fingers working frantically at the knots.
“Embrace your inner Tony Stark. Wait, no. Elektra. Be a femme fatale. You’ve got this.”
The ropes chafingmy wrists are about to give way when the low rumble of voices outside the cabin freezes me in place. Every cell in my body tunes into their conversation.
“Gregor’s bettin’ the MacDowells will shell out a small fortune for her safe return,” one captor slurs, his words marinated in a thick Scottish accent that makes comprehension a challenge.
Before I can digest this, another voice pipes up, stoking the flames of my rising panic. “Aye, but it ain’t just about the money. Gregor wants to bleed ’em dry—he’s got his eyes on their tavern and those juicy acres they own in Aven Valley.” He sounds as casual as if he’s discussing Sunday’s football scores rather than blackmail and land grabbing.
“True enough,” comes the agreement from voice number one. “But we need her alive and untarnished for that scheme to pan out. No roughhousing with her, got it?”
I roll my eyes so hard I almost sprain them. Fantastic. I haven’t just been kidnapped by dimwits;I’m a hot commodity on some Early Modern Scottish eBay.
The negotiations probably go something like: “One slightly pre-loved Canadian tourist up for grabs.”
The enormity of my predicament hits me like the unfinished manuscript that plagues my nightmares.
Okay. I’m trapped in this time warp, but there’s no way I’m going to be a mere chess piece in an age-old Scottish clan war.
I need to navigate through this, not just for my own sake, but to prove something to my agent, my editor, and the rest of the world—that I can see things through to the end. Even if Margot has no clue about my current whereabouts, it’s crucial that I show her—and myself—that I can triumph over any hurdle, no matter how ludicrous it seems. The realization stokes the fire of resolve within me to break free from these restraints and finally put an end to the story that has been left hanging for too long.
“Pull yourself together,” I mentally pep-talk myself as I grapple with the ropes gnawing into my flesh. “Once you’re untied, they won’t know what hit them.”
A burst of laughter threatens to erupt as I reflect on the ridiculousness of my circumstances. Amelia Sutherland—acclaimed author and self-avowed independent woman—now banking on her sharp intellect and a dash of fortune to outwit a gang ofHighland hooligans. If my dedicated readers could witness this spectacle, they’d either collapse in fits of laughter or be scared witless.
Suddenly, inspiration strikes—this ordeal could serve as fodder for one helluva novel! Roxy’s London escapades are starting to taste as stale as last week’s doughnuts anyway. But this wild ride through 1645 Scotland? With Lady Catherine and Sir John playing lead roles? That screams “bestseller”! The only hitch is surviving long enough to pen it down.
Mental note: document every tiny detail once out of this Highland mayhem.
The fastened cordsaround my hands give way after a final yank and twist. I stifle a victorious giggle as I rub the raw skin of my newly freed hands. One look at my grubby, torn nightgown confirms it’s no outfit for an escape artist. With a surge of resolve, I rip off the lower part near the knees, fashioning a makeshift mini-skirt that promises swift movement.
All that stands between me and liberty is seizing the right moment to bolt. With sweat dripping down my forehead and trembling legs, I inch towards the cabin door. An hour ago, two hushed voices echoed outside, but now, only one man seems to stand guard. It’s go time.
My gaze sweeps across the room for a weapon andlands on a sturdy wooden candlestick. Snatching it up, I position myself next to the door, biding my time until the perfect moment to strike.
The door creaks open, revealing my guard’s grizzled face.
“Hey there, Haggis-breath!” I taunt as I step from the shadows. “Never underestimate a woman in combat boots!”
Before he can react, I swing the candlestick high above my head and bring it down with all my strength onto his skull. There’s a chilling bone-cracking sound, and his eyes widen like dinner plates before he stumbles backward.
