Taming a Wild Scot: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel Read Free

twisted painfully, and she stumbled in the water, nearly going down. Only an instinctive jerk to the right saved her. But it came at a price—her elbow was jabbed by a broken tree branch, the sharp wood piercing her skin and robbing her of what little breath she had. Her hand went numb and she nearly dropped the knife.
    The temptation to give up and fall to her knees might have won out at that moment, save for one thing—just above the gnarled fingers of the late-autumn trees, the sky was brightening. No longer black, but a deep shade of indigo. The sun was fighting its way to the horizon, desperate to see another day, and she could do no less.
    Ana swept her long hair out of her face. She clutched her injured elbow, pressed the wound with her fingers to stop the bleeding, and continued her dash through the burn. Her breaths came in gusty gulps, each one burning in her throat.
    Sometime after she entered the water—an eternity, it seemed—the hounds abruptly ceased their cry. The odd yelp and howl still rose into the night, but the constant voice of a pack on a clear scent died off.
    Experience told Ana that the longer she remained in the burn and took care not to touch land or shrub, the better her chances were of escape. But she couldn’t stay in the water forever—it slowed her down, and a good scent hound could pick up the trail again farther downstream, especially if it caught a whiff of the blood she’d left behind on the stick. At some point, she’d need to leave the burn and make her way cross-land.
    Near the waterfall, perhaps. There was a rugged trail leading down the cliff to the river.
    Goal in mind, she found a new reserve of strength. Her back straightened, her knees firmed, and she splashed forward over a bed of smooth round stones. If she made it to the river, she’d be safe. Unlike most people, she knew how to swim. If she shed her long skirts and dove in, the water would carry her to freedom. She could do this.
    Unfortunately, her heart proved uncooperative. As she picked up her pace, it skipped a few beats, and then began to flutter against her ribs in a wholly unsatisfying and frightening manner. A weakness stole through her limbs, making them feel twice as heavy as they’d felt only moments before. Her head swam, her breaths shortened, and a sudden dread that she would die consumed her.
    Ana stopped running.
    She stood in the icy stream, her arms wrapped around her body, shivering, trying to catch her breath, trying not to faint. Closing her eyes, she forced her breaths through her nose, rather than her mouth, and struggled to contain the frantic beats of her heart.
    Be still, crazed heart. I will not die here. Not so close to safety.
    Long moments passed like that, just breathing and shivering. Finally, to her immense relief, the pace of her heart abruptly slowed, returning to its heavy but more natural pound. She opened her eyes, ready to resume her flight.
    The scowling face of a helmed Lochurkie guard stared back at her. He grabbed her uninjured elbow, his thick fingers digging into her flesh. “Got ya, ya bleedin’ wench.”
    Ana reacted instinctively. The only thought spinning through her head was the fleeting promise of freedom. She slashed at the guard with the hunting knife.
    The blade cut through his cotun sleeve and the flesh of his arm with almost equal ease. Blood gushed, the guard howled, and her mouth soured. She, who’d taken a solemn oath to heal and preserve life, had willingly and consciously harmed another being. But what alternative was there? He was so much larger and stronger than she. And didn’t she deserve to live? Ana swallowed tightly and fought for her freedom. Yanking her elbow free, she shoved the guard away and ran in the direction of the cliff.
    The river was so close.
    Just a few hundred feet and she could slide down the path.
    A large bramble whipped her face as she passed, but she paid no mind to the deep scratches it left behind. Her gaze was locked on the