by Terry Spear
“Let me see you take care of yourself when I’ve got you braced against me.”
That was an invitation she wasn’t about to pass up. Catriona bucked against the knight, kicked at his knees, elbowed his shoulders. But he didn’t let go.
“If Geoffrey or one of his men want you bad enough, little savage, they’ll have you.”
To prove his point he carried her over to the table, swiped it free and put pressure on the small of her back that made her instinctively bend forward. He hadn’t hurt her, but he was scaring the breath from her.
Fear sucked away any bravado she might have had before. Was he going to violate her to prove his point?
She waited for the air to hit her bare buttocks as he lifted her skirt, but it never did. In fact, it took a few moments for her to realize he wasn’t even touching her. Wasn’t even standing near her anymore.
“Get up, chit.” His voice was gentle, almost remorseful. “I would never hurt you.”
Shaking, she pressed her hands to the table and slowly lifted herself. Throat tight, she couldn’t make her voice work. Her lips trembled and teeth chattered. She rubbed at her arms and turned around to face the knight who both frightened and intrigued her. She was glad to see that his eye was already swelling where her elbow had connected. Aye, he was bigger, and dammit if he didn’t overpower her, but at least she’d fought back. Just like her brother had taught her.
She clamped her teeth hard to keep them from chattering, pressed her lips even harder. There was no way she’d show this man that he’d frightened her. Catriona studied his face. His eyes didn’t waver from hers. The muscles of his jaw were clenched tight, and though he stood rigid, his hands weren’t flexed. The man was waiting for her. Patiently.
It was troubling in its complexity.
“Why do ye think I can help ye?” she asked, crossing her arms protectively across her chest.
His lips quirked into a slight grin. “So you agree that I can protect you? That you can trust me?”
“That remains to be seen,” she grumbled. “Answer my question.”
His grin widened. “Because you’re a Scot and I’m not.”
Catriona narrowed her eyes. “That was obvious before, but what has that to do with anything?”
“I need to find my sisters.”
She cocked her head. “I still dinna see what ye’re getting at, Sassenach.”
“My sisters were kidnapped by two of your brethren. I need to find them posthaste.”
“By Buchanans? Posthaste?” She couldn’t help but smile—though she did it close-mouthed. The man’s manner of speech was so proper, it didn’t suit his armor, nor the way he’d touched her.
“Not Buchanans, and indeed, posthaste, mademoiselle, if you would be so kind.”
Now he was using French. She controlled the urge to roll her eyes. Swiping a hand over her mussed hair in an attempt to smooth it, she said, “I have not seen your sisters.”
He shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. I know who has them, and I intend for you to be my guide north.”
“Guide?” She’d never been a guide for anyone. Had only traveled north one time a few years ago with her brother after their parents were murdered. They’d gone to see their distant cousins who’d helped them to regain their castle. But if she told him that, he might not take her with him, and right now he was the only chance she had to escape Sir Geoffrey’s clutches. “Where in the north?”
“Sutherland.”
Her eyes widened at that. “As in the Earl of Sutherland?”
The knight looked a little surprised. “Is he an earl?”
Dear Lord, did the man not know just who he spoke of? The Sutherlands were very tightly attached to Robert the Bruce, direct enemies of the English. If they had his sisters, there was no getting them back. “Aye,” Catriona drew out. “He has your sister?”
The knight nodded. “Stole her away from her bridegroom and then had one of his men—his brother—abduct my other sister.”
Catriona pursed her lips in thought. Her cousin Myra was married to a relation of the Sutherlands, and she’d not mentioned two English lassies being stolen by her husband’s cousins. But then again, she’d not been in touch with her cousin in a long time. ’Haps it was true. But really, was it important that it be true or not? Nay. She needed to get north, too. Maybe Myra and her husband would be able to help her once more regain her castle and avenge her brother.
“I’ll take ye.”
“You know the way then?”
She gave a simple nod. Sutherland wasn’t too much further north than Blair Castle where Myra resided with her husband. At least, she didn’t think so. When they stopped at inns along the way, she’d ask just to be sure she was on the right path. Then again, staying at inns was most likely not an option with a Sassenach.
“What is your name?” Catriona asked. “If we are to be travel companions, I should at least know that much.”
He grinned again. “I am Sir Samuel de Mowbray.”
The name rang familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Mayhap she had heard of his sisters before.
“I am Catriona Buchanan.” And, if it were true that her brother was dead, then she was Laird Catriona Buchanan, but there was no need to tell him that.
Samuel stepped forward and lifted her hand, bringing it to his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”
Her breath held as his soft mouth—those kissable lips—brushed over her knuckles. A shiver stole up her arm, and as much as she liked it, she couldn’t help but think how utterly ridiculous it was.
Catriona snatched her hand back. “Dinna do that again. I’m your guide not some silly lass ye can dupe with your flirtations. And that”—she thrust her finger toward the table—“will never happen again.”
Samuel placed his hand over his heart. “On my honor, my lady, I shall never lay a hand upon you again.” He winked and her heart seized. “That is, unless you ask me to.”
She let out a startled, exasperated gasp. “Rest assured, Sassenach, such will never occur.”
He grinned at her, making her both angry and curious to know what it would feel like if he did touch her—not in a threatening way, but gently, just as his lips had been on her knuckles. Her skin still tingled.
Somewhere in the distance, a bellow sounded in the castle.
“He is looking for me,” Catriona said, feeling the color drain from her face. “We have tarried too long.”
Samuel frowned. He looked at the ground and then back up at her. “Is it too much to hope that this is, in fact, not the library Geoffrey spoke of and that you know of another secret corridor that will lead us away from the castle?”
Catriona nodded. “Ye’re correct. And I do. But we run the risk of capture.”
“How?”
Her shoulders slumped. “’Tis in the storeroom.”
“And where is that?”
Catriona swallowed hard. “Just off the great hall.”
Samuel groaned. “Do you mean to tell me we’ll have to go through the great hall—the room filled with knights—to get to the storeroom?”
Eyes wide, she stared up at Samuel. “Would it be better to hand me over to Sir Geoffrey? I promise I’ll fight ye every inch.” Not that she was certain that her fight would do much other than give him another swollen eye.
Samuel cursed under his breath, and turned from her, hands on his hips.
“Odds are that your general has his men searching the castle. We may get lucky and the great hall could be empty.” A ripple of fear cascaded up her spine. She didn’t want to get lucky. She wanted to get the hell out of here. As it was, she was going to travel all the way north in the dead of winter without a coin to her name, nor provisions, nor a cloak, let alone a horse.
“We’ll not get anywhere without a mount,” Samuel said, stealing her thoughts. “And you’re hardly dressed for the weather.”
“There is another way.”
“And that is? Please don’t tell me we should jum
p into the moat and find a boat?”
She shook her head and narrowed her brow at him. “’Tis far too cold for that.”
There were more shouts from within the castle, but she was certain they’d not find them here.
“We could wait here until they are certain of our escape, and then we can sneak to the storeroom. Some of the crofters outside the walls have horses. We could borrow one. And here”—she opened a trunk along the side of the wall—“are some blankets we could use for warmth.”
Samuel stared at her. “Do any of the servants know of this chamber?”
Catriona shook her head. “Only my brother and I.”
“It’s not on any castle plans that Sir Geoffrey may find in the true library?”
“Nay.”
“All right. Let us get comfortable then, because they will likely not give up the search for you until tomorrow night.”
“And then we shall make our escape.”
“And then we shall attempt to make our escape.”
Catriona moved to sit in one of the plush chairs; her grandmother had embroidered the cushions. “What will happen to ye if they find ye?”
Samuel removed his helmet and placed it on the table. She was surprised to see how light his locks were. Like golden wheat in spring. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I’ll likely be hanged for it.”
“Then what will ye do when ye find your sisters? If they’d hang ye now, they’ll hang ye when ye return to England.”
“I will have to negotiate my way back into the king’s good graces.”
Her chest tightened. “Ye must love them verra much.”
“I do.”
“I loved my brother, too.” And she burst into tears.
Chapter 4
SAMUEL’S stomach was quickly unsettled by Lady Catriona’s emotional breakdown.
True, he’d grown up with two sisters, but that did not mean he’d ever gotten a clear understanding of a woman’s tears, or what happened inside their minds to cause such a reaction.
He reached out awkwardly with the intent to pat her on the shoulder, but then recalled his promise to never touch her again. Shifting on his feet, he cleared his throat. “You should know, my lady, Catriona, that your brother is alive. ’Haps not well, but he is still alive.”
Her tears stopped almost as soon as they started and she looked up at him, glassy eyed, mouth slightly agape. “He’s not dead?”
Samuel shook his head. “Nay.”
“But…” She glanced toward the door as if she expected to see someone there. “Sir Geoffrey…”
“He implied, aye. A right boor he is. But they merely beat your brother and left him shackled to the stocks in the courtyard.”
Catriona ran a trembling hand through her hair. “We have to save him when we escape. They’ll probably leave him out there, won’t they?”
“I doubt it. They’ll want to hide him away where no one can help him to flee. My guess is they’ll have moved him already thinking you’re the one about to help him now.”
“We have to go! If he’s alive, we canna let them hurt him.”
“Geoffrey will nay hurt your brother. The king may hate the Scots, but he sent us here on a mission and it wasn’t to kill a chief.”
Anger sliced over her face and she glared up at him with her swollen eyes. “What do ye mean? The king has ordered the deaths of many and turned a blind eye to the murders, rapes and other countless savage acts your men have put upon us.” Catriona stood to her very tall height and marched over to him, the sad, whiney lady gone and replaced by a warrior. She jabbed him in the chest. “All of the English will go to hell for the crimes ye’ve committed against my people.”
Samuel was grateful for the plate of armor on his chest, because her little jab packed quite a bit of power. She was so lovely at that moment, he could have kissed her, but he didn’t. He had to defend himself, his character.
Pressing his hand to his chest, he said, “Now, wait a minute. Don’t lump me in with Geoffrey and his lot. I didn’t hurt any of your people, your brother or you.”
“But you are with him. You stood by while the others hurt them.”
“Aye, I did stand by. And I admit my reasons for it were purely selfish, but I’m here now, offering to help you. Simply because I was one of Geoffrey’s retainers does not mean that I would stoop to his tactics, nor condone their behavior. I assure you, I’ve not been with him long.”
“New recruit?” she sneered.
Samuel grunted. He didn’t like being mocked by her. “Hardly.”
She didn’t ask anything further, and he didn’t want to share. Not yet. He wasn’t even certain he could trust the chit, let alone if they’d make it out today. And he wasn’t going to risk telling her anything in case they were found.
“I willna leave without my brother.” The way her shoulders were squared and her jaw jutted forward defiantly, Samuel was pretty certain he was going to have a hell of a time convincing her to do just that.
The sounds of men running through the castle echoed through the stones. Catriona looked frantically about the room and he had a sudden fear that she would run out of the room. He stepped forward, putting on a calm face and using a soothing voice like he would to a wounded animal.
“Listen, my lady,” he said.
Her gaze darted to his and connected. Thank the saints.
“I know you’re worried about your brother. But you need to trust me. He will not be killed, and he would be safer if you left him than if we attempted a heist with just the two of us.” She was shaking her head, eyes narrowing on his.
“You just want me to take you north.”
“Aye, ’tis true, I do. But I also know Sir Geoffrey and the way his mind works. Have you friends in the north? Knowing the way to Sutherland, you must.”
She nodded slowly, though a shadow of uncertainty filled her eyes. Did that mean that though she knew them, they weren’t people she could trust? He knew the way that felt. Geoffrey was a perfect example. One of his own countryman, a superior officer, and yet a bastard of the first order.
“Would they help you get your brother?”
She shrugged.
Samuel ran a hand over his face, glad to have the metal away from his head. “I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but right now I’m the only friend you’ve got. I want to help you. I want us both to make it out of here alive, and I swear to you, when we find my sisters, I will help you get your brother back.”
“I canna leave him.”
“Catriona,” his voice came out more exasperated than he wanted. “What good are you going to be to your brother strapped to Sir Geoffrey’s bed?”
That got her attention. Her mouth dropped open and her face paled considerably.
“He will not let you escape the fate he had planned for you. The king ordered your brother not to be harmed. He made no mention of you.” Samuel began divesting himself of his weapons, placing them within reach on the table beside his helmet. Perhaps she’d trust him more if he weren’t so menacing to look at.
“He is not to be harmed?”
“Aye, as I mentioned before.”
Catriona followed his weapons with her gaze and he noticed her shoulders begin to relax. He took off his chainmail piece by piece, until he stood in his breeches, boots and the thick tunic he wore under his armor.
“I swear upon my life, that I will not let anyone harm you, my lady.” And he meant it. No woman should have to worry for her own safety against a man.
“Why would you do so much for me?”
“Because you’ve no one else in the world. And you are the only one who can lead me to my sisters.”
There were several moments of silence and he prayed all the while that she would say aye.
At long last, she blew out a breath and glanced up at him. “All right.”
Samuel nodded. “Best get some rest. We’ll need it if we are to have all our wits about us when we make our escap
e.” He gestured toward a cushioned chaise. “Sleep there. I’ll rest on the floor.”
Catriona walked to the chaise and sat upon it. “They willna find us.”
Samuel couldn’t be sure if she was reassuring him or herself, but he nodded in acknowledgement all the same. And he’d be certain to have his sword and shield near should they be found.
“We’ll survive,” he said. That’s what he always did. He survived.
CATRIONA lay upon the chaise, arms folded on her middle and eyes lidded. She hoped to appear asleep as she studied the knight with whom she was trapped for an undetermined amount of time.
The golden glow of the hearth set off a soft light in the room. A comforting light that played a trick with one’s mind considering the angry shouts bouncing off the stone walls of the castle. She shivered with fear. Not only afraid for her own life, but for her brother. Samuel said Gregor was shackled in the courtyard. How badly was he injured? Was he properly clothed? In the dead of winter, he could freeze to death overnight.
Samuel glanced over toward her, his gaze roving the length of her body. Did he know she was only feigning sleep? She couldn’t decipher his thoughts from his expression.
He was a few inches taller than she, body trim, and from the way his Sassenach breeches clung to his thighs, and the tunic to the breadth of his shoulders, she could only imagine what the cut of his muscles looked like beneath. She squeezed her eyes shut in earnest. Why was she thinking about his muscles?
She’d seen men train before. Hell, her brother and his men walked around in their plaids with legs showing. What was so intriguing about a man who covered his thighs with fabric?
She supposed it left enough to the imagination that she itched to take it off. Itched to see what he’d look like in Scots' plaid.
Nay! Nay, she did not!
Never in her life had she had these kinds of thoughts about an Englishman. First, the man had her thinking about kisses while he terrified her and now she couldn’t stop thinking about him without his breeches on.
