by Aileen Adams
Then, he turned left and walked straight to the patch of wall she’d described, the last bit they had yet to repair. He was not a cruel man, after all, and the lass was correct about it being no fault of the mare’s.
They’d come early enough in the evening for him to get a few hours sleep, at least. He supposed that was one positive thing to be taken from the ordeal.
It would be good to see Rufus’s satisfaction once he knew the thieves were caught. They all needed a bit of good fortune.
Including the pair in the barn, whose fortune had run out.
6
What was she going to do?
No matter how she turned the matter over in her mind, and she did so for hours, until the first rays of sunlight appeared through window holes in the barn’s walls and tiny holes in the thatched roof—there was no making sense of it. No way to win.
Was this truly the ending she was meant to come to? After everything she’d endured? It had all been leading to this embarrassing, uncomfortable situation?
With Liam, no less. What an example she’d set for him. What a life she had helped make for him.
And she had, let there be no doubt. She was guilty of destroying his life.
If she’d held a barbed flogger in her hands and whipped her own back until the skin hung down in strips and blood poured forth, it would be no match for the way she punished herself in her mind. Liam’s life was over, or as good as. He would always be a thief, always branded as one who’d ventured onto another’s land that he might steal what was not his.
It was her fault. He would never have a chance. He’d be branded. Untrusted. Mistreated in ways that would make his years as Malcolm Stuart’s ward seem like a happy dream in comparison.
Because of her. Because she had allowed this to happen. Too stupid and slow-witted to take note of that terrible man’s presence. They might have escaped him, otherwise.
That man! She grimaced at the merest thought of him. How he’d already tossed Liam around as though he were nothing. He had certainly not been gentle with her, grabbing at her wrist, knocking her to her knees. He’d bound her hands tight enough that she’d lost feeling in them long since.
If only she could embrace poor Liam. He slept fitfully with his head on her legs, the hair on the nape of his neck curling with perspiration. The poor, wee lad. She had done him a grave injustice. Would that she had ventured out to do something, anything other than remaining with the Stuarts.
She ought to have broken ties with Malcolm the moment she was of age to secure a position someplace.
Now? Now there was nothing for either of them to do but await their punishment. No one would come to their rescue, that much was for certain. Who would wish to align themselves with a pair of reivers?
Not Malcolm. Least of all Malcolm. Hence his remaining behind, at home, while others did the work of stealing for him. He could pretend to have no knowledge of them should they fail.
The coward.
But then again, so was she. Remaining with him when she ought to have fought and scrapped and never given up until Liam had a safe, nurturing home in which to come of age. Imagine! Following her through the darkness, proud of himself for having tracked her undetected. Proud of what it meant for his prospects as a thief.
Always wanting to prove himself worthy.
Liam shifted, letting out a soft moan, the back of his head burrowing into her abdomen now and serving as a painful reminder of nature’s call. When would their captor come for them? If she had to wait much longer, there was no guarantee she would be able to hold back.
Only the thought of her captor’s sneering face helped her maintain composure. He would sneer at her in disgust if she soiled herself and likely shame her for it, just as he’d tried to shame her upon capture. Did he believe they did this for amusement? As if there were not better things for one to do at midnight than roam the Highlands in search of cattle to steal.
For a moment, only the briefest one, she considered explaining the situation to him. That they’d been at the behest of their uncle, how terrible he was when disobeyed, how he used Liam’s safety as a way to force Anne to do his bidding.
What good would it do? He would never believe her, for one. He knew, because she’d all but announced it, that she’d been there before. This was not a chance encounter, no first-time attempt at stealing from the farm. A farm he and his hands had worked hard to improve—even she could see and appreciate that, no matter if she hated the man himself.
Footsteps. She sat up a bit straighter, though she did not wish to disturb Liam yet. He needed his rest, fitful though it was, and she would not deprive him of it.
A somewhat familiar face appeared moments later, and she made certain to hold his gaze with her head high. He would not break her will. He could not.
She could not allow it.
“Did ye sleep well?” To his credit, he whispered, glancing at Liam as he did.
“Wonderfully well,” she lied, having not once closed her eyes.
He merely snickered before bending down to leave something on the floor, then straightening to lift the wooden bolt from in front of the door.
“As did I,” he replied.
The dark circles beneath his dark eyes told a different tale, though she chose to pretend she did not notice.
Best to choose one’s battles wisely at such times, and while she enjoyed the notion of torturing him a bit she did not enjoy the thought of him returning the favor—especially when it could be Liam upon whom he took out his ire.
When he entered the stall, she saw what he’d left outside, a pail full of steaming porridge, on top of which was a wrapped slab of brown bread.
“I suspect ye have to…” He cleared his throat, nodding toward one of the windows in the wall.
She decided to feign ignorance. “What’s that, now? I have to what?”
Was it her imagination, or did he go slightly red? “Ye know what I mean, lass. Do ye have to relieve yourself?”
It was either continue to feign ignorance and risk him denying her the chance, or admit she knew just what he meant. “I do. I would imagine he does, as well.”
The man bent, coming too near her for her comfort. She flinched away, leaning as far from him as she could without toppling over to the side. “Calm yourself,” he growled, hands on Liam’s shoulders as he lifted her brother from her lap and onto his other side, where he continued to sleep. “I merely wanted to move him so ye might stand.”
She was angry with herself for reacting in fear. He must not see her fear. “Ye shall have to help me,” she retorted. “I cannot stand without use of my hands in getting up, and my arms and legs are cramped and numb.”
The man swore under his breath, a string of colorful words—some of which Anne had never heard before, but this didn’t mean she mistook them for another other than their intended purpose. “Ye might watch your language, as well,” she hissed, looking to Liam.
“Och, my mistake.” The man’s hands were rough and unforgiving as he hauled her to her feet by gripping beneath her arms. “I forgot to be on my best behavior before a pair of thieves.”
She would have rewarded him with a tart remark, only her legs wobbled so. Once they were strong enough to support her, they began aching with horrible pricks all up and down their length. She hissed in discomfort, gasping when the prickling sensation turned painful.
The man sighed, sounding as though he carried the entire world upon his tight shoulders. “’Tis the blood coming back into them. The pain will not last long.”
She merely rolled her eyes as though this was not a concern at all, even as she took each step in utter agony. Only the threat of making herself look like a fool kept her upright, kept her moving forward.
“I shall need the use of my hands,” she smirked once they reached a bushy area behind the barn. “Unless ye would like to assist me and lose your own hands in the process.”
“Wretched woman,” he uttered as he worked at the ropes. “I catch
ye stealing from me, and ye have the nerve…”
She bit back a smile. It felt good, getting just a small bit of her own back in the midst of this humiliation.
Lifting her skirts and crouching once he gave her a bit of privacy was even better. She could think more clearly now that she was not so distracted by the discomfort in her belly.
“Anne!” Liam’s voice rang out from inside the barn. “Anne! Where are ye?”
“For the love of all that’s holy.” The man grabbed her arm and dragged her back inside—good thing she had already finished.
“What is it?” she asked, truly perplexed.
The way her captor looked about, as if—
Her eyes widened. As if no one but he knew they were there. Could it be? Was this not his farm? Or was he merely a hand called upon to watch for thieves in the night?
One would think he’d dash to his master straightaway if that were the case.
“She is here.” The man shoved her back into the stall, leaving her hands free. Her arms ached horribly, the way her legs did, but that pain had already begun to subside.
Liam’s face was tear-stained. “I woke and ye were gone,” he spat out, both angry and ashamed at having wept.
“’Tis all right.” She was finally able to wrap him in a loving embrace and stroke his hair before wiping the dampness from his cheeks. “I am well. All is well.”
“All?” he whispered, eyes moving back and forth.
“Perhaps not all,” she admitted. “But it will be.”
“Enough of yer whispering.” The man jerked Liam to his feet. “Come on. The same for ye. A moment of privacy outside.”
Liam looked utterly terrified, and Anne’s reassuring smile did little to help. The door was bolted firmly before they left her on her own with nothing but cattle to keep her company in the other stalls. Now that she’d been outside for a minute or two, their stench hit her nose as if for the first time.
Though she’d smelled worse at Malcolm’s, especially after an evening of revelry.
Able to walk, she did so, pacing the entire stall while shaking life back into her arms. She had to be sharp, quick, aware.
She had to find a way to get out of there with Liam in tow. If they could get back to the wall and into the woods, he could show her how he’d managed to follow her through them. Avoiding the roads would mean avoiding capture.
Though she did shudder to think of abandoning Maebe, when given the choice of the mare or her brother, there was, in fact, no choice to be made.
Liam returned, and it did her heart good to see him appear less frightened and more like his normal, spirited self. He even pulled out of the man’s grasp once they reached the stall, going straight to her and standing with his body between her and the stranger.
The man’s mouth quirked in a suppressed smile. She had the feeling he found Liam amusing. She did not dare hope this would work in their favor, but it was worth remembering.
“Eat,” the man grunted, gesturing to the pail and settling himself in one corner, arms folded. He intended to watch them, then. He intended to take them straight away afterward.
She eyed him, suspicious. “Why bother feeding us if—"
“I can take it away,” he warned, his voice like the cracking of a whip.
Liam looked up at her, a silent plea in his eyes.
“Of course,” she replied to his unspoken question. “Eat your fill and then some.” It was a gratifying sight, her brother tucking into the steaming porridge. Even something so simple did her heart good.
She happened to glance upward at the man, who watched them with great interest. When she made no move to join Liam, his brows lifted. Red, verging on gold, like the unruly hair which covered his head.
She mimicked his expression, silent.
“Will ye not eat?” he asked.
“Nay, thank ye,” she added. “I am not hungry.”
He scowled, his dark eyes narrowing. “Nay? Is this your way of protesting, lass?”
She glared at him, then glanced at Liam before returning her gaze to his. Her brother ate like one who’d been starved. He needed it more than she.
The man’s expression softened. He seemed to study her with renewed interested. She tipped her head to the side, challenging him. What was so interesting all of a sudden?
“Are ye having any?” Liam asked around a mouthful of porridge which he’d scooped from the pail with a crust of bread.
“Nay, dear. Eat up.” She folded her arms, again mimicking the man standing opposite her, waiting to hear his thoughts on this. Wondering who he was if not the owner of the farm. MacIntosh, though she did not know the first name.
If he was not the owner, might she be able to play upon his sympathy to earn their escape? The owner might not even know they existed, or, in fact, that he’d brought food to them and had so far kept them concealed confirmed as much.
Perhaps she was imagining things. Perhaps she wished to believe what she wished to believe.
But it gave her reason to hope, especially when paired with the touch of softness in the man’s gaze when he looked upon Liam.
Things might not be over for them just yet.
7
Just what was he supposed to do with them?
The lass could rot away in prison for all he was concerned. The gall of her! Walking about with her nose in the air, as though she were in control of this situation. As if he was the thief and she the near-victim.
Nay, the past victim! For she had already stolen from them, and on more than one occasion. Yet to hear her speak, she was the one who’d been wronged.
Yes, she could die in prison, and he would be glad to hear of it. At least, this was his feeling on the matter whenever she sneered at him or fixed him with one of her cool stares.
It was the lad who concerned him. Anyone with eyes could clearly see he would be no match for a prison, where those within were prone to die of illness long before their sentence could be carried out. Pits of disease, they were, and filthy on top of that. Not to mention the fact that he’d never get enough to eat there.
It was clear he hadn’t been the one doing the reiving. In fact, from what Drew had spied while crouched in the dark corner of the barn, it had seemed as though the lad hadn’t the first notion of how to conduct himself in such a situation. It had been the lass telling him what to do.
He did not deserve to be charged with a crime, yet he would hardly accept the announcement that his sister would be handed over to the law. He would fight and claw and perhaps even bite anyone who attempted to hold him back.
Drew knew this because he would have done the same in the lad’s shoes, and the two of them were a great deal alike. He saw much of his younger self in Liam—the slight build, the scrapper’s instincts. How bravely he had fought, or tried to fight, for his sister.
He thought he might quite like the lad under different circumstances.
For his sake, Drew was not overly fond of the notion of turning them in. He’d been all but bursting at the seams with anticipation upon entering the house once the mare had been secured in the stables, but once he’d checked upon the twins—sleeping peacefully, and thank God for that—he’d gotten to thinking.
What would have become of them had he not been living on his cousin’s land? What if he’d taken to the Highlands once again, riding back and forth, starting brawls and selling his talents with his fists to the highest bidder? Where would they have gone?
Moreover, what had happened to Liam—and Anne, he supposed—that led them to their current situation? Children did not take to theft unless they had a strong reason for it. Poverty, homelessness, lack of a family.
The lad was terribly small, thin, with eyes too large and too wise for his young face.
And Anne was all too willing now to give him her share of the food, though she must have been hungry. The lass was thinner than she ought to be, her bony wrists protruding from the billowing, belted tunic she wore over a striped skirt. Her cheeks
were a bit too hollow, her jaw a bit too sharp. A fortnight’s worth of hot food would do her a great deal of good.
Not that it was any of his concern.
Still, what had led them to the barn that night? What brought her there all the times before? Or whom?
Until he knew the answers to these questions, he could not in good conscience report them. Yet he could not allow Rufus to know of their presence, either, for Rufus might not take such a generous attitude.
He’d want to see them punished for what they’d done, or tried to do. He had already been through hell and back to reclaim the land stolen from his murdered parents, and then had been to hell again in the restoring of the place to its former state.
It would matter little to him, if at all, just why the reiver did as she did.
“Well?” Anne prompted, still standing there with arms crossed.
“Well, what?”
“Ye ought to be the ones telling us. What do ye plan to do now? Ye have us here, and there isn’t anything we can do about it. Ye have control. What do ye intend to do with it?”
He ought to have known she would not be one to beg or weep or plead for mercy. She would rather push him to the limits of his patience. “Do ye not know, lass, that ‘tis better to play meek and mild in a situation such as this?”
“I canna say I’ve ever found myself in this situation,” she snorted.
“Nor have I. The pleasure of catching thieves and meting punishment is nearly more than I can describe.”
“Punishment?” Liam turned a strange shade of grey at the word.
Drew’s heart twisted a bit but knew it was for the best that he continue. “Aye, lad. Surely ye didna believe ye would be allowed to go free after what you’ve done? Do ye believe the magistrate will shake a finger in your face and warn ye never to engage in such foolishness again? Perhaps take away your sweets or send ye to bed without supper?”
“Enough of that,” Anne spat, looping a protective arm about Liam’s shoulders.
An arm which, to Drew’s surprise and growing respect, the lad shrugged off.
