“Where do you go?” McGowan’s low brogue gave her pause. Would he keep close watch over her?
“To the kitchen.”
“Do you think to avoid me?”
“While I do not care for your presence, I work alongside my people—no matter the chore.” She tugged against his firm grasp.
“Do your work then, but don’t go far. We must speak about future plans.” He released her wrist.
Claire headed for the kitchen, her wrist tingling from his grip and her heart burning from his words. Future plans. There would be no future with him. Not if she could help it.
Chapter 5
The heavy wooden door creaked as Ian pushed into the small room he had found upstairs. Moonlight streamed through the cracks of the wooden shutters of the small window set high in the stone wall, and he spied the goal of his hunt. He trudged across the room and plopped onto the small bed in the corner. After kicking off his boots, he lay back upon the thin mattress in desperate need of more straw. His feet hung off the end, and his pillow lacked enough feathers to cushion his head. After a long day of inspecting the keep and tallying up the repairs needed, he dinna care if he laid on the cold floor. He would sleep well this night.
He dinna know how much time had passed, but sleep evaded him like a wary stag fleeing a hunter. Knowing Phillip walked the castle grounds did nothing for his peace of mind. He flipped to his side and punched the paltry pillow. His mind refused to cease conjuring remedies to rebuild Whitfield and make it profitable. While he had coin to renovate the structure, he would need men to see the job done. Fear whispered into his heart at the daunting task. Heaving a sigh, he rolled to his back once more. In truth, who was he to attempt such a feat? He was a man given a gift. Though it be a gift of ruins, ’twas still a piece of land he could work until he could look upon it with pride.
Ian closed his eyes and willed his heart to ease its pace. He forced his limbs to relax and breathed deeply. As his mind drifted into nothingness, shouts pierced the silence. He jerked upright.
Grabbing the sword by his bed, he shoved his feet into his boots. ’Twas fortunate he had slept in his clothes. He rushed down the stairs and into an empty great hall. Shouting continued outside, and he ran out to the bailey. His gaze searched the moonlit area.
Phillip ran toward the stable. “She’s escaped!”
By the saints! That woman was a pain in his backside. Ian ran after Phillip. “How long ago?”
“Just moments.”
“Good. We shall catch her quickly. Foolish woman, putting herself at risk in traveling alone.” How would he ever keep her at Whitfield long enough to marry her?
As he and Phillip gained the stable, Toly stood at the door.
“What has happened?” The stable hand rubbed his eyes with a fist.
“Your mistress has escaped, and we need horses.” Ian rushed past Toly and into the stable. “Grab some bridles. No time for saddles.” ’Twas dark in the path between the stalls. He should have brought a torch. He whistled and a neigh sounded in the third stall ahead. He opened the stall, grabbed his horse by the mane, and led him out of the stable.
“Here, my lord.” Toly slipped the bridle on and handed Ian the reins.
Phillip hurried out of the stable with his steed, as Ian leapt onto his horse.
“Go! I shall catch up,” said Phillip, as Toly bridled his mount.
Ian spurred his horse on, gripping the reins tightly. He rounded the corner of the keep and yelled at the two guards at the gate. “Open the gate!”
The guards glanced at one another but remained at their post. So much for their allegiance. Ian pulled his horse to a stuttering stop and quickly dismounted as dirt sprayed about him. He unsheathed his sword. Horse hooves sounded behind him, and he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, ensuring ’twas Phillip.
“I’m here,” called Phillip. “I’ll take the other one.”
Returning his attention to the guards, he said, “Stand aside.”
“Nay, we shall not,” said the guard nearest Ian.
“I command you!”
The guards remained silent and raised their swords.
“So be it.” Ian swung his blade and caught the edge of the guard’s sword. He slid his blade downward and with a quick twist of his wrist, he sent the man’s sword flying.
The guard fell to his knees, hands high in the air. “Mercy, please!” He bowed his head. “I beg you, have mercy.”
“Mercy you shall have for the time being. As much as to be had in the dungeon, anyway.” Ian glanced at Phillip, who had knocked the other guard senseless. “Where is a rope?” he asked the man at his feet.
“In there.” The man pointed toward the small stone building to the left of the gate.
“You go after the woman. I will tie up the guards.” Phillip came forward, his sword pointed at the kneeling guard. “Go, before they get away.”
“They?”
“She took the large guard with her.”
Ian sheathed his sword, lifted the crossbar from the gate, opened the doors, and jumped onto the back of his steed. At least the woman had the sense to take protection.
He kicked his horse, spurring the beast to race through the gate and onto the beaten path. Would she have taken the path, or would she have gone a different route? ’Twas too dark to track, even with the light from the nighttime sky. He must follow the path and hope he could spy her in the bright moonlight. She had a lead on him, but his horse was fast.
The air cooled his face, giving him the energy he needed. The foolish woman needed to be taken in hand. Headstrong, she was.
Would that he could let her escape. She’d been nothing but trouble since he had first laid eyes upon her. If she was entailed in the inheritance, then he could not risk losing her—losing his inheritance. ’Twas unfortunate the king had decreed the marriage. Had Claire been anyone other than his intended, he might have just let her go. She did have a guard to protect her.
Cresting a hill, he paused and surveyed the land before him. There weren’t many trees, except to the west, where a huge forest spread as far as his eyes could see. To the east were more rolling hills. The moonlight outlined the hills to perfection. Dark movement caught his eye and then disappeared over the next hill.
Sucking in a breath, he urged his horse into action, its hooves pounding the ground in the silence of night. A poor castle such as Whitfield shouldn’t be this much trouble to obtain. Ian barked out a laugh. His family foisted this misfortune upon him. They knew. They had to have known. Having cared so little for him the whole of his life, he dinna doubt their mirth at his plight. Wouldn’t a life as head guardsman at Ramslea be better than this? Lord Malcolm would allow him to return. ’Twould surely be easier, by far.
He crested the next hill and spied the runaways. He spurred his horse forward and quickly came up behind them.
The guard slowed his mount, keeping between Ian and Claire. Ian drew his sword and pulled up beside him. The man slashed his sword toward Ian. Deflecting the blow, Ian pulled his arm back and delivered a blow with a force that reverberated up his arm. The guard’s blade fell from his hand.
“My lady, gallop on!” With no way to defend himself, the guard fell back.
Ian wanted to stop and beat some sense into the guard retreating in what must be fear. The man left his lady exposed to capture. Was this the best Whitfield had to offer? Ian had much work to do in training the men into worthy guards.
Maid Beaumont crouched low over her horse as she pressed onward. Ian drew his horse alongside hers. Reaching over, he grabbed her horse’s mane and pulled as he slowed his own steed.
“Whoa!” Ian wrenched harder while clenching his knees around his horse, trying to stay upright.
The lass beat his arm. “Let me go!”
This wasna going to work. He would be unseated. Releasing the mane, he heard her triumphal laugh.
By the saints! The woman needed to be taken in hand. He grasped her around the waist and hauled her
over his lap. He pulled on the reins, slowing down as she screamed, thrashing to be free. She would make the horse rear and unseat them both if she didn’t stop her outburst.
His father would have cuffed her, but he refused to become his father.
When he hesitated, she twisted back, throwing her elbow into his nose. Pain exploded across his face, and he loosened his grip on her and the horse. She twisted and he lost his balance. He clutched a handful of her cloak as he fell backward, pulling her with him onto the hard ground.
The lass would be the death of him.
She shot to her feet and ran. Ian scrambled after her. He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around. The lass beat her fists against him, kicking his legs as she screamed. As he tried to grasp both arms, she dug her knee into his thigh and he stumbled, taking them both to the ground.
The lass grappled beneath him as he gasped for breath. By the saints! When was the last time he’d lost his breath in a fall?
“I shall never be your wife.” She hiccupped a sob.
“Aye, aye. So you have said.” He closed his eyes, craving deliverance from her continual complaint. “In truth, I dinna want to marry you. You wear trouble like a crown, as if you reigned supreme over every possible mishap.” He heaved a sigh.
“So leave. Just leave us be.”
“The land ’tis mine, and I aim to keep it.” He loosened his grip on her wrists but didn’t let go. “The king has ordered us wed, and wed we shall.”
“Nay! I cannot!”
“I find it odd that you would leave your people—the very people you claim are like family—to run away from me.”
“I intended to beg the king to find another heir or release me from your inheritance.” She pulled, trying to free her hands.
“You would leave Whitfield? Your home and your people?” ’Twas far from what he had expected of her.
“While I would rather things remain as they were, I realize it will never be.”
Ian nodded, then winced from the throbbing pain in his nose at the movement. “I dinna care to be saddled with a woman who doesn’t want marriage and who is too headstrong to be tamed.”
“Tamed?” The lass’s brows drew low over her eyes. “Tamed, you say?”
“Nay, not tamed.”
“I heard you.” She continued to struggle, trying to pull her hands free. “I do not need to be tamed. I know how to take care of myself and need no man to take care of me.”
Ian didn’t refute her words. She was fierce and independent. “You ken I canna let you go. The king is not one to change his mind, especially when challenged by a non-noble.”
She gasped. “You—”
“I am right. Your journey would be for naught. I am but a younger son of a Scottish noble, and you are but the daughter of a poor knight.”
“My father was a younger son of a baron who is a descendant of King Edward the first.”
“An illegitimate descendant. Wasn’t the baron a wastrel at odds with King John? Your only blessing is that you are a noble’s ward.”
The woman beneath him wilted, her tense body softening as she stifled another sob.
Ian pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Saints! I canna take a woman’s cry,” he muttered. He rose and held out his hand. “Let us find the horses and get back to Whitfield. Somehow we must devise a way to live in peace, because we shall wed as the king decreed.”
Ignoring his offer of aid, the lass stood and then sucked in air as her hands flew out for balance.
“Are you hurt?”
“My ankle turned when I fell.”
“Stay where you are while I get the horses.” He located her horse and whistled for his own as he walked back to the lass. His horse trotted to his side. He led it to stand beside Maid Beaumont and put his hands to her waist.
She clutched his arms. “I can ride my own horse.”
“Not after the ordeal you wrought this night.” He lifted her atop the horse and then leapt up behind her, reaching around her to take the reins. The lass stiffened within his arms and leaned away from his body.
Marriage would be interesting with this one resisting him every moment of the day.
The scent of lavender wafted from her hair, and he breathed in deeply, inhaling its sweetness. He closed his eyes against the aroma, so fresh, so compelling. Would that her spirit called him like so.
Ian hoped he could find a way to live in peace with this sweet-smelling she-devil. He held a sinking feeling she would cause him much grief in the days to come.
Chapter 6
Claire’s foot throbbed. At least she had something to think on other than the muscular arms surrounding her at the moment. With her horse tied to his saddle, she and McGowan proceeded toward Whitfield, trotting back over the dark hills illuminated by the silvery moon. They hadn’t gone far when they came upon Ralph, sword in hand, perched on his steed.
“My lady, forgive me for not protecting you as I should.”
“’Tis of no consequence, Ralph. I do not hold you responsible.” She didn’t blame him for their capture. She hadn’t prepared well enough to evade Phillip’s watch. ’Twas her own fault she had been caught.
“I, on the other hand, have something to say.” McGowan’s low voice hummed in her ear as he pulled up before the guard. “Put away your sword or suffer the consequences.”
“There is no need to berate him for following my orders.” She couldn’t let Ralph suffer for her own mistake.
“’Tis my orders he is to follow.”
Claire said nothing. What was there to say? No one wanted to follow the Scot.
Ralph looked to her, his sword still held aloft. “My lady?”
“Put away your sword. We go to Whitfield.”
“As you say.” Ralph sheathed his blade.
McGowan held out the reins of Claire’s horse to Ralph. “Return home. We shall follow.”
Taking the reins, Ralph galloped back to Whitfield. Claire heaved a sigh, regretting the turn of events. How was she to beseech the king with a lame foot and an all-seeing captor?
“Should I expect an ambush once inside the castle walls?”
The Scot’s words spoken close to her ear startled her out of her foul musings. “I cannot know for sure. As we didn’t expect to be captured, we hadn’t devised a plan should the escape fail.” Had her men tried to overpower McGowan’s man?
“I hope for their sake they aren’t daft enough to think they can defeat Phillip. He is quite capable on his own.”
“We shall see.” She could only hope his man now sat in the dungeon.
The Scot pressed forward as the castle came into view. Though the moon shone bright, torches lit the top of the battlement at the gate, a beacon to guide them.
She’d thought perhaps God had orchestrated the sky’s light to guide the way in her escape, but she’d been wrong. Doubt assailed her as it always did when events spelled difficulty instead of success. Edith had brought her to a place of belief in God, but ’twas difficult to see his goodness when so much hardship followed her.
They entered the opened gate and rode into the bailey. An unmanned horse wandered throughout, its reins trailing on the ground. Two of her guards lay unconscious in the dirt while the other five sat in a line, unarmed and not pleased. Phillip stood guard. “I see you were successful, as was I.”
McGowan rode over to his man and dismounted. “Did you have much trouble?”
“Nay, just the two guards at the gate. The others did not fight me and followed my instructions.”
The Scot nodded and reached up his hands to Claire. She loathed receiving his help, but with her hurt foot, she hadn’t much choice. She placed her hands on his broad shoulders as he gripped her waist and lifted her off the horse, setting her on her feet.
Claire took a step and sucked in a breath at the pain. She placed her hand on the horse for support.
“You canna walk on your own.” McGowan swept her up into his arms and strode toward the keep.
&n
bsp; She gasped, heat suffusing her cheeks as her side pressed against his warm body. Without his chain mail, the intimacy of being held in his arms fair stole the breath from her lungs. “Wait. Let me talk to the men.” Anything to deflect the awkwardness of the situation.
“I shall speak with them later,” said the Scot.
“They will not listen to you as they would me.”
His body tensed, solid muscle encasing her. He probably wasn’t used to being told what to do by a woman. What man was?
The Scot changed course, and Claire shot a glance his face. He didn’t return her gaze but clenched his jaw as he carried her toward the guards. A strong jaw, covered with several days’ worth of dark stubble. His masculinity thundered through her, causing her to feel vulnerable yet protected.
He stopped before the men. “I willna forget that you did not fight against my man. Your willingness to abide by your promise not to oppose me does you credit. Now your lady has ought she would speak.”
Claire looked to the men seated on the ground. “Though unsuccessful in my escape, I entreat you to … follow the Scot’s orders.” How she hated to utter the words, but there was no recourse. She couldn’t escape again with an injured foot. “As McGowan mentioned yesterday, you are welcome to find work elsewhere. I will not hold it against you.”
“But you? What does this mean for you?” Simon’s weathered voice cut through her disappointment.
Claire swallowed, feeling the gaze of her captor upon her. What, indeed, other than to wed him? What were her options? She lifted her chin. “It means I must acquiesce and obey the king’s command to marry the Scot.”
How it chafed her soul to speak it thusly. Perhaps, though, her verbal acceptance would gain her time as she sought another plan to avoid marriage.
The chest of the man holding her expanded as he drew in a deep breath. One of relief? Surprise? Resignation? She cared not. She had no desire to marry him, just as he cared not to marry her. Hadn’t he said so earlier?
“As your mistress stated, you are free to leave Whitfield. But if you are willing to stay and remain loyal to me, you will always have a place here.” The Scot waited, looking to each man for confirmation. All nodded. He turned to Phillip. “Once the two unconscious ones awake, take them to the dungeon and lock them up.”
His to Keep: A Medieval Romance Page 5
