The man had his back to her. Thinking quickly, Laurien crouched down and removed her cloak, ignoring the bite of the rain on her skin. She gathered up the edges of the rough homespun cloth to fashion a sack, and placed as many rocks inside as she could find. Then she crept closer to the guard, taking one small, silent step at a time. She prayed that he would not hear her over the patter of the rain.
When she was as close as she dared, she held her breath, lifted the sack, and squeezed her eyes shut. She dropped it on the man’s head and he toppled, groaning. Darach looked up with a start. Before Laurien could grab the guard’s torch, it fell and sputtered out in the mud, leaving them in total darkness.
Muttering one of Darach’s favorite oaths, she felt her way toward the corner.
“I am right here,” he said under his breath just as her fingers brushed his shoulder.
Snatching her hand back, she knelt in the mud and tore at the ropes that bound him. She did not like the frostiness in his tone, but explanations would have to wait. “Where is Sir Malcolm?”
“The granary. You will never untie these by hand,” he said impatiently. “Look along the wall. There is a shelf of tools.”
Laurien felt her way to the shed wall, her hands moving upward until she touched a shelf. It held a jumble of metal that she guessed to be farrier’s instruments. She gingerly picked one with a sharp edge and soon freed Darach.
“This way.” His voice was colder than the rain as he led her toward the outbuildings. “Did your Englishman tire of you so quickly that he set you free?”
“I gave him a sleeping potion in his wine,” Laurien replied tartly, indignant that he would think so ill of her without waiting for an explanation. “He is unconscious, and tied up in his chamber. By the way, you are wel—”
“And where are the guards?”
“Asleep in the great hall, all five of them.”
When they reached the granary, he gestured for her to stop. “Wait here.” Without another word, he strode around to the door of the stone building.
Laurien tried to control the hurt and anger coursing through her. Let him believe what he wanted to believe, if he cared so little about her! Arrogant, thick-headed, impossible…
By the time he returned a few minutes later with Sir Malcolm, Laurien was trembling. She blamed it on the steady downpour and the effects of the potion she had drunk.
Malcolm wrapped her in a hug. “Laurien, I am so relieved that you are all right. I feared for you, lass.”
It was the first comfort she had known all day, and her initial surprise was replaced by a sudden rush of affection for the older man. “And I am glad to find you well, Malcolm.”
“You will have time for a reunion later,” Darach bit out. “Another guard may come outside at any moment for his turn on watch. We need to steal horses and weapons.”
Returning to the stable, they helped themselves to both. Laurien stubbornly avoided looking at Darach as he scooped her up and lifted her onto the saddle of the smallest horse. He and Malcolm mounted and the three of them rode as quietly as possible through the gate in the wooden palisade, and down to the road beyond.
Turning toward the north, they set off at a gallop.
Laurien struggled against waves of dizziness as they raced into the night, mud flying from the horses’ hooves, the rain like icy needles. Without her cloak, she soon felt soaked through and half frozen.
They had ridden more than an hour when they reached a fork in the road. Darach and Malcolm reined in and began to debate which direction to take next. Laurien stopped her horse next to them, less concerned about their plans than about the fact that the landscape had not stopped moving when her horse halted. Everything around her was spinning. A wave of nausea swept through her.
“Why not follow our original plan and part company?” Darach was saying.
“Aye, ’twould be best not to bring the lass into Kincardine until we make certain all is safe there,” Malcolm agreed. “Make your way to the sanctuary, then, and stay there until I return with word from Sir William.” He gave Laurien a nod. “I will see you soon, lass.”
Malcolm reined his horse toward the left fork and set off at a gallop.
Laurien did not reply, leaning over her horse’s neck, feeling faint.
“Are you all right?” Darach rode over to her, but his voice was more harsh than concerned.
“Let me alone.” She lifted her head to glare at him—but the sudden movement increased her dizziness tenfold, and she proceeded to slide off her horse and into the mud.
“Laurien!” Darach jumped down from the saddle, reaching her side in an instant, lifting her to her feet.
When she felt his touch, his hands so warm on her rain-chilled skin, she did not want to fight with him anymore. She was frightened and cold and miserable, and the need to be comforted overwhelmed all her other emotions. She held on to his strong arms and leaned into him. “Darach, I was so afraid—”
“So afraid that you threw yourself into the Englishman’s bed?” He released her.
Anger quickly dispatched Laurien’s need for comfort. “You cold-hearted, muddle-headed, turnip-wit! I should have left you there! How can you condemn me without giving me a chance to explain—”
“Explain what? That he forced you? I heard no screams of protest. I saw no struggle to escape him. ‘Please, milord,’” he mimicked, “‘could we not go back inside now?’” His voice changed to imitate the Englishman’s. “‘Please me well and I will not return you to de Villiers.’ Is that what you were hoping for?”
“Stop it!” Laurien backed away from him, shaking uncontrollably. “I was pretending to be interested in him. I had to get him alone—because I had already given him the sleeping potion! He tried to rape me, not that that matters to you. And when I fled the keep, I could have taken a horse and left you behind, but I did not!”
“Laurien—”
“Nay, that is the truth, and I do not care if you believe me or not!” She turned on her heel. She was not going to allow Sir Darach of Glenshiel the satisfaction of having the last word. She reached for her horse’s reins
But suddenly the ground and sky traded places, tilting crazily before her eyes, and she was falling.
The last thing she felt before darkness closed around her was the steely strength of Darach’s arms catching her.
Chapter 14
The sanctuary lay a few hours’ ride north of the border. It was no more than a single chamber, hidden behind the ruin of a church, carved out of the rocky side of a large hill. It had been there for more than a century. After sheltering the horses in a corner of the ruin, Darach carried Laurien inside.
He and Malcolm had stocked the hiding place with supplies before leaving for France. They had known that once they returned to Scotland, one of them would have to ride on to the village of Kincardine, the Scottish patriots’ secret headquarters, to ensure that all was well before bringing the demoiselle there.
He gently laid her on the furs before the hearth, removed her torn gown, and covered her in warm blankets. Stripping off his own sodden garments, he started a fire, then wrapped a plaide around his waist, a long length of woolen fabric, woven in a pattern of crossed stripes. He secured it with his belt.
Rain kept up a steady patter, accompanied by the occasional sound of thunder advancing like a charging army and retreating before the wind. He stoked the flames until they blazed, and sat beside Laurien, brushing her damp hair back from her face.
He felt like the lowest sort of knave. Damn him to the furthest corner of hell, he fully deserved her fury, after the way he had treated her. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have realized that she would never give herself to the Englishman.
But he had not been thinking clearly. When he had seen her in the bastard’s arms, allowing his kiss, touching him… A thighearna, the sight of his woman with another man—
His?
Aye, he admitted to himself. He had started to think of her as his. And not only
because of his need to protect her, or the admiration that he felt for her strength and her intelligence, or even desire. This feeling was stronger than all of them, and entirely new.
He stroked her cheek. The ruse with the drugged wine had been both clever and brave. Once more, she could have gained her freedom—the one thing she wanted most in the world—but she had sacrificed it to help another.
To help him.
And instead of showing gratitude, he had treated her coldly, harshly.
Cursing himself, he edged closer to the fire and eased her into his arms, holding her while she slept.
He was unaccustomed to voicing his feelings… especially to a woman. But he wished, not for the first time of late, that he had more skill with words.
He rested his cheek against the top of her head, his throat feeling tight.
“Welcome to Scotland, milady,” he whispered.
~ ~ ~
Slowly, Laurien floated upward out of the darkness fogging her senses. As she came to awareness, the first thing she realized was that she felt warm, and safe.
The second was that she was naked… and wrapped in Darach’s arms.
She opened her eyes with a start to find herself covered in blankets, curled up against his chest, her head nestled beneath his chin. Sitting up, she clutched the coverlet to her chin. He was awake, watching over her—and, she noticed with an uncomfortable skip of her heart, wearing naught but a length of red woolen fabric belted around his waist.
She scooted away from him a few inches, looking around in confusion. They were in a small chamber—nay, more like a cave, with rough stone walls, a dirt floor, and not a stick of furnishings. She could hear rain falling, the crack of lightning and thunder competing with the roar of the flames in the fireplace. She remembered arguing with him in the rain, feeling dizzy, falling…
“What is this place?” She looked at Darach suspiciously. “Where are we?”
“In Scotland.” His voice was quiet, gentle. “In a hiding place—one that our band of Scottish patriots has used in the past. We will be safe here. Do you feel all right?”
Laurien realized that the room was not spinning and her head felt clear. She also could not help noticing the way the glow of the firelight outlined the muscles and planes of Darach’s chest and arms, the flames burnishing his skin to the color of amber.
“I am well enough,” she said coolly, glancing away.
“Laurien, I have had time to think—”
“How very nice for you.” She tried to move further away from him, but found it difficult to do that while also holding the blankets around her.
“I should never have accused you of… I know you would not give yourself to the Englishman. But when I saw you with him—”
“You made it quite clear how you felt. There is no need to explain.”
“What I am trying to say,” he began again, looking frustrated, “is that I regret… what happened. What I said to you.” He softened his tone. “Did the Englishman hurt you?”
“He did not rape me, if that is what you mean.” Laurien heard the concern in Darach’s voice, and tried not to let it play on her feelings—even as her gaze was drawn to his face, the bruises the guards had inflicted, the cut beneath the tangle of blond hair on his forehead. In spite of everything, she felt a need to reach out to him, to soothe his hurt.
But at the same time, the marks reminded her vividly of who Darach was: a warrior, swift to anger, slow to forgive, accustomed to a world of violence, comfortable with the hard edges of life.
He cleared his throat. “I wish I could take back what I said.” He looked away. “I behaved like a thoin aiseal.”
“What does that mean?”
“A donkey’s arse.”
She glanced down at the furs, found herself fighting a smile. “And how do you pronounce that? I somehow suspect I may have need of that phrase again.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “Thoin aiseal,” he said again, slowly.
He reached out to her, his hand gentle against her cheek, his thumb tracing lightly along the curve of her lips. Laurien held her breath, trying to ignore her heart’s wild beating.
He touched her with such exquisite care, as if afraid she might break. His tenderness filled her with a sweet ache, a longing to let go of her defenses.
“My gentle lady,” he asked softly, “can you grant me your forgiveness?”
She understood, somehow, that he was speaking not only of what had happened between them today, but all the rest—her abduction, taking her from France, everything she had endured.
“Darach, you can sometimes be harsh beyond bearing,” she said honestly, her voice unsteady, “yet at times you are gentle beyond measure. And you are so strong, and protective of those who need you, and you make me burn with a fire I cannot begin to understand…” She reached up to cover his hand with hers. “And if I were the sort of woman to dream of tomorrows, in the way that other maidens dream, I might well wish for one such as you. But I do not… I have never wanted…”
The silence between them stretched out, taut with unspoken words.
His fingers threaded into her hair. “What is it you want, milady?”
When she finally managed a reply, it sounded less like a cry of defiance than a plea of surrender. “My freedom. I want… to go home, to Tours.”
He dropped his hand to the furs, a sound escaping him that was half pain, half frustration. “You ask the one thing I cannot grant you.”
The image of Darach wavered, and Laurien realized her eyes were brimming with tears she could not explain.
His tone became harsh. “I wish I had never made you a part of this. We tried every possible means to gain our alliance with France. Taking you hostage was the only… but now—”
“Now I am still a pawn in your game of kings.”
“Camhanach…” His voice broke. “Now you matter to me. More than any woman ever has.”
She gasped, startled into silence, the blanket still clutched against her. In her heart, she knew just how much it had cost him to say that to her.
Looking into his eyes, she tried to remember all the reasons she should be angry with him, to be as defiant as she had been that day in Chartres, when a dangerous-looking brigand swept her from her horse.
But she failed miserably.
Because somewhere between the forests of Chartres and a rustic sanctuary in Scotland, she had come to care for him.
Her every instinct urged her to run—from the emotions that threatened to steal away her reason and make her say aloud everything she dared not say.
She pushed herself to her feet and sprinted for the door.
But she barely touched the latch before he was there, behind her, one arm on either side of her. He lifted one hand and placed it lightly on the nape of her neck.
“Nay, Laurien, do not run from me.” His voice was strained. “Stay… please.”
Laurien closed her eyes, warmth melting through her. She knew that “please” was not a word that often found its way to Darach’s lips. He bent to rest his cheek against hers, but made no other move. His every muscle was rigid, nearly trembling. She felt surrounded by his strength, overwhelmed by the emotions that flooded her heart.
She lost her hold on the blanket, and it slid down her body until it pooled on the floor.
Vibrantly aware of the heat of his body, she stared at the door, trying very hard to concentrate on the solid wood before her rather than the solid muscle at her back. His skin, warmed by the fire, seared her everywhere he touched. The scratchiness of his beard sent tantalizing chills down her spine. The soft mat of hair on his chest tickled the bare skin of her shoulders.
Laurien shivered, fighting a powerful urge to simply lean back and let Darach’s arms close around her. The clean scent of rain clung to his skin, and when he spoke, his voice was a trembling whisper, warm and moist against her neck.
“You have every right to hate me for what I have done—”
“Nay,�
� she said softly, failing utterly to cling to her defiance. “You set out upon this mission to win your people’s freedom, the right to decide your own destiny.” She closed her eyes, feeling the last of her defenses tumbling. “You want the same things I want. How can I hate you for that? But in order for your people to have their freedom, I must lose mine.”
He slid his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, intertwining his fingers with hers. “If I could find a way to grant you what you wish—”
“Darach, please, do not speak of what we both know is impossible.” She gave in to herself at last and leaned back against him. “I do not want to think about it anymore. Not tonight.”
His free arm slipped around her waist, and he held her tightly. He started to speak again, but Laurien turned in his arms and placed a finger on his lips.
“Nay, say no more to me, my Scotsman,” she asked softly. “If only for these few hours, let us pretend that destiny is ours to decide.”
Her eyes closed and he kissed her, melding her body to his in an embrace that bespoke all the restlessness and wanting and desire that burned in him. As he deepened the kiss, she found a passion deep within her that echoed his, her lips parting, her tongue meeting every slow, sensual stroke.
When Darach broke the kiss at last, Laurien opened her eyes, sensing his uncertainty. She answered the question in his midnight blue gaze with a single word, the only word in her heart.
“Aye,” she whispered.
He groaned and she suddenly found herself lifted into his arms and carried back to the fire. The storm in the darkness beyond their sanctuary could not match the storm set free between them.
Darach lowered her down to the furs and pulled away for only a moment, unfastening the belt at his waist and casting aside the length of woolen fabric he wore.
And then he was there, above her, over her, kissing her. Laurien wrapped her arms around him to pull him closer. God’s mercy, how she wanted this man, needed him… loved him.
The thought flitted into her mind like a bright-winged butterfly. She gazed up at Darach, the intensity of his expression, the startling blue of his eyes.
His Stolen Bride (Stolen Brides Series Book 0) Page 19
