by Diane Darcy
“What’s it to be, then? Did you not fancy Lord Marshall? Is he a cruel man? Disfigured? Would you prefer to take your chances on me? Lord Marshall would never give up your dowry, but I’d never rebuke ye for the lack.”
Startled by what sounded to be a genuine proposal, she glanced up, warmth flooding her. Would Kellen feel the same? She smiled at Laird MacGregor and gently said, “I’m afraid my heart has already been given to another. But thank you. I’m honored.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Ye’ve crushed me, lass.”
She laughed. “Like I said. Flatterer.”
He grinned, and when she’d finished the apple, he gave her some water from some sort of bag. He stood and held out a hand. “Come, I’ll let you have privacy behind a tree, ere we get ye settled for the day.”
Embarrassed, but grateful, she was once more dragged through camp and allowed a few minutes to herself. She was thankful for the thick foliage and, after briefly considering escape, discarded the idea as foolish and impossible and returned. Wouldn’t this group of crazy men just love to chase her through the trees? The laird took her by the wrist again and led her back to the tent. She noticed the men breaking camp.
“Why are you packing up?”
He didn’t answer but simply stopped in front of his tent and shoved her inside. “You’re to stay here and keep quiet, ere my men decide you be a witch with your strange way of speaking.” He followed her in, pulled out some long cloths, took hold of her wrists, pushed her to the blanket, and knelt beside her.
She glanced up, startled. “What are you doing?”
He quickly bound her wrists together.
She tugged against his hold. “Stop it!”
He paused and gave her a fierce look. “Doona fight me. ’Tis for your own protection.”
With one hand holding her, he reached for another cloth and Gillian tugged again. “Don’t!” She fought him with all her strength, got free, and bashed him in the face with her bound wrists before he recaptured them.
Holding his nose, he laughed and swore. “Blast it, lass. Ye’d make me a fine wife. If you reconsider, the offer stands.”
“Let.” She continued to struggle. “Me.” She pulled as hard as she could. “Go!”
He released her and she fell backward onto the blanket and he held up a strip of cloth. “Is it to be the gag then?”
At the thought of that filthy material in her mouth, all the fight flowed out of her. “No. I’ll be quiet.”
“There’s a good girl.” He quickly tied her ankles together, taking time to study her athletic shoes, twisting them one way, then the other. “I’ve never seen the like. Doona let my men see them.” He finished, covered her feet with her skirt; and when he was done, looked to see her glaring at him. He grinned, reached out, put a hand on her cheek, and rubbed his thumb over her tight lips. “I truly am tempted to keep ye but my clan would likely not accept an Englishwoman, especially one who talks and acts so strange. You’d as like be burned as a witch.”
“Thanks a lot.” He turned to leave and Gillian struggled to sit up. “Wait.” He turned back to look at her. “What will happen if Lord Marshall doesn’t come for me?”
He stared at her for a long moment then chuckled. “Oh, he’ll come for ye. Of that I have no doubt.” And with a quick grin and a wink, he was gone.
Teeth clenched and mouth tight, Kellen rode with his men deeper into Scotland. He tried not to think of what could befall Gillian in this foul place, tried to convince himself the savages wouldn’t harm a woman. If they acted on even one of the things riddling his thoughts, if they . . . well, he would kill them all.
Again, he couldn’t help but question her motives. What had she been doing? Why had she left the protection of the keep? What had she been thinking? None of it mattered at the moment, of course. All that mattered was getting her back safely. When he had her in his possession, then he could strangle the answers out of her at his leisure.
A new thought worried at him. What if, once they had spoken to her, looked upon her, they decided to keep her rather than ransom her? She could be headstrong and capricious but also charming and fascinating, and she was far too beautiful for her own good.
Or what if that were the true purpose for which she’d been taken? Not as a prisoner to ransom or exchange, but as a bride. The Scottish savages were known for kidnapping brides. It was no doubt the only way they could get them. Had Gillian been kidnapped by a man looking for a wife? Kellen’s hands clenched and unclenched on the reins. Had she been brought before a priest? Handfasted? What if—
“My lord, look ahead,” Tristan yelled and pointed to a man in dirty wool coming out of a grove of trees. His hair, braided, uncombed, and wild, looked a good place for nesting creatures.
Kellen pulled up and the man rode forward, his teeth flashing straight and white.
“Out for a ride in our fine woods?”
“Where is she?”
“Where be our men?”
Kellen stilled and the tension in his body lowered a notch. Was this simply to be a trade then? Were they to willingly give her back? “We have them with us. Who are you?”
“You may call me Sir Angus.” The man smiled at the claim of gentry. “I’m to take you to The MacGregor.
“I will call you Sir Horse’s Arse. Lead the way.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “We thought you wasna comin’. ’Tis been hours since the lass was snatched.”
Kellen had no intention of telling the oaf he’d not known his own bride was missing while he’d mooned over ways to win her favor.
“We thought perhaps you’d changed your mind about your English bride. That mayhap you didna want the lassie after all.” He raised a brow. “She is a handful.”
Had that given them reason to believe they could hurt her?
Kellen’s muscles clenched and his horse moved under him skittishly until he tightened the reins. Kellen could feel heat rising in his body. Through clenched teeth, he grated, “If she has been hurt, you will all pay with your lives.”
“They would not dare to harm her, my lord,” said Owen. “They know if they do they die.”
Angus snorted. “She was aright when last I saw her.”
If he lost her, if she was gone from him . . . he pushed the thought aside. If they failed to give her up, he’d kill them. If he could not find her, he would call in every ally he possessed if needs be, and he would find the culprits and kill them. If they hurt her—
He swallowed. She was delicate, but fearless. Always wandering about without protection. What if they accidentally killed her?
He found himself sweating as they followed Angus MacGregor.
“What if the English don’t come for her?”
Gillian hugged her knees to her chest and listened to the group of men. It wasn’t as if she had a choice. For all their attempts at whispering, they either weren’t very good at it, or the clear Scottish afternoon air easily carried sound through the tent. The fact that they spoke English made her wonder if they wanted her to overhear.
Anyway, she shared their concern. What if Kellen didn’t come? What if she had to spend the night there? She shivered at the thought of being surrounded by these men overnight but didn’t so much as move otherwise. She didn’t want to draw their attention.
“Perhaps the wool tied to a tree wasna enough of a message?”
“Everyone knows the English are slow-witted. Mayhap we should deliver a note?”
“But then another of our men might be captured.”
“Perhaps they rode in the wrong direction and never met up with Angus?”
“Nay, we left a trail a half-wit could follow.”
“Mayhap they killed Hamish and Donald? Mayhap they have naught left to bargain with.”
“They are not dead!” A man bellowed. Gillian heard footsteps stomp to the tent and a corner was pulled back to reveal a bushy, red-bearded face. “Girl!” Gillian jumped. “Be our men murdered by your lord?”
Gil
lian swallowed. “Nope. Last I heard they were doing just fine.”
“See. They are well.” The tent flap fell again and Gillian breathed a sigh of relief. She knew a mob mentality when she heard one and didn’t want them reminded she was there.
It was quiet for a while. “’Tis said he killed his first wife. Perhaps he willna be fashed should this one disappear, as well?”
“She’s comely enough and has plenty enough atop to please a man. Her hips seem shapely, as well.”
“And she’s young.”
“Still, mayhap she could be infertile?”
“Nay, not with those hips. Perhaps he hopes to find a wealthier bride?”
“If he doesna want her, I’ll take her.”
Gillian took a breath and decided that keeping quiet might not be such a good strategy after all. “I can hear you.” She called out through the tent. “I’m right here.”
The men were silent a moment, then she heard more whispering before another man approached the tent. “Does your lord care for you, lass?”
“He likes me just fine.”
“His first wife died and you were left to wander. Mayhap he seeks to rid himself of encumbrances? Think you he will come for you?”
“Yes.” She tried to infuse confidence in her voice. “He will come for me. In fact, you’d better treat me well or I’ll tell him that you didn’t.”
She could hear more whispering as the man went back to the group.
“I’ve heard he can cleave a man’s head off without breaking a sweat.”
One man scoffed. “No, he canna.”
“’Tis true. ’Tis said he has the eyes of a warlock and he can freeze a man so as to split his head without hindrance. ’Tis said he’s not lost a fight. If he comes after nightfall, we will all be killed!”
“Mayhap his bride is a witch, as well!”
This was getting out of hand. “I’m not a witch.”
“Witches are paid in gold. Her ring looks to be worth a fortune. Mayhap we should take it ere we trade her for our men.”
“It doesna come off! I tried to pull it from her finger and ’tis stuck as if by magic!”
Gillian heard a gasp or two and rolled her eyes.
“If someone cut off her finger—”
She took a breath, determined to show no sign of weakness. “Yeah. I dare you to. My betrothed, Lord Marshall, surely won’t notice my finger missing or me bleeding all over the place. I’m sure Mr. MacGregor will be pleased, as well.”
It was silent again for a moment, and she hoped they were cowed by the threat of Kellen’s name but she cursed MacGregor for leaving her unprotected with this bloodthirsty lot.
“Look at my arm! ’Tis covered in gooseflesh. She must be a witch!”
“Mine, as well!”
“Witch . . .”
“Witch . . .”
“Witch!”
“She’s no witch,” said a deep, authoritative voice. “Just a scared lass surrounded by a pack of slathering idiots. Now mount up men, and bring the girl. The English come!”
Gillian couldn’t help it. She actually sagged with relief. As much as she wanted to bash the guy, she was thrilled MacGregor had returned. She wondered if Kellen were actually there or if the barbarian was simply trying to control his men. Either way, she’d be glad to get out of the tent.
Chapter 26
Kellen arrived at a big meadow and stopped. The men behind him followed suit as their guide hurried forward to greet his kinsmen.
Kellen’s gaze took in the line of men seated on horseback. The Scottish Laird, reputed to be a large man, was no doubt the hulking giant in the middle. Other fighters were thick upon the ground, weapons at the ready; however, Gillian was nowhere in sight.
Kellen looked to the trees, trying to determine how many men they might have to fight. As far as he could tell, his forces outnumbered the Scots both in men and training; but he wouldn’t underestimate them. He knew them to be sly and vicious fighters.
As the two forces faced each other, the biggest of their men urged his horse forward, confirming Kellen’s suspicions as to his identity. “Wait here,” Kellen said to Owen and Tristan. “Be ready.”
“Aye, my lord,” said Tristan, man and horse spoiling for battle.
“Aye. Be on guard against trickery,” said Owen.
Kellen nudged his mount forward until he faced the other man and was surprised to find he recognized Laird MacGregor. “What do you here? We have met on the jousting field.”
“I remember. You won my horse and armor. The armor was shite, but I hope you treated the horse well.”
“I did. ’Twas a fine animal. Again, I ask, what do you here? Are you not English?”
A shrug. “Half.”
Kellen’s brows rose. “And your men accept a leader with English blood?”
“I am The MacGregor,” he said simply.
Kellen lost interest and got to the point. “Was she harmed?”
“Nay. You have my word that she’s no’ been harmed. I canna say the same for my nose. She’s a feisty thing, is she not?”
Kellen sucked in a breath at the thought of Gillian having to defend herself against this towering savage and suddenly wanted to kill the man.
From the smirk on the other’s face, Kellen could see his feelings were obvious.
“A man in my keep was poisoned. You’re doing?”
“Nay. Nor that of my men. Do not think to blame us for thy failure to clean house.” MacGregor motioned with his hand and Gillian was pulled through the crowd of Scots and given a shove.
She started walking toward them and Kellen was so relieved to see her it was all he could do to wait while she crossed the distance. Kellen motioned to his own men to release the two prisoners and then waited while the three crossed the field.
“She has a strange way of speech, does she not?”
“’Tis charming,” growled Kellen.
“Ah, you care for the girl then? She wondered, you know, if you would want her if she came undowered. A question a girl asks if she’s feelings for a man. I offered to marry her without payment, but she turned me down.”
Feeling murderous, Kellen snapped, “She’s mine.”
“Aye, well, as to that, I let her know the offer stood were she to change her mind.”
Kellen tried to tamp down his rage. “Was she touched?”
“She was not.”
Gillian finally arrived.
“Are you hurt?” demanded Kellen.
Eyes wide, she looked at them both for a long moment, her gaze moving between the two and, the longer she didn’t respond, the more tense Kellen became.
The MacGregor, losing his mocking grin, tensed as well, his horse moving skittishly beneath him.
Someone was going to die if Gillian uttered so much as a word of complaint.
“Gillian?” Kellen waited for her reply and gripped his sword. If she was so much as breathed on, he was going to kill them all, starting with the giant before him.
“No. No, I’m fine.”
Both men relaxed and both exhaled.
Good. That was good. She was aright and still his alone. Kellen held out his hand.
After a hesitant glance at his horse, she reached for him and he hauled her atop his lap, turned his mount, and moved away.
Behind him MacGregor called out, “Watch thy back about thy kinsman, English.”
Kellen turned his horse around. “What is your meaning? Is that a threat?”
The laird laughed. “Not at all. A warning. One of yours told me of the, ah, delicious cattle to be found were I to cross the border.” He smiled at Kellen, then gave Gillian a less mocking smile. “Doona forget my offer, lass.” His tone gentled. “’Twas genuine.” He laughed at Kellen’s thunderous expression and turned his own mount away.
“Someday I will get the chance to pay you in kind,” Kellen said. “Count on it.”
The MacGregor saluted him. “I look forward to it, English.”
At fi
rst, Gillian was so happy to see Kellen, to get away from the Scots, and be on her way back to England, that she didn’t realize how angry Kellen was. It didn’t take long for the excitement over her rescue to fade or for the questions to start.
“Why did you leave the protection of the keep?”
Kellen’s clipped, angry tone had Gillian’s arms crossing and her lips thinning. She didn’t answer.
“Did someone lure you out?” he asked, his voice hard and forbidding. “Or mayhap you simply had a fit of temper and placed yourself and others in harm’s way?”
Tristan and Owen, riding on each side of them, tried to intervene. “’Tis simply that his lordship was considerably worried on thy behalf, my lady,” said Tristan. “Such things can upset a man, and the fright has overset our lord greatly.”
“Aye, my lady,” said Owen. “Pay him no heed. He’ll soon be back in high spirits and will be more civilized company.”
“Both of you fall back,” snapped Kellen.
After a few minutes, and with the men behind them, Kellen spoke again. “Well?” his voice was slightly calmer, but still frosty. “Have you naught to say?”
Goaded, Gillian said in a pleasant tone, “The weather is nice today. Not too hot, not too cold. The breeze feels good. Also, I think the trees are pretty.”
They both sat stiffly and after a moment, the strain became too much and she cleared her throat. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather ride with Tristan or Owen.”
Kellen’s arms tightened around her. “We will discuss this,” he said, ignoring her request. “You will tell me why you left.”
Gillian sighed and threw up one hand. “I wanted to visit the cemetery, okay?” Her tone was belligerent but she didn’t care. “I told you I wanted to, remember? I asked you to take me there and you wouldn’t.”
“Why did you want to go?” he snapped. “I see no point.”
“I lost something there and I want it back.”
“What?”
Seven centuries she wanted to say, but since she couldn’t; and since he was waiting for an answer, she crossed her fingers under her rough work skirt and lied. “Um . . . a bracelet?” Not necessarily a bad lie. Maybe having a reason to go search would get Kellen to take her there.
