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change at her words. Still, he didn’t loosen his hold and no matter how much she struggled, there was no way to break free.
    “If you don’t let me go, I’m going to scream!” Sibyl cried, wriggling in his arms. This only made the man tighten his grip, which left her gasping for breath.
    “Bidh sàmhach!” he growled in her ear. She didn’t know what that meant either but she could guess.
    The stream was visible ahead, rushing over crags and rocks, the current strong and steady. She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the rushing water, but the man stood completely still. Something had drawn his attention, but she wasn’t sure what.
    “Could you… just… let me go…” Sibyl managed, drawing short, painful breaths, her ribcage aching from the way he held her so tightly. “I—”
    “Bidh sàmhach!” he insisted again, this time shaking her. She felt like a rag doll in his arms. Closing her eyes, she listened too, straining to hear what had captured his attention, but there was nothing but the water surging over the rocks.
    “Thank the Lord,” she muttered when the man’s arms loosened and she could breathe again. She rubbed her aching sides, scowling back at the giant brute. “I don’t know who you are, but I am perfectly capable of—”
    He frowned down at her, gaze sweeping over her muddied and torn dress. While it once would have fed a family in Moira’s village for a year, it was now suitable as little more than rags. She had lost her hat ages ago, somewhere back near the wolf cage, where she had left her betrothed pinned to a tree with an arrow.
    “What are you doing?” Sibyl protested, but barely had time to get the words out before the big man had divested her of her weapon and had thrown her over his shoulder and began carrying her downstream. “Stop! Let me go!”
    Her words were lost in the rush of the water and he didn’t seem to hear her at all as he moved quickly—much faster and more nimbly than she expected of a man of his size—down the shoreline. She beat at his back with her fists, but he didn’t seem to notice that either, and before long, her hands ached. It was like hitting a slab of rock. When he stopped, she lifted her head to look around, noting their position, away from the protection of the tree line now.
    And then she heard it. Could he really have detected the sound, so far away? The dogs were barking again. On the hunt. She imagined Alistair telling the story to his men, making up something so he, of course, looked like the wounded hero. Perhaps he would tell them she had been kidnapped by the massive brute who now had her thrown over his shoulder—and really, was that far from the truth? She knew he wouldn’t tell them she had put an arrow through him. That much he would leave out, she was sure. She hoped.
    “They’re coming!” she hissed, beating at the human rock’s back again. She hit him in the side, eliciting a satisfying grunt from the man, and did it again, pleased when she heard his sharp intake of breath. “Let me go! They’re coming for me!”
    “Bidh modhail!” he snapped, his hand coming down hard on her behind. Sibyl hadn’t been spanked since she was a child and, while it really didn’t hurt, given how much padding she had on under her skirts, the humiliation of it reddened her cheeks and made her instantly quiet.
    And then they were flying.
    It wasn’t really flying, but it felt that way. He was so agile, so quick and light on his feet, it felt as if he had simply taken flight as they crossed the stream. Behind them, the dogs grew closer. They were onto a scent—likely her own and she cursed herself for not grabbing her hat, which would allow the dogs to pick up her trail—and pursued it with fervor. Sibyl bounced on the big man’s shoulder, squealing at one point, thinking surely he would fall and she would go tumbling head-first to her death onto the slippery, moss-covered rocks, but then they were across, heading into the