by Terry Spear
"I am no' going anywhere," she growled, furious that he just stayed there, as if he meant to pin her there forever.
She feared, too, that this man would not let her go. That he would force her to travel with him to wherever he lived. He appeared well-dressed, not in ragged clothing, and she had to admit he smelled pleasingly of pine, leather, and man. Which meant he had to have bathed recently and he wasn't some ruffian.
The man with the lightest color hair spoke up. "Mayhap you should check her over for more weapons."
The other man grinned. "I would do it for you, Ronan, if you so choose."
Ronan smiled a little at her. "What say you, lass? Do I need to search you to learn if you have any more weapons hidden anywhere on your person?"
Chapter 2
Ronan couldn't help but enjoy the feel of the bonny lass beneath him, all softness and sweetness. Except when she'd threatened him with her sgian dubh. Then she wasn't quite so sweet—but the softness, aye, heavenly. Her eyes were rounded with surprise and this close up, he could see the amber flecks highlighting the forest green color. Beautiful. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, right before she tried to unsettle him from his pose.
"You willna be successful, lassie." Ronan sighed. "Now, as I have said, you will stay with me at Dunloch castle until I say otherwise. Suffice it to say, you will remain unarmed."
Smiling amiably at the lass, he began to climb off her. At once, she glanced in the direction where her dagger had been. She was a bonny lass without anyone to protect her, and he could understand her concern. But he would not dally with her any longer, as much as he enjoyed the closeness they now shared.
Snagging her arm, he rose quickly to his feet, pulling her with him, then noticed Ward had dismounted and was holding her sgian dubh and Ronan's own sword. Ward handed Ronan his sword, and he quickly sheathed it.
"You looked to need a hand with the wee lassie."
As if she were a bairn, when she had way too many curves for that. Or that Ronan couldn't have managed her all on his own.
Getting in on the business, Alban dismounted and joined them. "Allow me to hold her while you mount." He grinned at Ward. "While our dear brother holds onto her weapon."
Ronan had considered lifting her to his horse, but he could envision her seated upon it, kicking his horse's flanks, and leaving him behind.
Ward shook his head. "I should have known why Alban took so long to join us."
"Keep a tight hold on the lass." Ronan handed her over to Alban. "I suspect she is ready to bolt. Yet she would not get far." He said so only for her enlightenment in the event she truly thought she could escape him and his brothers.
When Alban had her in hand, Ronan climbed onto his saddle and his brother handed the lass up to him.
"My bundle is over there." She motioned to the leaves and Alban went to search for it.
"I have got it."
"Your name, lass?" Ronan tightened his hold on her and waited for his brothers to mount their horses.
"Sorcha."
Ronan considered her golden hair. Radiant. Her name suited her.
"Coming, Ward, Alban?" Ronan tried not to enjoy feeling her against his body, that since the first contact he'd had with her had only reacted even more. He headed back to the castle, her soft backside rubbing against his shaft that was growing by leaps and bounds.
"I am no' traveling the way you are going," she said. "I will be late returning home and…and my clansmen will believe you have stolen my horse and taken me hostage. They will seek a swift revenge."
He fought chuckling. "Really? Pray tell which way were you heading?" Ronan thought to humor her because the direction she had motioned to was not in the direction where the Chattan lands were.
When she didn't say, he noticed Ward grinning, amused at the tale the lass had spun, but Ronan worried about the reason she was out here alone. "If you had a horse to begin with—"
"You doubt my word?" Her words were sharp and antagonistic.
"Lass, you couldna have traveled days without an escort, with or without a horse. 'Tis no' that I dinna believe you about the horse, only about the place that you have come from."
***
Sorcha had the greatest urge to jump right down off Ronan's horse, but she knew if she didn't injure herself in doing so, she'd still never get far. And the effort would prove futile. She had wished that Ronan had put her on his saddle, and the other brother hadn't taken hold of her instead. She would have ridden off. She knew they still would have stopped her, but she desperately wanted to show these men, the laird, in particular, that he had no power over her. Even though, for now, he did.
Her situation couldn't get any worse, she thought. The weather had been agreeable, sunny, and comfortable during the day, much cooler at night, but her brat had kept her warm. Her feet were sore from all the walking though. And she hated the men who had stolen her horse. Their talking had awakened her early yesterday before first light, and she had feared they'd find her hiding place. When they found Milis, they had searched for Sorcha for some time before they gave up and led her horse away.
Sorcha was still thanking God they hadn't discovered her while she had been sleeping in a tree where she thought she'd be safe from four-legged and two-legged beasties. She had worried someone might attempt to steal her horse if she had run across men like that, but she'd been lucky for a couple of days at least. And she'd had no other choice.
She hated that they'd taken Milis. Loving her sweet and gentle horse, Sorcha prayed whoever bought her would care for her the same as she did.
As soon as the horse thieves had departed the area, their torchlight fading until she could no longer see it or hear their horses' footfalls, she had waited for a good long while, listening, making sure no one was waiting for her to return to the site where her horse had been. Unable to see anything in the dark, she had managed to climb down, but she'd stumbled and fallen so many times, she'd bruised her knees. She was just lucky she hadn't torn her garments. Finally giving up on the venture, she had found another tree to climb. Though the first branch she had reached for had snapped off in her hand, and she had feared someone would hear her.
After walking half the day, with a heavy bundle that included another wool léine and an extra chemise, hard cheese, harder bannocks, and oats for making porridge, she had finally stopped for a brief respite. Trying to gather water at the loch to make her porridge when the sun was too high in the sky had been a mistake. She should have remained hidden in the forest until dusk. As soon as she'd glimpsed the men near the standing stones, she'd raced into the forest, but not quickly enough.
When Ronan said which clan he was laird of, that didn't bode well. She was far enough from the MacNeill clan that she was certain her brother by marriage would not suspect she was here. But since the clan of the Daziel did not get along with the MacNeills, she feared saying how she was now related to them.
Against her will, she sat in front of the laird, feeling the heat and hardness of his body, the way he was reacting to hers, and she wanted to move away from him. And tried to, but he only tightened his hold on her.
"Quit your squirming, Sorcha." He sounded as if he was suffering.
She was suffering! With the sun shining down on them, his body pressed so indecently against hers, and the heat radiating between them, she was burning up. She thought she might melt into a puddle on his saddle if she didn't get away from him. Not to mention thinking about the way he had so indecently lain between her legs! And she'd felt his staff growing then, too. In fact, she believed him to be just as aroused as then. Only this time he was pressing it against her back.
She saw no sign of his castle and hoped that it wasn't far or she really would expire, especially with as little sleep as she had last eve.
"My brother, Ward, is on our left. My youngest brother, Alban, is riding to the right. You know who I am. Now, tell me who you really are."
He would not know where she belonged if she didn't tell him wh
ich clan she came from. Mayhap his people hadn't fought the MacNeills in a very long time, and she might be all right. But she didn't want to risk it.
She didn't tell him who she was as she closed her eyes and settled into the rocking rhythm of the horse's easy gait. The heat surrounded her as she listened to the hooves pounding the ground in a melodic way, soothing, as it had been when she had escaped Craigly Castle and her ogre of a brother by marriage when she had traveled far enough and no one had caught up with her.
She wondered then if anyone had even tried.
Though she knew if her sister, Lady Akira, had any say in it, she would have moved mountains to locate her and bring her home. She adored her older sister, loved Akira's daughter, four sons, and their nephew, but she hated the man her sister had been forced to marry. Then she wondered if this wasn't providence. Mayhap she could work on this laird's staff and no one would ever be the wiser. If he was a good laird, mayhap it could work in her favor.
When she didn't say anything further, Ronan said, "How did you come by a horse? Did your father gave it to you? A brother?" As if he was considering other possibilities, he was silent for a moment. "A husband?"
"She appears to be sleeping," Ward said. "She probably has been traveling for a good long while and is exhausted."
"She is too stiff in my arms to be sleeping."
She had nearly fallen asleep until Ward spoke, startling her a bit. But it was true. She'd been trying to stay awake, attempting to keep her distance from the hot-blooded Highland laird she was seated against. She finally relaxed the rest of the way, too weary to fight it any longer. And mayhap, he would quit asking any more questions of her.
He tightened his hold on her again, probably fearing she had drifted off to sleep and could very easily fall off his horse.
***
Ronan smiled when Sorcha's head fell against his chest. Now, he was certain she was asleep.
When they reached Dunloch Castle, several of their clansmen stopped their chores to see the woman in Ronan's arms. Who would have ever thought a trip to see to a crofter's troubles would result in Ronan discovering a lass in distress?
One of his men hurried to take the woman from him so that he could dismount.
"Is she wounded?" Fagen asked, carefully taking her into his arms.
"Nay. She is sleeping. Take her to the room off the kitchen. She can slumber there until the meal is served." Ronan dismounted and a lad took his reins.
Their dark-haired sister, Elspeth, rushed out of the keep to greet them and her dark brown eyes focused on Fagen carrying the lass. "What has happened?" she asked, worried. She was the most sweet-tempered lass, always concerned about the welfare of their clan and since their mother had died, she had overseen the staff.
Ronan explained what he suspected, concerning the lass.
"Should I see to her?" Elspeth asked, wringing her hands.
"Nay. Let her sleep. For the time-being, she can stay in the room off the kitchen." When Elspeth turned to head back to the keep, Ronan said, "You can see the lass later." He was afraid his sister would wake her and try to learn all there was about her, when the woman needed to rest most of all.
Elspeth nodded and hurried off.
"So what do you think?" Ward followed Ronan into the keep as Alban stopped to speak to a sweet lassie.
"That she lied about where she is from. But she is dressed too fine to be just a peasant."
"And her horse? Do you believe she truly had one?"
"Most likely. She had a few reddish horse hairs on her léine and the mud splatters also, that appear to have been caused from a horse's gallop through a wetter region. After the meal, I want you to organize fifteen men to sweep the area in search of her horse and the men who stole it, if it is true. I want the horse and the men brought here if you know or even suspect a horse doesna belong to them."
"Aye. Do you want Alban or me to be in charge of the search?"
"You, with your hawk's sight. Mayhap you will spy her horse when no one else can." Ronan stopped and turned to face Ward. "I really dinna see how you do it."
"My hawk's sight." Ward grinned. "I will organize the men at once, and following the nooning meal, we will be off."
"Aye. And let me know right away if you have any success."
"Will do." Ward strode back outside.
Ronan knew his brother was pleased he had been right—this time.
Red-faced and highly flustered, Cook practically ran into the great hall to speak to Ronan. Her dark eyes were wide, which didn't seem quite to be the reaction he would expect. He assumed she didn't like that the lass was allowed to sleep off the kitchen when he had not first talked to her about it. Even though the castle and everyone who lived within was under his rule, he was amused that Cook had claimed the kitchen and the storage room as her own.
"Aye, what is it? I take it that the lass—"
"She is armed with a kitchen knife and threatening us with it, my laird!"
Chapter 3
Sorcha had awakened in a small dark room to the sound of loud, banging noises and fearing for her life, she had quickly found a knife and armed herself.
Her heart thundering in her ears, Sorcha eased her way toward the entryway, intending to make her escape. She didn't know where she was when she saw six women preparing a meal. A spitted boar roasted over an open fire and pots of fish soup bubbling over another, making her stomach grumble with hunger.
Then one of the women turned, saw Sorcha, and screamed. The other five women whipped around, wide-eyed to see her wielding the knife for protection, none of them making a move.
A black-haired man ran into the room, carrying a sword, and when he saw her and the knife she was holding, he advanced on her, backing her into a corner. A tall, thin woman standing with the rest of the women rushed out of the kitchen.
Threatening to cut Sorcha if she moved from where she was wedged between a table and a wall, the man effectively blocked her escape from the kitchen.
"Where am I?" Sorcha was so confused, she couldn't think where she could be.
His black eyes narrowed and towering over her, the man scowled at her every bit as much as she scowled right back at him and didn't answer her.
Footfalls hurried toward the kitchen, and she suspected armed guards would come and carry her off to the dungeon, if they didn't kill her outright first.
Ronan and the tall woman entered the kitchen, and Sorcha felt a bit of relief to see someone she knew. She realized then she was at his castle, having forgotten he had told her he was bringing her here. He didn't look in the least bit pleased to see her holding a knife as much as she was pleased to see him. She dropped the knife on the table to show she had not meant to hurt anyone.
"Sorcha." Ronan stalked toward her.
"I woke and didna know where I was. I was in a dark room. And then…" She burst into tears.
Which was so unlike her!
She was exhausted, hungry, infuriated with Parthalan MacNeill for forcing her to flee Craigly Castle against her will, and to leave her sister and her niece and nephews behind, all of whom she loved dearly. Then to lose her beloved horse. She wasn't given to wild emotional outbursts ever, and she was furious with herself for doing so in front of Ronan and his staff.
But she couldn't have stopped the tears no matter what.
Here she thought she might even be employed at Dunloch Castle. Now, neither the laird, nor anyone else, could trust her with even a kitchen knife. Worse, he probably thought that her disintegrating into tears was all an act to gain his sympathy.
But she truly couldn't help the raw emotions swamping her this instant.
"Come, Sorcha." Ronan voice was soothing as he offered his hand to her.
He wasn't going to throw her in the dungeon? She hastily brushed away the tears on her cheeks, though her eyes were still filled with them. She sniffled and took his hand.
His eyes widened a bit, and she guessed he meant to take her arm, which was much less intimate. She qui
ckly released his hand. He smiled a little, and that one little smile made her body heat all over again.
He took hold of her arm and gently led her out of the kitchen. She was certain the servants would share what had happened in the kitchen with the rest of the staff. Which really narrowed the possibilities for working here.
"I…I didna know where I was."
"Aye, lass, I gathered that." Ronan walked her through the great hall, and her heart began to race again.
What if he meant to place her in the dungeon? Instead of by force, he was taking a willing hostage?
She slowed her pace, but he didn't. No one was throwing her in a dungeon without a fight.
"Where…where are you taking me?" She glanced down at his belt and the sword swinging from it, and the sgian dubh he carried in his boot.
He smiled down at her, then clasped his hand around hers, as if he knew just what she was thinking. "Dinna even consider stealing one of my weapons, lass. You well remember what happened the last time, aye?"
Certainly. The braw warrior and laird of his clan had not only disarmed her, but taken her down and rested between her legs as if he was her lover. That thought made her hot all over again as if she had been baking bread on the warm summer's day.
She saw his brother Alban and the way he was grinning at her. She knew then the word of her actions in the kitchen were already spreading throughout the clan.
"I saw Fagen and he told me that I might need to watch your back, Ronan. Do you?"
Ronan shook his head. "Tell Fagen I wish to see him at the guest chamber on the top floor in a little while. I will see you at the meal shortly."
When he reached the stairs and found Sorcha slowing her pace even more, he glanced down at her, hating to see her so distressed. "Are you tired?"
"Aye."
"I only wish to speak to you." Ronan suspected she was tired, but also wary of where he was taking her. He intended for her to sleep, undisturbed, in a small chamber guests used when visiting. There was no escaping the room through the arrow slit windows and as high up as the chamber was located. But he would have to post a guard to ensure she didn't slip out through the door.
