Taming His Rebel Lady

by Jane Godman

  As if she read his mind, Lady Hendry leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Please listen to me, my laird. Do not allow your mistrust of me to close your ears to what I have to tell you. Garwen’s plan is to abduct your sister in the belief that you will be forced to don your guise as the Falcon in order to go to her rescue.”

  Fraser had half started up from his chair at her words, but he sank back down. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t.” She rose from her seat. “We have never met before this day. You are quite rightly thinking that sending me here with this story may be another of Garwen’s tricks. I will say only this. I have been married to Sir Garwen Hendry for nigh on twenty years. He has taken my youth and drained the life from me. I thought he no longer had the power to shock me. When I overheard him speak of your sister and the things he planned to do to her once she was in his power, I found I was wrong. His overarching motive is to get to you, but he also lusts after her. You must look out for yourself, my laird, but—and this plea comes from the heart of a woman who has been in Garwen’s clutches—I urge you to get your sister away from him.”

  Fraser stood up. “When and where?”

  She withdrew a folded sheet of paper from within the pocket of her cloak. “I have written down everything I know.” She handed it to him, looking up at him as she did. “Is your sister like you in appearance?”

  “Not so large,” Fraser replied with a slight smile.

  “No, I meant does she have your colouring?”

  “She does indeed. Why do you ask?” He walked with her to the door.

  “When Augustus and Garwen were young men, they were both in love with the same girl. She returned Garwen’s affection, which drove Augustus into a rage. He was always the more volatile of the two in temperament. Then.” Her face wore a faraway expression.

  “Then?”

  “Yes. Time changed things. Augustus couldn’t bear to lose out to Garwen. The girl was found dead a few days after she and Garwen announced their engagement. She had been raped and strangled.”

  “And it was Augustus who did this?” Fraser was horrified at the story.

  “Nothing was ever proved, but she was found in a lane behind her home. A witness saw Augustus running away from the place minutes before she was found.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Lady Hendry?”

  Her smile was sad. “Two reasons. Firstly, Garwen changed from that day on. It was as if he had to rival his brother in villainy. If Augustus committed some atrocity, Garwen could not rest until he had matched it. I am not excusing him, my laird. I am explaining him so that you know with whom you are dealing.”

  “You said there were two reasons.”

  “Yes. The second is that the murdered girl had very striking colouring. Vivid red hair and hazel eyes. Since the death of his first love, they have always been Garwen’s ruling passions.” She placed a hand on his arm briefly. “Heed my warning.”

  “Who was the girl?”

  “My own sister. I couldn’t help her, but I hope I am not too late to help Lady Iona.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Could it be possible to fall in love with someone even if you felt you didn’t truly know that person? Surely not. Iona wished she had a better idea of what love felt like. If the poets were to be believed, it was a state of complete euphoria, so probably this aching torment she was experiencing was something else entirely. She wished Martha were here so she could seek her advice on the matter. More than anything, she wished Edwin were here to assuage this burning ache inside her.

  “If I don’t love him, why can’t I stop thinking about him?” She asked the question aloud, and Cù-sìth, her only audience, sighed wearily, placing her head on her paws as she stretched before the fire. “Why is it every time I see him, my heart races, my throat feels like it’s going to close and I actually—God help me—start to shake? Or is that lust? Because I certainly do lust after him. That’s a question more easily answered.”

  Even as she said the words, she knew there was more to her feelings for Edwin than physical need…however strong that might be. As much as she desired him, her feelings went deeper than the wanton surge of needing to hurl herself into his arms and tear at his clothes each time she was near him. The poets, with their cherubs, arrows and celestial music, had no place in forging her emotions. It was very simple. She wanted to be by Edwin’s side, offering and receiving compassion and support no matter what. She wanted to have children with him, grow old with him, share the big occasions of his life and the minutiae of his day, laugh with him, cry with him and sleep in his arms every night.

  “Oh bloody hell, Cù-sìth. I do love him, don’t I?” The dog opened one eye and wagged her tail as though in congratulation. “Well, if my calculations are correct, he will be home later today, so ’tis time to do something about it.” Time to break down the barriers and start to forge a true marriage out of this strange start of theirs. If that was what Edwin wanted? She thought he did, but those secrets of his were still holding him back. “Och, ye’ll have no choice, my fine Englishman. Ye’ve not yet encountered a highland lass when she’s set her heart on wanting something as woeful bad as I want you.”

  There was still a whole empty day stretching ahead of her. Iona wondered what she used to do with her time when she was married to Sir Donald. How had she thought that her clothes and her horses were all that mattered? Restless and tired of watching the clock in order to calculate the number of hours before Edwin could be expected to return, she donned her cloak and took Cù-sìth out into the garden. The constant presence of Edwin’s ex-soldier guard, who followed her whenever she stepped outside, was starting to irritate Iona, and she walked quickly, leaving Williams behind.

  Snow had fallen in the night, and although it was a light powdering, it was a reminder that winter was near. Iona threw sticks, and Cù-sìth humoured her by fetching them. She noticed that the hedges were overgrown and decided to make use of Williams, who was lurking nearby.

  “Will you find the gardener and tell him I wish him to trim these laurels, please?”

  “My orders are to remain with your ladyship,” he replied. Iona regarded him steadily, and he squirmed slightly. “Of course, if your ladyship orders me…”

  “I do.”

  He bowed stiffly and walked away. Iona was touched that Edwin would be concerned enough for her welfare to go to such lengths, but he need have no fears for her welfare here within the grounds of their own home.

  She gazed out across the wintry valley and wondered what the coming seasons would bring for her and Edwin. Deciding that reading might better suit her mood, she turned to go back to the house when a movement in the trees at the point where the garden met the woods caught her eye.

  “My lady.” It was Alec, the Jacobite rebel who had been at her side during so many of her nighttime raids since Culloden. His expression was strained, and Iona started forward in concern. She knew he had lost his living as a result of the clearances and each day was a desperate worry about how he would feed his family. Although she had repeatedly offered to help, his pride would not allow him to accept.

  “Alec, what is it?” She hurried across to him, and he drew her into the shelter of the trees.

  “An English raid, my lady, over on Aonach Mòr. ’Tis to be led this very day by a man named Hendry.”

  “Sir Garwen! I know of him.”

  “Aye, foul brute that he is. There is to be no mercy for the crofters and their families because Hendry has information that they once offered shelter to the Falcon.” Alec’s expression was pleading. “Will ye come? ’Twill lift the lads’ spirits to see ye are with us once more. I know ye did’nae wish to be involved in any more raids now ye’re wed…”

  Iona was torn. It was true that Edwin had strictly forbidden her to have any further involvement in rebel activities. But Edwin hated Sir Garwen as much as she did, and this case appeared to be desperate. He would understand that she couldn’t wait around for hi
s permission, surely? “I will need to change my clothes.”

  “Will ye no come at once, my lady? There is no time to lose.”

  “I can’nae come dressed like this.” Iona held out the cloth of her skirts. Men! Why couldn’t they understand something so simple? Alec was watching her, his eyes shying nervously away from meeting her gaze. “Have ye forgotten I’m meant to be one o’ the boys when I ride out wi’ ye?”

  He made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Aye, I’m a dunderhead, to be sure. I’ll await ye in the woods. Please hurry, my lady. There is no time to lose.”

  Gathering up her skirts, Iona dashed back to the house. Once in her bedchamber, she hauled open the drawer where her mannish outfit of tartan trews, linen shirt and jacket were kept. After dressing in record time and pulling on riding boots and her blue bonnet, Iona slipped back out of the house and ran back outside to rejoin Alec at the edge of the wood. She had been gone less than ten minutes and heaved a sigh of relief that she saw no-one during that time. She had no desire to embark on explanations, particularly to the eagle-eyed Gordie or, worse, to Williams. Cù-sìth followed her outside, but Iona knew the dog would head back into the house once her mistress had departed.

  “This way, my lady.” Alec caught her arm and drew her along the woodland path.

  “No, wait. I must go to the stables, if we are to go all the way to Aonach Mòr, I will need my horse. Come to think of it, Alec, where is your horse?” No sooner had the words left her lips than she knew it was a trap. Alec’s expression changed, and his grip on her arm tightened. They were out of sight of the house now, Alec had made sure of that. Even if she called out, no-one would hear. How could she have been so foolish? Edwin had warned her to be careful, and she had walked straight into this. Iona began to struggle against Alec, attempting to twist out of his grip. He was a big man, however, and he held her as easily as if she had been a child.

  “My lady, I am truly sorry.” Alec’s voice was full of genuine regret as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Sir Garwen has my family hostage at Fort William. He will kill them unless I bring you to the place he has chosen.”

  As he carried her between the trees, an overhanging branch caught Iona on the forehead, scratching deep into the flesh and drawing blood. It also dragged the blue bonnet from her head. Through the strands of her hair, she watched as Cù-sìth darted out from between the trees. The dog hesitated, sensing Iona’s distress and seeming unsure whether to follow. Cù-sìth knew Alec well and would not see him as a threat to Iona. The dog gave a whimper of confusion before snatching up Iona’s fallen bonnet between her teeth. As Alec plunged deeper into the trees with his burden, Cù-sìth, a pale streak in the shadowy woodland, turned and headed back toward the house.

  Alec was close to tears as he lifted Iona, bound and gagged, from where she lay in the back of the farm cart he had driven from Cameron House. The track led to a small settlement of cottages, each far flung from the others on the steep hillside. The crofter’s cottage into which Alec carried Iona was little more than a one-room stone hut. It bore the signs of having been recently occupied and left in a hurry. A roughly hewn table and two chairs stood against one wall, a narrow bed against another. The thatched roof was in need of repair and patches of sky, leaden with new snow, peeped through. Glancing around, Alec seemed to debate within himself between placing Iona on the bed or the floor. He chose the bed.

  “I know ye’ll not believe this, my lady, but ’tis truly sorry I am. Ye’ll not see me again after this day. Once Sir Garwen frees my family, we’ll be as far away from here as we can go.” Iona made a choking sound and he frowned slightly. Leaning over, he removed the gag from her mouth. “Did ye wish for something?”

  “Water.” Her voice rasped. The cloth stuffed into her mouth had been large and rough. It had stretched the tender flesh, ridding it of any moisture. Her jaw muscles ached and her throat felt raw.

  Alec looked around the room. A few copper pans hung on the wall near the table. After taking the nearest down from its hook, he disappeared outside for a few minutes. Iona took the opportunity to test the ropes that bound her wrists. They held tight and fast.

  “I was worried that the English might have sabotaged the well.” Alec came back, holding the pan before him. “But there is a wee spring out back so I fetched water from that instead.” Supporting Iona with a hand behind her shoulders so that she was able to sit, he lifted the pan to her lips. She gulped the icy liquid eagerly.

  “You don’t have to do this, Alec. We can get your family away from Sir Garwen.”

  He shook his head. “Ye din’nae understand. He has them inside Fort William, we can’nae get inside its walls. Even the Falcon would’nae make such an attempt. And my eldest lassie, she is fourteen.” The tears sprang to his eyes again. “He told me what they would do to her…”

  It was pointless trying to persuade him. The poison that Sir Garwen had dripped into his veins was not going to be reversed by any words Iona could summon. “What happens now?”

  He hung his head. “I’m to leave ye here until he comes for ye.”

  Iona wanted to beg him not to go, not to leave her at the mercy of Sir Garwen. Since she knew Alec was an honourable man, already torn in two by the actions he was being forced to take, she swallowed the desperate plea that kept trying to rise to her lips. “When will that be?”

  “A few hours, I think. It should’nae be more.”

  “Will you do something for me before you go, Alec?”

  He looked nervous. “If I can.”

  “Will you light a fire in the grate? ’Tis woeful cold in here, and it’s not as if I can get up and move around.”

  He shook his head. “I can’nae risk it. The smoke from the chimney will be a sure sign that there is someone here.”

  Iona gave a mirthless laugh. “And who will see it? The ghosts of those who lived here before the English came? No-one passes this way.”

  He gave the matter some thought. “I’ll see what I can do.” Some time later, having raided the other deserted cottages and discovered a supply of peat, heather and twigs, Alec managed to get a fire going. He prodded it into life with a poker he found at the side of the fireplace. Standing back, he surveyed the fledgling flames. “I don’t know how long ’twill last, my lady. Peat should smoulder and hold its heat long after it looks like it’s stopped burning so ’tis to be hoped it’ll keep ye warm until…well, until ye are gone from here.” He bobbed his head awkwardly. “God be wi’ ye, my lady.”

  “And with you, Alec.” It was a curiously formal moment even though she lay helpless on the bed looking up at him. She could only watch as he walked away, abandoning her to her fate.

  “To hell with this,” Iona muttered, listening to the sounds of the cartwheels receding in the distance.

  Waiting around for Sir Garwen to turn up and do God alone knew what to her was not an option. Not if there was anything else she could do. Wriggling uncomfortably from her back to her side, she gazed around the room, looking for something—anything—that might help her to escape. There was nothing. Deciding that her best hope was to work on the ropes that bound her wrists behind her back, she twisted her hands against the restraints in the hope of loosening them.

  She had no way of judging the passage of time but the patches of sky she could see through the missing thatch darkened ominously as she worked at her painful task. It couldn’t be night yet, so it must mean there was more snow threatening. Would that stop Sir Garwen coming? Could she hope for a weather-induced rescue? Being stranded here in the snow was preferable to being Sir Garwen’s prisoner, but it was hardly ideal. And no matter how long she spent straining and stretching, she was getting nowhere with her plan to get her hands free. Although the skin on her wrists was raw and stinging, and the muscles in her shoulders felt they were about to snap, the bonds were holding as tightly as ever.

  A new course of action was clearly needed. Iona rolled from the bed to the floor with a thud, then sh
uffled into a sitting position with her back against the bedframe. If she could get her hands in front of her and see what she was doing it might help. It was a manoeuvre she had accomplished once as a child when, while playing a game in which she was their prisoner, Jack and Fraser had tied her up, forgotten about her and gone out hunting rabbits. Her eyes narrowed at the memory. Revenge had been sweet, and had come in the form of the seedpods she had collected from the maple trees that grew in the castle garden. These, when crushed to a fine powder and sprinkled into the drawers containing her brother’s and cousin’s clothing, caused them to experience severe irritation. It had served them right and served its purpose. They had itched for days…but they had not forgotten her again.

  She had been considerably more flexible all those years ago, and had never thought she would need to repeat the action. Finding that she could still do so was a small, bittersweet triumph. By shuffling her bottom and legs awkwardly through her hands, she managed to bring her hands from behind her back to in front of her. Her wrists were, as she had feared, bleeding where the rope had rubbed them and swollen as a result of the thick twine cutting into her flesh. Fear, stark and compelling, rose up and threatened to overwhelm her. Iona had no idea when Sir Garwen would come for her, if he would come alone and what would happen once he arrived. Alongside her terror, she also felt a desperate longing to see Edwin’s face. I want him to hold me in his arms. She hated the helplessness that shredded her insides, the regret that tore a hole in her chest. I have known how I felt about him for many a long day. I should have told him I love him before he left for Inverness. The thought provoked a tiny sob that she quickly gulped away. If she started to cry she wouldn’t be able to stop.

  The fire, contrary to Alec’s gloomy prediction, was blazing away merrily now, and Iona turned toward the flames, allowing them to warm her chilled face. The temperature had fallen further, and through the gaps in the roof, she could see snow falling. The poker lay at the side of the grate, and as it caught her eye, what had been a glimmer of an idea started to fully form. Dragging herself along the floor to the fireplace, she was able to hold the poker and push it firmly into the flames with just the end protruding. The action brought back one of her few memories of her father who used to heat his nightly jug of ale with a red-hot poker.