This story is definitely supposed to be like a smutty Highland Romance, so cliches abound, and, given the power dynamics, dubcon (she is consenting, but the situation makes it dicey and I wouldn't want anyone to read it without warning and then get triggered / otherwise upset).
Lady Elena Trevelyan sighed, and drummed her fingers against the armrest of the carriage as she gazed out the window. Ferelden was boring—nothing but frozen wilderness and dogs as far as the eye could see. She couldn't wait to be once again in the Free Marches, where people were civilized.
The journey from Val Royeaux to the port of Highever was always slow, but this time was especially tedious. They had not been able to take their usual route through the North Frostbacks, and instead had to loop around far to the south and come up on the other side of Lake Calenhad.
Suddenly, their carriage came to an abrupt stop; the chilling breeze carried the sound of the horses nickering nervously. Elena leaned out of the window, trying to see what the fuss was about. Much to her annoyance, a large, felled log lay across their path. Her small contingent of guards were already examining it, trying to find the best angle from which to pull it away.
"Great, even more time I'm stuck in this barbaric kingdom," she grumbled to her nurse, Sister Ellie, as she slid back into her seat, arms crossed over her chest in a pout.
There was a whistling sound, and she felt something ruffle through her hair before a wet gurgling made her snap her head around. A scream tore through her throat at she realized what she was seeing: an arrow stuck out of Ellie's neck, blood coursing down from the wound. Before she could cry out for her guards, the sound of shouting and the thunder of horse hooves crashed down around her. From the forest surrounding the road a band of Avvar barbarians appeared, weapons held high as they charged her party.
She screamed again, and threw herself at the far door of the carriage. The wood gave under her body and she tumbled out into the road. Scrambling to her feet, Elena ran for the woods as the sound of her father's men dying bombarded her ears. Before she got ten yards away, a man on a white horse rode front of her, cutting her off from her escape. She wheeled around, blindly running anywhere, anywhere as long as it was away.
He circled her, once, twice, thrice; each time she turned away from him, he was always before her, the steam of his horse's breath fogging the air around her. She screamed again, and dodged towards the woods. Looking behind her, she saw him leaping from the saddle and giving chase after her, a high laugh echoing through the air around him. She made it to the tree line before he caught her, arms strong as silverite wrapping around and pinning her to his hard body as he wheeled her around.
Elena screamed while she struggled against the cage of arms. "Let go of me, you brute!"
"By the Mountain Father, woman, quiet or I'll gag you," grunted the man behind her as he pinned her tighter to his chest, heaving her up, and making to go back to the road.
In one fluid motion he swung her over his shoulder, affording her a brief view of messy blond curls and then nothing but the warm expanse of his bare back and furs. Around her, she could hear the groan of her guards dying as his men looted their caravan. She pounded her fists against his lower back, letting out another ear-splitting shriek.
"I demand that you unhand me at once! My grandmother is the Duchesse du Claremont and my father is the Bann of Ostwick. You can have as much gold as you want, but just let me go!"
A resounding smack echoed around the camp as his hand came down hard on the curve of her rump, causing her to squeal in surprise.
"I said be quiet," he ordered, jostling her against his shoulder. "And it's not gold I'm after, lass."
She heard the men around them laugh as his words echoed in her head. Did this barbarian think to ravish her?
"Feisty, isn't she?" A voice to her left called.
"Redheads always are," rumbled the man holding her, his hand now rubbing soothing circles over her bottom; her face burned red at so intimate a touch, despite its soothing effect.
"You'll have your hands full, Cullen! Mark my words, a lowlander woman is trouble, a redhead doubly so."
He—Cullen?—grunted and walked away. A moment later the world spun again and she found herself seated on a horse, skirts rucked up her to thighs. She blushed and tried to tug them lower–it certainly wouldn't do to let these barbarians see her in a state of undress. Her hands were shaking, and she could see a smudge of blood on her thumb. Not mine? No, Sister Ellie's, she though, the image of her nurse springing to mind—how she had looked moments before the arrow shot through her neck. Elena let out a small sob, her hand shaking her earnest now. She was captured by Fereldan barbarians; Maker only knew what would happen to her.
A moment later, a hand caught hers. It was a big hand, calloused and rough, especially in comparison to her own. Elena looked up, finally registering the man who had chased her across the clearing. His clothes left nearly nothing to the imagination. Tight leather trousers hugged his muscular legs, and his chest was bare, save for thick furs that covered his shoulders and slung down over his groin. She tried not to look at his naked skin—the hard muscles that quivered slightly with each breath. Her eyes traveled up further, over the strong cords of his neck to his face.
Maker's breath. He had the face of a desire demon. Full lips set against a strong jaw and cleft chin, high cheekbones framed by stubble and thick golden curls. And his eyes.
"Oh." The damning word fell from her lips as she met his gaze.
His eyes were warm and golden like summer's first harvest of honey. A smile quirked at the corner of his lips, dragged by a sharp scar further up his face. Even though she was seated on his horse, they were almost eye level; he was unbelievably tall. From the way his eyes flickered up and down, she could tell he was examining her as well—taking stock of his newest prize and finding her…well? From his smile and the heat of his gaze, Elena would wager that he was pleased with her. But does that bode well for me, or not?
He swung up on the saddle behind her, one arm wrapping around her waist while his other hand settled, fingers splayed, across her bare thigh. He pulled her back, pressing her against his chest and into the cradle of his hips. Warmth radiated from his skin, almost scalding in the cold mountain air. Behind them his men mounted up, taking her valuables and horses with them. Cullen kicked his heels into their mount's side and they were off, racing across the cold mountain paths until the main road disappeared into the forest.
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