A Laird's Promise (Highland Heartbeats Book 1)

by Aileen Adams

  Her common sense struggled against her physical awareness. He was the enemy! He was her captor! He wasn't letting her return home! And yet, in the furthest recesses of her mind, repeating it over and over, she realized that this was the first place, the first time, that she ever felt truly safe.

  A soft mewling sound escaped from the nether regions of her throat. The sound captured her confusion. Her dilemma.

  Phillip slightly lifted his head.

  “Are you all right?”

  The deep timbre of his voice caused a shiver to race up her spine. She watched the slow smile, his parted lips, and the edges of his white teeth that transformed his features. She felt a trail of heat as his lingering touch stroked her arm on the pretext of helping her up. Her mouth grew moist, and she felt her entire body flood with warmth.

  Aware of her own pounding heartbeat. She felt lightheaded. Every nerve ending in her body stirred and tingled. To her abject embarrassment and shock, her body craved his touch.

  The thought jolted her back to awareness. The tingling in her stomach increased, and her brain tried to find logic in her body's reaction to this man; this man she should hate with every ounce of strength she had. She swallowed and mentally distanced herself.

  “I'm fine,” she said, striving for calm. “You can let me back up now.”

  In a matter of moments, she stood in front of him, his hands still grasping her upper arms until she maintained her balance. She tried to step back, to lean away, but he was compelling. She tried to control her body, a subconscious effort to protect herself from the undeniable attraction. Her mouth felt dry, and her stomach turned into a hard knot of tension. Desperate to defuse the situation, she spoke.

  “I.…” then nothing. She tried again and turned to step toward the door, this time carefully lifting her skirt and kirtle. “Goodnight.”

  With stiff back and squared shoulders, she lifted her chin slightly into the air. The epitome of decorum, of self-control, of injured pride regained. She walked to the door, not sure she could manage a calm expression on her face.

  As she prepared to pass through the half-open doorway, he spoke.

  “You better get some sleep, Sarah. I'll have someone fetch you at first light to venture into the woods and get what you need.”

  She nodded and stepped over the threshold.

  He spoke again.

  “If I were you, I wouldn't try to escape. You'd never make it back to Kirkcaldy by yourself. Between the outlaws, the wild animals, and the fact that you don't know the way, your chances of survival are quite slim.”

  She froze, closed her eyes and cringed. If he didn't know for certain, he at least suspected. She said nothing, but continued through the doorway, closing the door softly behind her.

  She cursed herself for all kinds of a fool as she hastened her way back to her chamber, closed and latched the door, then leaned against it. Her knees felt weak and wobbly, her heart still racing, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

  She wasn't entirely sure that her emotional reaction was caused by his gentle warning or by her body’s reaction—no, betrayal—to his utterly masculine physique.

  * * *

  The sound of a sharp knock on her door jolted Sarah upright. At first, she didn't know where she was. This wasn’t her room —no, she wasn't home. She was up in the Highlands at the Duncan Manor, kidnapped to take care of his wounded brother.

  She had fallen asleep on top of the bed, a deep, dreamless sleep. Exhaustion had taken its toll.

  She blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as the door opened and Phillip’s form filled the entrance.

  While the first words out of her mouth should have been words of accusation, a demand to release her, or to curse his black soul, what actually came out was quite the opposite.

  “How's Jake?”

  Her question appeared to startle him as well, given his raised eyebrow.

  “Holding on. Agnes and Maccay will accompany you to the forest to gather what you need.” He looked at her for several moments as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Do not try to escape, Sarah. You will not succeed. I was not lying last night about the dangers of attempting to do so.”

  Despite his dire warning, her body tingled with odd sensations as she eyed him.

  He looked refreshed, his cheeks freshly shaved, his hair damp, one brown lock dangling over his forehead, tempting her fingers to reach out and flip it back.

  She felt a warm flush of heat in her cheeks and glanced down, pretending to brush the wrinkles out of her kirtle. Shame on her! She should hate him. She should be shouting vile epitaphs in his direction. How could she be thinking such thoughts of her captor? What was wrong with her?

  She carefully schooled her expression as she lifted her chin. “I want to remind you of your promise to return me home.”

  “Tell me where you got those bruises and scars,” he replied softly.

  She shook her head. “That is not your concern. I must return home as quickly as possible.”

  “Why?”

  The question stunned her. “Why?” She stood and scowled as she placed her hands on her hips. “Why?” How could he possibly ask such a question? “For one, because I don't want to be here. I don’t belong here. For two, this is not my home. For three, I need to get back to—”

  She bit her lip and stopped herself just in time. She didn't need to give him anything more that he could use as leverage to hold over her head.

  “To get back to what?”

  “Never mind. As I said, it is not your concern.”

  He said nothing for several moments, but stood unmoving in the doorway, watching her. “Remember what I said.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  She heard his footsteps move down the hallway, but not toward Jake's chamber. In the other direction, toward the stairs.

  Before his footsteps faded away, she heard another set of footsteps.

  Whispered words.

  Moments later Agnes appeared in the doorway carrying two wicker baskets.

  “Will these be enough for your needs?”

  Sarah nodded toward the older woman. She would not take out her anger or frustration on her. She was just doing her laird’s bidding.

  “They will suffice. I'm not sure what I'll be able to find, but we will see, won't we?”

  She followed Agnes down the short hallway to the stairs. Ten steps down into a great room. For the first time, Sarah got a better look at it. It was designed much like the laird’s manor back in Kirkcaldy. A large fireplace at one end, a doorway nearby, probably leading to the kitchen area. In front of the fireplace, a table that could seat perhaps eight or ten people. Between the table and the front door of the manor stood a large, oblong chest. Weapons?

  The main room was not as large as the laird's home back in Kirkcaldy, but similarly decorated; tapestries hanging from the walls, a myriad of weapons, both new and those that look antique mounted on the walls. A stack of firewood that rose to nearly halfway up the wall, obviously in preparation for another long, cold winter.

  As Sarah followed Agnes out of the manor, she hoped and prayed that she would be back home well before the snow fell. Heather must be worried sick about her. The thought brought a glaze of warm tears to her eyes. Not only would Heather be worried, frantic over her disappearance, but she was afraid that her stepfather would quickly find a substitute for his brutality.

  They entered the yard in front of the manor house.

  Sarah saw one of the men who had accompanied Phillip down to the coast kidnap her.

  The smaller one. Maccay.

  He glanced at her and grinned.

  She scowled at him. How dare he act as if nothing untoward had happened? He’d kidnapped her!

  He cocked his head in her direction, assessing her she supposed, and then shrugged before he gestured toward the woods in the distance.

  “I have orders to escort you two ladies…. and good morning, Agnes,” he smiled and offered an exaggerated bow toward
the older woman.

  Agnes smiled in return but didn't speak.

  “Off we venture into yonder woods, but first, Sarah, and you may find some items in the meadow just off to the south there that might also prove beneficial for your needs.”

  Sarah stared at the man, wondering at his manner. He spoke formally, as if she were a guest. Almost deferentially. He hadn't been so deferential when he was kidnapping her.

  Why now?

  She said nothing but followed Agnes and Maccay from the yard and down a path that wound its way around the pond and toward the meadow and the trees beyond.

  “How's Jake?” Maccay asked, turning to glance at her over his shoulder.

  “Not good.”

  She could tell that he wanted more information, but she was afraid of saying too much. She didn't know whom to trust. Things could change. Instead of a comfortable bedchamber, she could find herself locked in a prison cell down in the dungeon as Ceana had warned.

  When Phillip grew tired and impatient waiting for her to help his brother, then he would strike out at her instead.

  Her thoughts drifted back to Heather, but she tried to push thoughts of her younger sister out of her mind. She had to. The more she worried, the more anxious she became, the less she would be able to focus on the task in front of her. And that task was the one that would guarantee her freedom. Or at least she hoped it would.

  If Laird Phillip Duncan kept his promise. In case he didn't, she had to start making a plan to escape. Maybe pretend to be acquiescent and amenable. Keep them off guard. The moment the opportunity presented itself, she would escape.

  Like she had last night?

  Instead of quickly heading down the hallway and out the door, and into the very woods they approached, she had instead turned toward Jake's door. To check on him.

  Why?

  And then to find Phillip standing half-naked in the room?

  Just the memory of his appearance sent another warm flush through her body.

  She stumbled, muttering under her breath as she caught her balance.

  Both Agnes and Maccay turned to look at her.

  Once again, she scowled in return.

  12

  Phillip returned to Jake's chamber, frowning in deep thought, his mind racing. While he could understand Sarah’s desire to return home, he was getting an impression that something more than that compelled her.

  An awful opinion struck him. She had a child? A cold chill raced down his spine. Had he taken a mother from her child? He had not been told of any husband, nor child, nor elderly parent or grandparents that would require her care. He had asked. He had not been greatly enthusiastic about the idea of traipsing down to the coast to kidnap a healer in the first place, but desperation had driven him to it.

  Had he made a mistake? Had he separated a mother from her child? She was old enough to bear children. Her full figure, her features, certainly attractive enough to… he pushed such thoughts away from her quite admirable characteristics and focused on her body.

  The bruises and the scars he had seen. Who had done that to her? It made his blood boil. A brutish husband? The thought of any man striking a woman… of course, he knew it was common, but not in his manor, not among any of his clan, nor the villagers nearby. He dealt harshly with any man who abused his power and sovereignty over any woman. Even his female servants were protected by his decree.

  He returned to his brother's bedside and sat down just before Millicent, one of Agnes's daughters, entered the room bearing a clean nightshirt and linens.

  He glanced at her in question.

  She dipped him a slight curtsy.

  “Good morning to you, Laird Duncan,” she said. “My mother, through the healer, told me to bring these things for Jake…to wash him, to change his bedding and his nightshirt.”

  “Again?” Phillip asked. “Why?”

  The young woman shrugged.

  Barely fifteen years of age, she was the spitting image of her mother in her younger years.

  Phillip had known Agnes first as his nursemaid, then his governess of sorts, and then as one of his most loyal and dedicated servants. He didn't even think of her as a servant anymore, but family.

  “All my mother told me was that the healer woman… I can't remember her name—”

  “Sarah.”

  “Yes, Sarah. She said it was important to keep Jake comfortable, dry, and clean. She, Sarah, and Maccay left the manor just a few minutes ago and headed for the woods to gather herbs or something.”

  Phillip saw the blush on the young girl’s cheeks. She was sweet on Maccay.

  He nodded and then stood, gesturing for the nightshirt and linens. He took them from the young servant's hands, placed them at the foot of the bed, and then peeled the coverlet and sheet down from Jake's still form.

  Jake seemed to be resting peacefully, his face no longer twisted in pain as it had been when they arrived the night before.

  Still, he hoped that Sarah would find just the right combination of herbs or whatever she did that would help to bring his brother back to him.

  He looked at Millicent.

  “I’ll lift Jake from the bed. You must quickly strip the linens off the bed and replace them. Understood? You must move quickly.”

  The girl nodded, watching, ready to move to instant Phillip lifted Jake into his arms.

  Jake uttered a soft moan as he did so but otherwise remained still. The moment Phillip lifted his brother from the bed, Millicent pulled the coverlet completely off the bed, dropping it to the floor. She yanked at the linens, quickly pulled them off as well, and then efficiently replaced them with the clean sheet.

  The task was completed in less than thirty seconds. He was impressed.

  “You did a fine job, Millicent. Thank you. While I don't particularly care to move Jake about too much, it seems that our new healer has a penchant for cleanliness, doesn't she?” Without waiting for her to answer, he continued. “Now turn around, just for a moment. I want to remove Jake's nightshirt. When I ask, you hand me the nightshirt.”

  As he had done only hours before, Phillip pulled Jake into a half-sitting position, enough to pull the nightshirt from his body. He snapped his fingers at Millicent. “Hand me the clean nightshirt.” She did, and he quickly managed to get Jake covered enough so that Millicent could help him with the rest. He was getting good at this.

  “That's good, Millicent, now you can finish with the bed.”

  Millicent nodded as she turned around, unfolded another large square linen sheet and placed it over Jake and tucking it up close to his shoulders. She repeated the process with the bed cover, and then turned to the fireplace. The embers glowed.

  She turned to Phillip.

  “Laird Duncan, I was also instructed to open the windows for a few minutes and make sure the fire was going so Jake doesn't get chilled.”

  It seemed to Phillip that she was making a statement rather than asking a question, but she waited for his approval.

  He nodded.

  He didn't understand the rationale behind Sarah’s instructions, but at this point, he wasn't going to question them. His brother was clean, lying on clean bedding and in a clean nightshirt once again. The room didn't smell bad, but opening the window might help to invigorate the air.

  Millicent moved to open the window, and then stepped to the small fireplace. She bent to add a few pieces of wood to the fire, which was soon blazing and popping.

  Phillip looked down at his brother.

  Jake breathed slowly, but deeply. His skin still felt hot to the touch, but not quite as bad as the night before.

  Phillip was tempted to take a look at the wound but didn't dare touch the bandage that Sarah had placed over it.

  He had to trust her, but such trust went against every one of his tendencies. Still, he had to rely on her knowledge and skill to help his brother. He himself was powerless and could do nothing for his brother but watch.

  The thought frustrated him no little amount,
but he strove for patience.

  * * *

  One hour passed, and then two.

  Despite his effort to be patient, Phillip paced inside Jake's bedchamber for what seemed like half a day before he left the room, found Millicent, and told her to sit with his brother.

  He strode downstairs to clear his head. Servants were busy performing their tasks. He saw the wary glances they sent his way. He realized he was scowling and tried to rein in his impatience.

  Phillip walked outside and peered into the distance.

  No sign of Sarah, Agnes, or Maccay on the path that meandered around the pond, nor in the meadow beyond. Beyond that, the tree line.

  Where could they be? Why is it taking so long to gather a few herbs?

  All she had to do was pull up a flower or two, maybe grab some tree bark… what was so complicated about that?

  He shook his head, knowing he was being foolish. The medicine arts were extremely complex. He had always respected healers for their knowledge. While he could identify an impressive number of flowers, trees, and bush species in the Highlands, he had no idea how to transform them into medicines, poultices, or tinctures.

  At the same time, he felt that if much more time passed, nothing anyone could do would save his brother. It was that very thought that increased his agitation and impatience.

  After another hour had passed, he headed for the stables, thinking to saddle his mount and go looking for them, but just then he saw movement from the tree line.

  He paused, watched a moment and nearly sighed with relief when he saw three figures emerge from the trees and head toward the meadow.

  His relief was palpable. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the early morning sun and exhaled deeply. Startled by his jumbled thoughts and his overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude, he watched as Maccay, Agnes, and Sarah slowly approached.

  Agnes and Sarah each carried a basket.

  He could only pray that Sarah had found what she needed to help his brother.

  As they approached, he nodded at Maccay, who grinned and immediately moved off toward the stable.

  Agnes walked beside Sarah, a pleased expression on her face.