A Laird's Promise (Highland Heartbeats Book 1)

by Aileen Adams

  He didn't finish the sentence, but she knew what he implied.

  She felt the heat of a flush warm her cheeks. Fortunate that he couldn't see it in the darkness. With a stiff nod, she slowly got to her feet. He pointed.

  “Behind that bush. And shake the branches so I know where you are.”

  Annoyed, Sarah reluctantly agreed. Turning her back, she hobbled into the shadows. She felt humiliated, helpless, and desperation of her situation nearly took her breath away. She worried more for Heather, than she did herself. Maybe, just maybe she could wrest a promise out of her kidnapper. She knew she had no bargaining power. She had no say-so over what happened to her. So far, he didn't appear to be interested in her, other than her healing skills. But what would happen if she failed to heal a person in such dire need for such skills that he ventured so far from home to find help? He had guaranteed her no promise of safety, not personally anyway.

  Did she have the power to bargain? Her skills in exchange for her freedom?

  When she emerged from the darkness, Phillip stood, legs slightly spread, arms crossed over his chest, watching her. He gestured for her to sit down.

  Slowly and stiffly, she did, hiding a wince of pain as she did so. Not pain caused by Phillip’s manhandling her. Not the pain caused by stiffness from sitting on a horse for hours on end.

  It was pain from the last beating she had received from her stepfather the night before. A beating she had received for no particular reason. Patrick hadn’t liked the way she had looked at him? Perhaps the lamb stew she had made wasn't hot enough to suit him? After that, who knew? He'd been drunk, as usual. He was always careful not to hit her about the head or face. That might elicit questions, though Sarah had learned over the years that very few people in the village were willing, or even capable of confronting her stepfather, even if they did know that she and her sister often took the brunt of his abuse.

  Sarah and Heather were his property. They were his daughters. He could do as he pleased and there was nothing they could do about it.

  As Sarah leaned carefully against a rock, trying to get comfortable, she wondered if someday she and her sister might look forward to a life where they had at least some control over their own destinies. With a sigh, she told herself to quit being so foolish. She was not the master of her destiny and never would be. She closed her eyes, tried to still her fear, to endure what she had to endure to survive.

  She would see what tomorrow would bring. Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to gain a promise of her release if she succeeded in healing his loved one. She had determined that it had to be a loved one, be it a close friend, a parent, or a family member.

  No one went to this much trouble if they didn't care deeply about someone. The thought of Phillip Duncan caring deeply about someone enough to go to such lengths to help them made her feel a grudging and reluctant respect.

  She knew she shouldn't feel that way, and it confused her. He had kidnapped her. Plain and simple. He had taken something that didn't belong to him. It didn't matter whether his reasons were noble or not.

  He was a brute. An arrogant member of a distant clan in the Highlands, one that she knew nothing about.

  But one thing she did know. She would do everything in her power to return to Kirkcaldy. Not because she cared about the place or her stepfather, or the home she had grown up in. The decrepit shelter had long ago ceased to be her home.

  But her sister was there, and Sarah MacDonald was nothing, if not determined to provide protection and a sense of security to her younger sister.

  And she would do anything she had to do to keep her promise to do just that.

  4

  Phillip hovered just inside the tree line, deep in the shadows, watching the camp. He knew that despite their relaxed states, Hugh and Maccay lightly dozed.

  An untoward sound; the snap of a twig, the rustle of brush nearby, would bring them instantly to full wakefulness, alert with weapons in hand. Maccay, like Hugh, was not particularly happy to be in this region.

  Phillip stared at the sleeping Sarah, contemplating what it was about her that captivated him so. Her bravado and bluster? Her inclination to fight? That certainly wasn’t unnatural to anyone who had been kidnapped.

  In fact, such a response was expected, but in her case surprising. There were three of them, all experienced fighting men used to battle. Muscles honed by years of physical labor, fighting, and providing for the safety and sustenance of their clan.

  And she?

  She was a medicine woman, a healer. She barely came up to his chest, and yet she had not hesitated, not even a second, to fight him, nor to curtail her efforts to agitate Hugh’s horse earlier.

  Her actions screamed desperation, again to be expected, but he got the impression that her desperation stemmed from a deeper fear than even her present circumstances inspired. Of course, she was worried about her safety. Who wouldn't she be? After she had emerged from the bushes earlier and returned to her place near the rock, he had given her a choice.

  “If you give me your word that you will not try to escape, I will not truss you up like a wild boar.” He hadn't really expected her to promise not to try to escape.

  Even after she had grudgingly promised to stay put, he didn't believe it for a moment. He knew that the moment an opportunity presented itself, she would try to escape.

  Why hadn’t he just tied her up? He should have. Would have done so with any other captive, not that he had any experience kidnapping people. This was his first—and hopefully only—time stooping to such measures. Any attempt or successful attempt of escape would thwart his own plans, not to mention put her in even greater danger, but he hadn’t tied her up.

  “I'm warning you. If you try to escape, you'll find yourself in danger.” He pointed upward at the inky black sky. “There is no moon tonight, or very little of it. Not enough to light your way. You will get lost. There are bogs out there, wild boars, and wolves. Not to mention outlaws who would not hesitate to take advantage of a woman alone in the woods.”

  His words hadn’t made much of an impression on her.

  She stared defiantly up at him, but said nothing. Perhaps contemplating the truth of his words? She might be brash, but she was intelligent. She knew the dangers of anyone, let alone a woman running through the middle of the woods at night, without a weapon, no map to guide her way toward home.

  “We will not hurt you,” he said, crouching down in front of her, his eyes level with hers.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he lifted a hand.

  “If you have something to say, say it calmly and softly.” He glanced into the darkness with a shrug. “You never know what's out there, listening.”

  “Are you trying to scare me?” she hissed.

  “You're not scared?” he challenged.

  She didn't answer, but she didn't have to. The racing pulse in her neck told him that her emotions roiled. Perhaps she did fear what was in the darkness of the woods more than she feared him.

  He almost smiled. Almost.

  She was a formidable opponent, despite her gender. She certainly couldn't overpower him physically, but she was crafty. Characteristics that he admired. Despite the fact that she was his captive and she had a purpose to fulfill—for him—he felt a grudging respect for her. Or was it attraction?

  He scowled at the thought.

  She continued to watch him, eyes narrowed now. Trying to determine his thoughts? Did she see a softening in his gaze as he looked at her?

  His frown deepened.

  That would not do. While he had no intention of hurting her, it would serve his purposes if she feared him.

  “What do you want from me? I want to go home.”

  “You do as I ask and that's a possibility.”

  He saw the flare of fear in her eyes, the acceleration of the pulse throbbing in the vein in her neck.

  “Not a possibility,” she snapped. “A certainty. Do you give me your word?”

  “My word?” He
almost laughed at that. “I kidnapped you. I'm dragging you to who knows where and you’re asking for my word as a gentleman that I’ll keep any promises that I make, even that I won't hurt you?”

  She stiffened, her lips pressed together.

  Even in the darkness, he noted her face flush with anger.

  She was not difficult to rile, and that intrigued him. An emotional woman. Perhaps a passionate one. In any other circumstances, perhaps…

  “I may not even be able to do what it is you want me to do,” she said.

  It was obvious that every word she spoke was underscored with an effort not to shout the words at him.

  Such a temper!

  It must be taking a great deal of self-control for her not to raise her voice.

  “From what I have heard from others, you can.”

  She made a noise in her throat. “Are you certain you haven’t mistaken me for someone else?”

  He grinned. “I'm sure.” He stood, peering down at her for several moments. “Now go to sleep. We will be traveling hard and fast all day tomorrow.”

  With that, he turned and walked away from the campfire, disappearing into the darkness of the woods. He knew that Hugh and Maccay would hear if she bolted.

  He paused beside a large tree, his finger plucking at its rough bark. Had he done the right thing? Would she be able to help or had he run a fool’s errand that amounted to nothing more than a waste of time?

  He refused to contemplate that. It would be worth everything—if they were not too late.

  * * *

  Phillip woke into that half-asleep, half-awake state, not sure what it was that that disturbed his light slumber. He wasn't a heavy sleeper by any means. He opened his eyes and glanced to his right, saw Hugh and Maccay sleeping close by.

  The fire had died down to glowing red embers. On the other side of the fire, balanced against the rock…

  He bolted upright. “Hugh! Maccay!”

  His captive was gone!

  The two sat up, at once alert, if not confused. It only took them a second to notice that the girl was gone.

  “What, did she fly away from here? I didn't hear a sound!” Hugh remarked. He turned to Maccay. “You?”

  Maccay scowled as he turned to Hugh, his words dripping sarcasm. “Yes, Hugh, I heard her get up and run away. I figured we’d just ride after her in the morning. I rolled over and went back to sleep.”

  Phillip saw them glance at him, likely to ask the same question.

  “Don't say it,” he snapped, rising to his feet, a disgruntled frown tugging at his eyebrows.

  He knew what Hugh had been likely to ask and the answer infuriated him. He hadn't heard anything either. How had she managed that? He and his companions were skilled warriors, had spent much of their lives outdoors. The slightest sound usually woke them, as well it should since life and death were often at stake.

  And yet that little slip of a woman had managed to sneak away from the camp without stepping on a leaf? A twig? Not even the rustle of clothing, which, under some circumstances, was enough to wake Phillip from even an exhausted slumber.

  He cursed and turned to his companions, both staring at the place where they had last seen the woman, Hugh scratching his head, Maccay grinning like an idiot.

  “You want us to go after her?” Maccay asked, rubbing the whiskers on his cheek. “She can't have gone far.”

  Phillip shook his head.

  Was she daft? Didn’t she realize the dangers of being in the woods alone at night? After a glance up at the night sky, he noted the position of the stars. He doubted she’d gone far since they’d bedded down.

  What annoyed him was that she had managed to sneak away. If he didn’t know better, he might have believed she had fairy powers. If he didn’t better, he might have believed that she sprinkled something into their food or blown sleeping dust into their faces. Cast a spell on them. Something to explain how she had managed to escape from three experienced outdoorsmen—warriors—without them being any the wiser.

  He growled.

  “I'll be after her. One of you keep watch.” With a sigh, he turned toward the woods. “Looks like we'll be taking turns sleeping ‘til we get back to the castle.”

  With that, he turned and stepped toward the rock, looking for a track, his temper foul. Not only because she had, for the short term, bested him. That was an annoyance.

  Also, because he worried for her safety. He needed her. Jake needed her. He had underestimated her. He had gathered she was feisty. But foolhardy?

  No one wandered into the woods at night, even when the moon was full let alone a mere sliver. The terrain was rugged, riddled with crevasses and gullies that appeared out of nowhere. Peat bogs. Not to mention the wildlife, and his warnings of outlaws. He hadn't been lying about that.

  Muttering under his breath, he gazed carefully at the ground near the edge of the rock and found a partial footprint heading into the woods. He entered the tree line, stepping carefully, trying to stay away from branches or clumps of leaves that would give away his position.

  He doubted she could move quickly, at least until she ventured out of earshot of the camp. She couldn't have left that long ago.

  He had ventured maybe fifty yards or so into the trees when he emerged into a small clearing. Again, he gazed upward at the stars. No, their journey across the sky did not indicate the passage of hours. Maybe one. Two, at the most.

  He moved swiftly, though silently, walking twenty paces or so before he paused to listen. The rugged terrain dipped slightly downward. She would not head to higher ground, which took her away from the lowlands. He wasn't sure if she had managed to identify landmarks as they traveled earlier, but it was a possibility.

  He would not underestimate her again. Pausing for the third time, he scanned the landscape. Toward the southwest, in a break through the trees, he saw an outcropping of rocks. The moment he saw those rocks and recognized them, he knew that she probably seen them earlier, used them as a landmark as he had.

  She would be heading in that direction now.

  His anger growing, he headed in that direction, carefully stepping over tree roots, gently brushing aside branches. The night air felt damp and chilly. He inhaled the fresh scent of pine and the rich, distinctive loam of the soil. The further downslope he walked, the more deciduous the trees became. The Rowan mixed among the fir and yew, the spruce and birch and ash trees. He was forced to slow as more dry and brittle leaves scattered the ground.

  He heard something and paused.

  A noise in the near distance. The sharp snap of a twig, echoing dully in the still night.

  He tilted his head as if that could help him pinpoint her location. There, a bit further to the southwest.

  He quickened his pace. When he caught up with her, she was going to regret running off like this. Oh, he had no intention of beating her, but from now on, she would be tied despite any promises she might make that she wouldn’t try to escape again. He didn't blame her for trying. Actually, he would have been more surprised if she hadn't made an attempt.

  He continued on, swiftly passing through the forest, making little noise. How could she move so swiftly and quietly—and then he realized.

  She'd probably spent much of her time in the woods gathering herbs, digging for roots, collecting mushrooms and flowers, perhaps even tree bark and whatever else used in her healing recipes. She likely had been familiar with the woods since a young age.

  Idiot, he cursed himself.

  While she certainly wasn't skilled in battle, she would know how to move in the woods. She would have long ago learned the dangers of roaming the woods alone, easy prey for outlaws and animals alike.

  Despite his increased frustration and anger toward her at the moment, his respect for her also grew. He had definitely underestimated her. A mistake that would not be repeated.

  The next time he paused to listen, he heard a different sound.

  She moved faster now, believing she had put enough dista
nce from the camp. He felt certain of it. It wasn't the sound of a twig that alerted him to her direction this time, no. She was much closer. A muffled sound, like branches brushed aside. Not much, but enough to capture his attention. She wasn't the only one familiar with the woods.

  The next time he paused to listen, he thought he heard the sound of soft footfalls. Moving at a brisk pace, no longer trying to remain silent. She wasn’t crashing through the brush, but she had increased her pace. Running? No, but close to it.

  He followed the sound, picking up his own pace, but not too much. After traveling another short distance, weaving his way among the trees, avoiding branches, and still watching where he placed his feet, he paused again. What was that? A rustle of clothing against the underbrush? The sound of harsh breathing?

  He was close, so very close.

  Up ahead the trees thinned slightly. An open space beyond, perhaps a meadow, dimly lit by the carpet of stars and the sliver of a crescent moon overhead. He saw a shadow moving in front of the tree line, entering the meadow. Not running across the middle, but skirting the edge.

  Smart.

  He grinned.

  Cutting through the trees at an angle, he quickly made his way to the other side of the clearing, where he knew she would likely reenter the woods.

  He waited.

  She moved slowly, constantly glancing back over her shoulder in the direction from which she had come.

  In the wan light, he watched her shadow grow closer and larger. He could just make out her form.

  She trotted in his direction, her skirts lifted off the ground, held close to her body. She glanced over her shoulder again just before entering the tree line.

  And then it happened.

  She crashed into him with an abrupt oomph and nearly fell backward, uttering a startled cry.

  She squelched the noise and caught her balance, reaching out with one hand to grab for support—against his body. The moment she touched him, her palm flat against his chest, she realized her mistake.

  He lifted a hand to grab her, but she was faster.

  She quickly reversed direction and sped back across the clearing, feet flying and skirts lifted high, her braid bouncing against her back.