Sold to the Highland Savage (Preview)
Chapter One
1654, Auction House
“Hold still, ye daft lass, or ye’ll trip over yer own feet.”
The voice was rough, impatient. Mhairi tried to pull away from the hands gripping her arms, but the blindfold made everything worse—every sound too loud, every touch a threat she couldn’t see coming.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” Her voice came out stronger than she felt. “I demand tae ken.”
“Demand all ye like,” another voice cut in, this one closer to her ear. “Willnae change where ye’re goin’.”
Laughter. Multiple voices, all around her.
The floor beneath her feet changed from dirt to wood, and suddenly the chaos she’d been hearin’ grew deafening. Shoutin’. The scrape of chairs. The thick smell of whisky and unwashed bodies.
“Get her up there,” someone barked. “Graham’s waitin’.”
Mhairi’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Up where? What is this place?”
No answer. Just hands pushin’ her forward, guidin’ her up what felt like steps. Three of them. Four. When they stopped, rough fingers worked at the knot behind her head.
“Remember,” the voice at her ear said, “ye run, we drag ye back. Make it easy on yerself.”
The blindfold fell away.
Mhairi blinked against the sudden torchlight, and her stomach dropped straight through the floor.
She was standin’ on a raised platform in the center of a vast underground chamber. Stone walls, low ceilings, packed with men. Dozens of them, maybe more, all turned toward her with expressions that made her skin crawl.
Some were Highland born, judgin’ by their dress. Others wore Lowland fashion. And still others, English, by the look of their fine coats and polished boots.
Words died in her throat as understanding crashed over her like a wave of ice water.
An auction house.
They’d brought her to an auction house.
She stumbled backward, and hands clamped down on her arms before she could run.
“Gentlemen!” A voice boomed from somewhere to her left. A man stepped into view—stocky, scarred, with the build of someone who’d spent his life fightin’. “Our next offerin’ is a rare prize indeed. Young, healthy, and—”
“Let me go!” Mhairi lunged for the edge of the platform.
She didn’t make it three steps before the guards hauled her back to the center like she weighed nothin’.
She twisted, kicked, fought with every ounce of strength she had. “Ye cannae dae this! I’m a Munro! Me clan will—”
“Fifty scots,” someone shouted from the crowd.
Mhairi’s blood turned to ice.
“Fifty-two scots!”
“Fifty-eight scots!”
“Sixty-five scots!”
The scarred man, Laird Aodh Graham, grinned like a wolf. “Come now, gentlemen. Surely ye can dae better than that. Look at her, strong, spirited. She’ll give ye fine sons.”
Bile rose in Mhairi’s throat. “I’m nae fer sale, ye bastard!”
“Seventy scots!”
The shouts came faster now, numbers climbing higher. Mhairi’s vision swam. She scanned the crowd desperately, searching for—what?
Someone to help her?
Her gaze snagged on a man near the back. Tall, broad-shouldered, fair hair mostly hidden beneath a hood. He wasn’t shouting like the others. Just… watching. Their eyes met for half a heartbeat, and something flickered in his expression. Then someone shoved past him, blocking her view.
“Eighty-one scots!”
“Stop!” The word tore from her throat. “Me faither will pay fer me return! Whatever ye’re askin’, he’ll pay.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Cold. Cruel.
Graham leaned closer, his voice dropping low enough that only she could hear. “Oh, lass. Ye really dinnae ken, dae ye?”
“Ken what?”
“Who dae ye think brought ye here?”
The world tilted.
“Ninety scots!” A new voice. English accent. Cultured. Old.
Mhairi’s gaze snapped toward the sound. There—in the third row—a man perhaps fifty years of age, dressed in fine English fashion. His eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her want to scrub her skin raw.
Her father. Her own father.
“Yer faither sold ye tae me a fortnight ago,” Graham said, almost conversationally. “Needed coin fer his debts. Yer sister too, though she’s a wee bit young yet. Give her another year or two.” He gestured to the crowd. “Now I’m makin’ me profit.”
The pieces were falling into place. Her father’s tension those past months. The closed-door meetings. The way he’d looked at her at breakfast two weeks before.
The room went quiet.
Graham’s smile could’ve cut glass. “Ninety scots. Any advance on ninety scots?”
Silence.
Mhairi’s legs threatened to give out. The guards holding her were the only reason she was still standing.
“Ninety once!” Graham raised his hand. “Ninety twice!”
“Sold!” Graham’s hand came down like a gavel. “To His Grace, the Duke of Ravenscar!”
The English lord stood, and Mhairi’s stomach turned over.
“Get her backstage,” Graham ordered. “His Grace will want tae finalize the transaction.”
The guards dragged her off the platform. She fought—God, did she fight—but there were too many of them. They hauled her through a narrow doorway into a dimly lit corridor, then into a small room with a desk and two chairs.
Graham followed, closing the door behind him. He moved to the desk, pouring himself whisky. “Ye’re worth Ninety scots tae me now, lass. So, I suggest ye stop fightin’ and accept yer fate.”
“I dinnae belong tae anyone!” The words came out fierce, but tears were burnin’ behind her eyes. “I’m nae property tae be sold!”
“Ye are what I say ye are.” Graham set down his glass.
The door opened. Mhairi spun toward it, and her heart stopped.
The English lord stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. Up close, he was even worse. Tall enough to loom over her. Eyes cold and calculating. And when he smiled, it didnae reach anywhere near those eyes.
“My dear,” he said, his accent crisp and refined. “How lovely to finally meet you properly.”
Mhairi backed away until her spine hit the wall. “Stay away from me.”
“Now, now.” He moved closer, each step deliberate. “Is that any way to greet your new husband?”
“Husband?” The word came out strangled. “I’m nae marryin’ ye! I’ll die first.”
His smile widened. “I do hope not. Where would the fun in that be?” He was right in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—expensive, cloying. “We have a long journey ahead of us, my dear. Plenty of time to begin your education.”
Mhairi tried to dart past him. He caught her wrist before she made it two steps, yanking her back against his chest. She screamed, thrashed, clawed at his arm.
Two more men burst through the door. Ashcombe’s guards. They grabbed her flailing arms, wrestling her still.
“Let her go,” Graham said from the desk. “Ye’ve nae paid yet.”
“Of course.” Ashcombe gestured, and one guard kept Mhairi pinned while he reached into his coat. He produced a leather purse, tossing it onto the desk. “Ninety, as agreed. Count it if you wish.”
Graham picked up the purse, weighing it in his hand. “Always dae.” He opened it, began counting coins onto the desk.
“I will be trouble,” Mhairi snarled, still fightin’ against the guards’ grip. “I’ll be naethin’ but trouble, I swear it.”
Ashcombe’s breath was hot against her ear. “Good. I prefer my wives with spirit. Makes the breaking so much more… satisfying.”
Mhairi’s vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall. “Ye’ll never break me.”
“We’ll see.”
“The count is correct,” Graham announced. “She’s yers, Yer Grace.”
“Excellent.” Ashcombe nodded to his men. They began dragging Mhairi toward the door. She kicked, screamed, bit one guard’s hand hard enough to draw blood—
He backhanded her across the face. Stars exploded in her vision.
“Carefully,” Ashcombe said mildly. “I don’t want her damaged.”
They hauled her out into the corridor, then toward another door that led outside. To the stables.
No one came near. No one even tried.
This was her life now, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do to stop it.
“Get her on the horse.”
Ashcombe’s voice cut through the night air like a blade. Mhairi’s hands were bound in front of her, rough rope biting into her wrists, but she wasnae about to make this easy for them.
“I can walk,” she spat.
“You’ll ride.” Ashcombe nodded to one of his men. “And you’ll do so quietly, or I’ll gag you as well.”
The stable yard was dark save for a few scattered torches. Two men flanked Ashcombe, hired swords by the look of them, both wearing leather armor and carrying blades that had seen plenty of use. Beyond them, the forest loomed like a wall of shadows.
If she was going to run, it had to be now.
“Come along, darling.” Ashcombe reached for her arm.
Mhairi bolted.
She made it perhaps ten steps before hands caught her from behind, spinning her around. She kicked out hard, connecting with someone’s shin. A curse. Then she was running again, rope-bound hands and all, headed straight for the tree line—
One of the guards tackled her from the side.
“Nay!” Mhairi hit the ground hard, all the air rushin’ from her lungs. “Let me…”
“Enough of this.” Ashcombe’s voice was cold now. All pretense of civility gone. “Bind her ankles as well.”
“Nay!” Mhairi thrashed as rough hands grabbed her legs. “Ye cannae dae this. I’m nae going with ye.”
More rope. Tight around her ankles. She was lifted bodily, thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of grain, and then deposited sideways across a horse’s saddle.
“Please.” Her voice broke despite her best efforts. “Please, just let me go. I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Ashcombe mounted his own horse, reins in hand. “Run back to the father who sold you? I think not.” He nodded to his men. “We ride south. No stops until dawn.”
“Wait, nay, please just listen tae me.”
But the horses were already movin’, and Mhairi’s pleas disappeared into the darkness behind them.
Chapter Two
Earlier that evening
“Ye’re certain this is the place?”
Alpin MacDougal kept his voice low, eyes fixed on the entrance to what looked like an abandoned grain warehouse. But the number of guards stationed around it told a different story.
“Aye, me laird.” His scout, Callum, gestured toward the building. “Three lasses from our lands disappeared in the last month. Tracks led here.”
Alpin’s jaw tightened. He’d heard the rumors, underground auctions where women were sold like cattle, but hearing and seeing were two very different things.
“How many guards?”
“Eight outside that I can count. More inside, likely.”
Too many to fight. Not without startin’ a war he wasnae ready for. “I’m goin’ in.”
Callum’s head whipped toward him. “Me laird…”
“I need tae see what’s happenin’ in there. Who’s runnin’ this. Who’s buyin’.” Alpin adjusted his cloak, pullin’ the hood lower over his fair hair. “If I can get names, faces, evidence, we can bring this tae the king.”
“And if they recognize ye?”
“They willnae.” Alpin had dressed carefully, plain clothes, nothin’ that screamed laird. And he’d left his clan colors back at camp. “Stay here with the men. If I’m nae out by dawn, ride back and tell Tristan what ye saw.”
“Me laird…”
“That’s an order, Callum.”
The scout’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he nodded.
Alpin made his way toward the entrance, keeping to the shadows. The guards were checking each man who entered, looking for weapons, mostly, but they let him pass with barely a glance after he slipped them a few coins.
Inside, the noise hit him first. Voices. Laughter. The clink of glasses. And underneath it all, something that made his skin crawl. Anticipation. Hunger.
The chamber was packed. Alpin found a spot near the back, where he could see the raised platform without bein’ too visible himself. His hand rested on the dirk hidden beneath his cloak.
“Gentlemen!” A scarred man stepped onto the platform. “Welcome, welcome. We have a fine selection fer ye taenight.”
Alpin’s attention sharpened. That was Laird Aodh Graham. He’d heard of him before—a laird with considerable power and connections, known for his ruthlessness and willingness to profit from any venture, no matter how dark. The auctions were just another way for him to expand his wealth.
The first lass they brought out was barely sixteen. Alpin’s hands curled into fists as the biddin’ started, as men shouted numbers like she was livestock. When she was dragged off the platform in tears, he had to force himself to stay still.
Evidence first. Justice after.
Two more lasses followed. Both sold within minutes.
“Our next offerin’ is a rare prize indeed!”
A new lass was pushed onto the platform, and Alpin’s breath caught.
She was beautiful—dark hair, grey eyes that flashed with fury even through her obvious terror. But it wasn’t her beauty that held his attention. It was the way she fought. The way she snarled at Graham like a wildcat despite being surrounded by men twice her size.
“I’m nae fer sale, ye bastard!”
Her voice carried across the entire chamber, clear and defiant. Several men laughed. Alpin didn’t.
“A Munro,” someone near him muttered. “Bold as brass, that one.”
Munro. Alpin’s mind raced. The Munros were a powerful clan with considerable lands in the Highlands, their power built on territory rather than coin.
He’d heard whispers over the past year—debts, failed harvests. But no, it couldn’t be… a father wouldn’t do that tae his child. Would he?
The bidding started. It climbed higher and higher.
The lass—Mhairi, they called her—kept fighting, kept pleading. And every word she spoke made Alpin’s chest tighten with somethin’ he couldnae name.
When the English lord made his final bid, ninety, the room went silent.
Dae somethin’, bid higher. Get her out of here.
But that would blow his cover. Would put a target on his back before he had the evidence he needed. And it wouldn’t save all the other lasses who’d be sold tomorrow, or the day after.
The hammer fell.
“Sold!”
Alpin watched them drag her backstage, watched the English lord follow and made his decision.
He slipped out of the warehouse while everyone’s attention was still on the platform and found Callum and his men exactly where he’d left him.
“We’re following them,” Alpin said shortly.
“Who?”
“The English lord who just bought the Munro lass. I want tae ken where he’s takin her.”
Callum’s eyes widened. “Me laird, if ye interfere it’ll be bad.”
“I’m nae asking fer permission.” Alpin was already moving toward where they’d hidden their horses. “I’m tellin’ ye what we’re daein’. Now mount up.”
They waited in the tree line until Ashcombe emerged with his prize. Even from a distance, Alpin could hear her screaming.
His hands tightened on his reins.
“Easy,” Callum murmured. “Too many guards. Too many witnesses.”
“I ken.” But watching them throw her across that horse, bound and helpless, it took every ounce of control he had not to charge down there anyway.
The English lord’s party headed south. Alpin and Callum and the guards followed, stayin’ well back, lettin’ the darkness hide them.
Hours passed, the moon rose higher. Finally the party ahead slowed, then stopped in a small clearing.
“They’re makin’ camp,” Callum whispered.
Alpin nodded, dismounting quietly. “Wait here. I’m goin’ closer.”
“Me laird.”
“If I’m nae back in an hour, assume I’m dead and ride fer home.”
He moved through the forest like a ghost, years of hunting making his steps silent. The English lord’s camp came into view, two guards posted, one tending the fire. And there, tied to a tree—
Mhairi.
Even bound and clearly exhausted, she held her head high. Watching. Waiting.
Smart lass.
Alpin counted the men again. Three total, including Ashcombe. He could take them, but he’d need the element of surprise.
He circled the camp, moving into position. Then he picked up a stone and threw it hard into the brush on the opposite side.
“What was that?” One of the guards spun toward the sound.
“Probably just an animal,” the other said, but he was reaching for his sword.
“Check it anyway.”
The first guard moved toward the noise. The second followed, leaving Ashcombe alone by the fire.
Alpin struck.
He came out of the darkness fast, dirk already drawn. The first guard went down without a sound, Alpin’s blade finding the gap in his armor. The second spun toward him, sword raised—
Steel met steel with a sound that shattered the night’s quiet.
“Attack!” the guard shouted. “We’re under attack!”
Ashcombe was on his feet instantly, weapon drawn. “Who dares?”
Alpin didnae answer. Just moved, fast and brutal, disarming the second guard with a quick twist of his blade. The man stumbled back, and Mhairi, hands still bound, kicked out hard. Her feet caught him behind the knees and he went down.
Their eyes met for half a heartbeat. Hers were wide, shocked—but fierce.
Then Ashcombe was there, blade coming straight for Alpin’s head.
Alpin blocked, stepped inside the English lord’s guard, and slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest. Ashcombe staggered. Behind him, Mhairi was working at her bindings, teeth tearing at the rope.
“Stop!” Ashcombe’s voice cracked like a whip. “I bought that woman legally! You’re stealing my property!”
“Property?” Alpin’s voice came out deadly quiet. He pressed forward, forcing Ashcombe back step by step. “She’s nae property, ye English bastard. She’s a person.”
“I paid ninety scots.”
“Ye paid ninety scots fer someone who was nae fer sale.” Alpin’s blade moved faster now, anger lending him speed. “That’s the difference between ye and me. I ken women arenae objects tae be bought.”
Behind them, Mhairi’s bindings came free. She was on her feet instantly and runnin’.
Into the forest.
Into the darkness.
Ashcombe lunged toward her. “Stop her!”
Alpin blocked his path, their blades locking together. “She’s already gone.”
“Then I’ll hunt her down.”
“Ye’ll try.” Alpin broke the lock, spun, and landed a brutal kick to Ashcombe’s knee. The English lord went down with a cry of pain. “But ye’ll have tae get through me first.”
He couldn’t kill him. Killing a duke, even an English one, would bring consequences Alpin wasn’t ready for. But he could make sure the bastard stayed down long enough for Mhairi to get away.
One more strike. Ashcombe’s sword went flyin’ into the underbrush. Alpin pressed his dirk to the man’s throat.
“If I ever see ye on Scottish soil again,” Alpin said softly, “I’ll cut yer throat and leave ye fer the wolves. Understand?”
Ashcombe’s eyes burned with fury. “This isn’t over.”
“Aye, it is.” Alpin stepped back, blade still raised. “Now get out of me sight before I change me mind about lettin’ ye live.”
The English lord stumbled to his feet, clutching his injured knee. His remaining guard was already moving toward the horses. Within moments, they were gone, crashing through the forest like wounded animals.
Alpin took one breath. Two.
Then he turned toward the darkness where Mhairi had disappeared.
And went after her.
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