Free The Fraser Bride by Lois Greiman

from Lachlan’s lips.
    “A liar?” Gilmour said. “Did you hear that, Lachlan?”
    “Aye,” came the snarled response.
    “And are we going to stand here and allow him to slander the lassie’s name so?”
    “Nay, I am not. I fear I am forced to defend her honor.”
    “You!”
Gilmour said, glancing at Lachlan. ” ‘Tis me own place to fight him.”
    “Think again, brother.”
    ” ‘Tis my right. ‘Twas I who first knew her for what she was—a gentle lass of unequaled quality.”
    ” ‘Twas I who made it so that we were out and about at the outset.”
    ” ‘Twas I who—”
    “I’m older,” Lachlan snarled, and raised his fists to punctuate the depth of his feelings.
    “Well …” Gilmour shrugged. “You have me there. I cannot argue with God’s order of things.”
    Lachlan stepped forward, and Ramsay saw the lightning quick flash of Gilmour’s grin in the moonlight.
    “Damn!” Ramsay said and felt the anger rush from him like wind from a bellows. “You’re an arse, Gilmour.”
    Mour almost contained his chuckle. “You’d best save your insults for Lachlan here, brother. He’s spoiling for a fight, you know.”
    “Aye,” Ramsay said, “and while we’re beating each other senseless, you’ll be—” He paused. Within his chest, his heart stopped cold. “Where is she?”
    “Who?” Gilmour asked.
    “Mary!” Lachlan’s voice was low, his hand already on his sword.
    Ramsay swore and spun into the darkness.
    “Mary?”
    “Mary!” Her name rang through the forest.
    There was no answer. But somehow Ramsay knew there wouldn’t be. Knew it in his soul.
    “I’ll check camp,” Gilmour said, and Ram sprinted into the woods. His heart thumped to life in his chest, kicking hard and fast against his ribs.
    “Lass!” Lachlan called, thundering behind him.
    A stream glittered in the moonlight. Faint tracks shone in the darkness. Ramsay skidded to a halt.
    “Hoofprints!” Lachlan snarled, and fell to his knees. “The same as the warrior’s before.”
    “And the lassie’s tracks. She mounted the steed here.”
    “Can you follow in the dark?”
    “Aye. That I can.” Lachlan’s answer was a growl. He was already trotting along the stream, half crouched like a predator on a scent.
    “Go as far as you can. I’ll fetch our steeds,” Ramsay called as he raced back toward camp.
    Swiftly, orders were given, horses saddled, and men armed. They were mounted in moments and riding hard through the woods toward the stream. They met Lachlan near a bend. In seconds he was astride, leaning low in the saddle and leading them pell-mell through the night. Mud flew from his horse’s hooves. In the darkness, the faces around Ramsay looked grim. Even Gilmour’s expression was dire, for there was no time to lose. It was obvious from the tracks that the horse they followed was running hard, even with a double load. Running hard and taking the shortest route.
    Branches scraped leather and flesh, but that didn’t slow the riders’ pace. Even in the blackness, Lachlan could follow the trail. He had the uncanny instincts of a fox. They would catch up, Ramsay told himself. They would find her. Unless …
    A thought stabbed through his consciousness. They’d been riding hard for some time, but still no sign of the horse. Was it outdistancing them? With a double load? How—
    Ramsay hauled his mount in with a curse. Gryfon half reared, and Gilmour turned in the darkness.
    “Ride!” Ramsay ordered. “I’ll catch up.”
    But first he would check the tracks by the burn.
    Maybe she
was
racing ahead of them with the mysterious warrior. But then again, maybe nothing was as it seemed.

Chapter Seven
    The night flashed by in waves of terror and darkness. One moment Anora had been standing beside the burn, and the next she was grabbed from behind and forced onto a horse.
    She strained away from the warrior who rode behind her, trying to see his face, but he gave her no quarter. Even if she could see beyond the