by Aileen Adams
“I shall need the use of my hands,” she smirked once they reached a bushy area behind the barn. “Unless ye would like to assist me and lose your own hands in the process.”
“Wretched woman,” he uttered as he worked at the ropes. “I catch ye stealing from me, and ye have the nerve…”
She bit back a smile. It felt good, getting just a small bit of her own back in the midst of this humiliation.
Lifting her skirts and crouching once he gave her a bit of privacy was even better. She could think more clearly now that she was not so distracted by the discomfort in her belly.
“Anne!” Liam’s voice rang out from inside the barn. “Anne! Where are ye?”
“For the love of all that’s holy.” The man grabbed her arm and dragged her back inside—good thing she had already finished.
“What is it?” she asked, truly perplexed.
The way her captor looked about, as if—
Her eyes widened. As if no one but he knew they were there. Could it be? Was this not his farm? Or was he merely a hand called upon to watch for thieves in the night?
One would think he’d dash to his master straightaway if that were the case.
“She is here.” The man shoved her back into the stall, leaving her hands free. Her arms ached horribly, the way her legs did, but that pain had already begun to subside.
Liam’s face was tear-stained. “I woke and ye were gone,” he spat out, both angry and ashamed at having wept.
“’Tis all right.” She was finally able to wrap him in a loving embrace and stroke his hair before wiping the dampness from his cheeks. “I am well. All is well.”
“All?” he whispered, eyes moving back and forth.
“Perhaps not all,” she admitted. “But it will be.”
“Enough of yer whispering.” The man jerked Liam to his feet. “Come on. The same for ye. A moment of privacy outside.”
Liam looked utterly terrified, and Anne’s reassuring smile did little to help. The door was bolted firmly before they left her on her own with nothing but cattle to keep her company in the other stalls. Now that she’d been outside for a minute or two, their stench hit her nose as if for the first time.
Though she’d smelled worse at Malcolm’s, especially after an evening of revelry.
Able to walk, she did so, pacing the entire stall while shaking life back into her arms. She had to be sharp, quick, aware.
She had to find a way to get out of there with Liam in tow. If they could get back to the wall and into the woods, he could show her how he’d managed to follow her through them. Avoiding the roads would mean avoiding capture.
Though she did shudder to think of abandoning Maebe, when given the choice of the mare or her brother, there was, in fact, no choice to be made.
Liam returned, and it did her heart good to see him appear less frightened and more like his normal, spirited self. He even pulled out of the man’s grasp once they reached the stall, going straight to her and standing with his body between her and the stranger.
The man’s mouth quirked in a suppressed smile. She had the feeling he found Liam amusing. She did not dare hope this would work in their favor, but it was worth remembering.
“Eat,” the man grunted, gesturing to the pail and settling himself in one corner, arms folded. He intended to watch them, then. He intended to take them straight away afterward.
She eyed him, suspicious. “Why bother feeding us if—"
“I can take it away,” he warned, his voice like the cracking of a whip.
Liam looked up at her, a silent plea in his eyes.
“Of course,” she replied to his unspoken question. “Eat your fill and then some.” It was a gratifying sight, her brother tucking into the steaming porridge. Even something so simple did her heart good.
She happened to glance upward at the man, who watched them with great interest. When she made no move to join Liam, his brows lifted. Red, verging on gold, like the unruly hair which covered his head.
She mimicked his expression, silent.
“Will ye not eat?” he asked.
“Nay, thank ye,” she added. “I am not hungry.”
He scowled, his dark eyes narrowing. “Nay? Is this your way of protesting, lass?”
She glared at him, then glanced at Liam before returning her gaze to his. Her brother ate like one who’d been starved. He needed it more than she.
The man’s expression softened. He seemed to study her with renewed interested. She tipped her head to the side, challenging him. What was so interesting all of a sudden?
“Are ye having any?” Liam asked around a mouthful of porridge which he’d scooped from the pail with a crust of bread.
“Nay, dear. Eat up.” She folded her arms, again mimicking the man standing opposite her, waiting to hear his thoughts on this. Wondering who he was if not the owner of the farm. MacIntosh, though she did not know the first name.
If he was not the owner, might she be able to play upon his sympathy to earn their escape? The owner might not even know they existed, or, in fact, that he’d brought food to them and had so far kept them concealed confirmed as much.
Perhaps she was imagining things. Perhaps she wished to believe what she wished to believe.
But it gave her reason to hope, especially when paired with the touch of softness in the man’s gaze when he looked upon Liam.
Things might not be over for them just yet.
7
Just what was he supposed to do with them?
The lass could rot away in prison for all he was concerned. The gall of her! Walking about with her nose in the air, as though she were in control of this situation. As if he was the thief and she the near-victim.
Nay, the past victim! For she had already stolen from them, and on more than one occasion. Yet to hear her speak, she was the one who’d been wronged.
Yes, she could die in prison, and he would be glad to hear of it. At least, this was his feeling on the matter whenever she sneered at him or fixed him with one of her cool stares.
It was the lad who concerned him. Anyone with eyes could clearly see he would be no match for a prison, where those within were prone to die of illness long before their sentence could be carried out. Pits of disease, they were, and filthy on top of that. Not to mention the fact that he’d never get enough to eat there.
It was clear he hadn’t been the one doing the reiving. In fact, from what Drew had spied while crouched in the dark corner of the barn, it had seemed as though the lad hadn’t the first notion of how to conduct himself in such a situation. It had been the lass telling him what to do.
He did not deserve to be charged with a crime, yet he would hardly accept the announcement that his sister would be handed over to the law. He would fight and claw and perhaps even bite anyone who attempted to hold him back.
Drew knew this because he would have done the same in the lad’s shoes, and the two of them were a great deal alike. He saw much of his younger self in Liam—the slight build, the scrapper’s instincts. How bravely he had fought, or tried to fight, for his sister.
He thought he might quite like the lad under different circumstances.
For his sake, Drew was not overly fond of the notion of turning them in. He’d been all but bursting at the seams with anticipation upon entering the house once the mare had been secured in the stables, but once he’d checked upon the twins—sleeping peacefully, and thank God for that—he’d gotten to thinking.
What would have become of them had he not been living on his cousin’s land? What if he’d taken to the Highlands once again, riding back and forth, starting brawls and selling his talents with his fists to the highest bidder? Where would they have gone?
Moreover, what had happened to Liam—and Anne, he supposed—that led them to their current situation? Children did not take to theft unless they had a strong reason for it. Poverty, homelessness, lack of a family.
The lad was terribly small, thin, with eyes too large and too wi
se for his young face.
And Anne was all too willing now to give him her share of the food, though she must have been hungry. The lass was thinner than she ought to be, her bony wrists protruding from the billowing, belted tunic she wore over a striped skirt. Her cheeks were a bit too hollow, her jaw a bit too sharp. A fortnight’s worth of hot food would do her a great deal of good.
Not that it was any of his concern.
Still, what had led them to the barn that night? What brought her there all the times before? Or whom?
Until he knew the answers to these questions, he could not in good conscience report them. Yet he could not allow Rufus to know of their presence, either, for Rufus might not take such a generous attitude.
He’d want to see them punished for what they’d done, or tried to do. He had already been through hell and back to reclaim the land stolen from his murdered parents, and then had been to hell again in the restoring of the place to its former state.
It would matter little to him, if at all, just why the reiver did as she did.
“Well?” Anne prompted, still standing there with arms crossed.
“Well, what?”
“Ye ought to be the ones telling us. What do ye plan to do now? Ye have us here, and there isn’t anything we can do about it. Ye have control. What do ye intend to do with it?”
He ought to have known she would not be one to beg or weep or plead for mercy. She would rather push him to the limits of his patience. “Do ye not know, lass, that ‘tis better to play meek and mild in a situation such as this?”
“I canna say I’ve ever found myself in this situation,” she snorted.
“Nor have I. The pleasure of catching thieves and meting punishment is nearly more than I can describe.”
“Punishment?” Liam turned a strange shade of grey at the word.
Drew’s heart twisted a bit but knew it was for the best that he continue. “Aye, lad. Surely ye didna believe ye would be allowed to go free after what you’ve done? Do ye believe the magistrate will shake a finger in your face and warn ye never to engage in such foolishness again? Perhaps take away your sweets or send ye to bed without supper?”
“Enough of that,” Anne spat, looping a protective arm about Liam’s shoulders.
An arm which, to Drew’s surprise and growing respect, the lad shrugged off.
“I know what it means to be punished for a misdeed,” the lad boasted. “I am not afraid.” His pallor suggested otherwise, but he did his best to put on a good show of strength.
When he glanced up at his sister, it became clear that the performance was not only for Drew’s benefit. This bravado was as much for her sake, perhaps more.
Why did the lad tug at his heart so? No matter, for there were others who tugged even harder, and they were in need of his attention this morning. “I have matters to attend to. There is a small structure behind my house which ought to hold tools and what have ye, but ‘tis empty at the moment. It should do nicely for the pair of ye. I’ve filled it with clean straw, buckets for ye to take care of your private needs, and I shall see to it you’re fed.”
“Wait.” Anne held up both hands, her face a mask of confused despair. Her eyes were a lovely shade of blue, he noted, though they looked dark and stormy at present.
“’Tis either that or take ye into the village, and I have no time today to make the journey. I shall lock ye in the wee building, and ye shall remain there until such time as I can drive the cart into the village. I will hear no arguments.”
They offered none, choosing instead to hold a silent conversation. As if they had a choice.
“Pardon me, but I didna ask ye to decide whether this was acceptable. What I’ve described is what is to be.” He went to them and was rather brusque in winding the rope about their wrists. “’Tis either this, or remain here with the cattle ye were so intent on stealing.”
They remained silent, unnervingly so. No doubt the lass believed she could think her way out of this, the clever thing. Not as clever as she believed herself to be, nowhere near. He’d seen enough in his years to know he knew very little, but she was not old enough to have reached that place in her life.
For all his sharpness, the callow attitude he put on for their sakes, he had done what he could to make the shed comfortable with the lad in mind. There was plenty of straw for a bed, light, and air came in through a pair of very narrow openings in one of the stone walls; they need not sit in stifling darkness.
The lass sniffed when they entered. “It is quite small.”
It took every last scrap of self-control to keep from showing her the sharp side of his tongue. He’d been too long without a good brawl, and she was beginning to push him toward engaging in one.
“Ye deserve less,” he snarled, and left it at that. “Be glad ye will not have your wrists tied here. The lock on the door is a new one and the walls sturdy. No one ever ventures back this far, so there is no sense in screaming—besides,” he added, “should anyone know of your presence, they would have ye in the back of a wagon and on your way to prison in the time it would take to snap my fingers. I wouldna do it if I were ye.”
Anne turned a slow circle, while Liam made himself comfortable in the straw. Drew had the vague sense of the lad seeing this as a grand adventure, even while his sister behaved as though she’d expected grand accommodations. She made it impossible to feel anything but bitterness toward her.
“This is not your farm, then,” she concluded, a sly smirk tugging at her full mouth.
“What makes ye—”
“If ye were the owner, if this were your land, only ye could say whether or not ye choose to send us to the village to be locked away. No one else. Ye would not need to hide us here. Why are ye hiding us? Why not—”
She went silent, her mouth slightly open, her shoulders falling from where she’d positioned them near her ears. As if she understood this was for Liam’s sake.
And he hated her for it, for now she’d feel as though she could take advantage. His hands curled into fists at his sides, blood pumping in his ears as it always did when there was a fight before him.
Would that she were a man. He would knock her senseless and spit on her unconscious body.
He had never thought his way out of a problem before. His fists had always been the answer. Now, the sense that he’d been outmatched burned like a fire in the pit of his stomach.
“Enjoy yer day,” he snarled, spitting on the straw before turning and closing the door as hard as he could. The sound of the lock clicking into place was a satisfying one which he hoped she heard inside.
Not a moment later, the back door to the house opened and out tumbled two bairns.
“Uncle Drew!” Moira cried out, holding up her arms that he might lift her onto his shoulder. It was the same way every morning. Two children full of life and excitement—after all, they had awoken to a new day in which there was nothing to fear, nothing to dread, nothing to gnaw at them as they went about their business.
He was in no mood for play this morning. In fact, he realized as he herded them into the house and slammed the door that he even resented them a bit. Not for their presence, but for their carefree attitudes.
Whirling on them, he barked, “Quiet!”
He had never raised his voice to them. He had never spoken sharply except when Owen strayed too close to trouble. Moira was a perfect angel of a lass, sweet and winning and clever.
And heartbroken. Her wide, dark eyes filled with tears. Her chin trembled.
Owen took her hand in his own. That simple gesture filled Drew with a deep loathing of his own temperamental nature. The poor wee ones.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, dropping to one knee with arms outstretched. “’Tis been a difficult morning for me, my dears, but I should not have spoken that way to ye.”
He even hated himself when they ran into his arms, glad to be loved, glad to love him. There were moments in which he was certain he did not deserve them.
He p
atted their curly heads and sent them off to wash up before leaving them with Innis at the main house. Perhaps they would have a happier day there, while he went about his day with his thoughts always on the pair in the shed.
8
The sun was directly overhead by the time Anne finished examining every last bit of their surroundings. She’d run her hands over every stone she could reach, had tried to chip away at the mud holding them together with what unchewed bits of fingernail she possessed.
He’d thought of everything, it seemed. The devil. There was not even anything she might use concealed within the straw. The floor was entirely clear beneath the golden clouds.
He’d seen to their comfort in spite of his qualms toward them.
And he cared about Liam in spite of them, too. She could see it. The way he looked at him, the way he’d watched him eat with such interest.
What she’d considered at first to be a millstone about her neck might have been a stroke of good fortune.
Not that she could ever consider her brother a burden. Not truly. But worrying about herself would be one thing. Worrying for his sake sent her stomach churning and caused her head to ache all the worse.
Her stomach. Empty, churning, hunger gnawing at the back of her mind. Liam had needed to eat, truly, he always needed it more than she did. If only she knew when their captor would bring dinner.
Or if he would at all.
“He will,” she whispered, peering out the narrow excuse for a window. She could breathe, at least, and see a bit of what was just outside. There was not very much, just the wall beyond.
If she could only get out there and over that wall. If only they could, together.
But she had heard the lock clicking closed. It sounded solid.
She’d heard something else, too, or she’d believed she had. Voices. Wee ones, likely belonging to wee people. Bairns, or a bit older. One of them had spoken of “Uncle Drew.”
Was that him? Uncle Drew? The happiness in the wee lassie’s voice did not seem to match in Anne’s head with the snarling man who’d locked them in a shed used for storing tools. What would that lassie think if she knew what her Uncle Drew had done?
