KIDNAPPED BY THE HIGHLAND ROGUE

by Brisbin, Terri

  First he found his satchel and put it back inside a larger sack where she’d found it, shoving it into a corner behind several other bags and boxes. If she meant to look in it again, he’d made it as difficult as possible for her. Then, he walked to the entrance and picked something up. Two things actually. She’d been so frightened that she’d not noticed before. Holding them out to her, he motioned to the alcove.

  ‘This will hold the pot over the fire and give you a level surface.’

  She recognised the metal girdle and rack from yesterday’s cooking. He must have retrieved it from the other cave and their supplies. Fia stood back and let him place it over the blocks of peat she’d placed there. Once balanced, she put the pot on to boil and prepared the oats and flour for it.

  At home, the hearth would never be allowed to go out completely, so it was easy enough to get the fire hot enough to make bannocks or prepare the pot for a stew or porridge. Here, beginning anew, it would take some time before the fire or the water was ready.

  Time enough for her to finish mending her gown.

  Fia turned around, intending to get the sewing box, and found a half-naked Iain Dubh.

  Her first thought was that the black hair that caused him to be called ‘Dubh’ extended down over his chest, across his belly and disappeared beneath the belt at his waist.

  The second thing that occurred to her was that she’d seen her share of bare-chested men in spite of her rather sheltered existence, but not many could compare with the masculine beauty of this one.

  Just before she turned quickly away, as a God-fearing maiden should, Fia thought that she really would like to touch his skin and run her fingers through those black curls on his chest.

  Trying to hide both her curiosity and her embarrassment, Fia took hold of her gown, sat near the lantern and began to work. Leaning her head down, she tried to keep her gaze on her work and not on him. Mayhap he had not noticed her reaction? Mayhap he did not see the burning blush in her cheeks caused by the sight of his bare chest? She hoped for both and discovered that he was well aware of both.

  ‘Here, lass,’ he said, approaching so quietly she did not hear him until he spoke from right beside her. ‘It might work better if you turn it this way instead of the other.’ His scent reminded her of leather and fresh rain. His skin, glistening with water from his soaked tunic, now gave off heat as he reached across her to turn the gown in her grasp. Heat she could feel because of his nearness.

  Foolishly distracted by his display, she’d been trying to sew the back of her gown rather than the front of it. Fia tried to calm herself by counting each breath slowly and evenly, a surely unsuccessful attempt to show him that she was not affected.

  But, oh, she was. Her skin felt tight and her mouth tingled. Her palms itched, ached, to rub against the muscular chest and over his shoulders and—God forbid!—down the flat, hard belly where the curls disappeared. She began counting cousins once more in an effort to ignore him and to regain her control.

  It might have worked, too, if he had just moved away and covered himself. But, nay, he did not do that. Instead, he walked two paces away and then undermined her control and her resolve not to watch his every movement completely. If only he’d kept those trews in place!

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see him loosen his belt and tug it free. The needle slipped in her grasp now as her fingers and palms grew sweaty. Then he worked the laces until the garment sagged down low on his hips. Fia fought the urge to gasp loudly as more skin was exposed to her. She closed her eyes now and whispered a prayer to whichever saint in heaven would listen to aid her in this moment of weakness.

  She’d thought herself a good woman. A chaste woman. A prayerful woman at times. It had taken but two, three, of his kisses to prove all of her life was a sham. The blood of a loose woman raced through her veins and, now tempted, seemed to increase with every encounter with this wicked man.

  Mayhap this was what ruination was about? The act or acts mattered not, but the awareness and desire to sin did? The need to turn and watch him? The need to touch him?

  She daren’t move or look or breathe right now. ’twas a sin to want to do those things, but a venial one, for certain. Acting on those urges must surely be a more serious, even mortal, sin. When he pushed the trews down and off, Fia could not think. Every bit of her strength was being used to not look, to not turn around, to not...want to do those things.

  ‘I slid down part of the pathway when I lost my footing,’ he explained as he now walked to his bag and sought another pair. His voice did not tremble as hers did when she attempted a simple reply.

  ‘Ohhhh?’ The single word was elongated into a much longer sound than she wished. Mayhap he would not notice? Fia could not help but see his fine form as he passed near her. His body seemed sculpted like a statue she’d once seen in one on her travels with the laird and lady for it narrowed from that strong chest and back to a narrower waist and hips and...arse. If his chest was muscular, his long legs were even more impressive.

  Men had little or no reticence or embarrassment about their bodies. The warriors who trained at Drumlui Keep would fight in only trews and would wash in the nearby river without worrying over whether or not they were seen. Not that she went a-looking. Fia was now trying desperately to adopt such a calm attitude and it was not working at all.

  She could bear no more of this, so she placed the gown on the floor next to her and climbed to her feet. Walking to the alcove, she crouched there, as close to the fire as she could safely, and paid great attention to it. Since the water was not even near to boiling—the pot was yet cold—there was little to do it. But the heat of the growing fire and the heat within her as her body reacted to the sight of him combined to make it overwhelming and uncomfortable.

  Without turning to face him, she walked to the opening and lifted the flap, stepping just far enough out to be able to drop it behind her. She had no intention of going further or running away. Fia just needed a few moments to gather the wits she seemed to lose every minute she was near him.

  ‘Lass?’ he asked from behind her. The canvas flap yet separated them. ‘Do not run.’ She could hear him moving about the cave, cursing as he did. When he lifted the flap and stepped out, he had his trews on and his boots and was fighting his way back into a tunic.

  ‘The fire,’ she said, ‘the heat...’

  She really could not explain the rest, so she held her cupped hands out into the rain and caught some of it. Splashing it on her face, she repeated that until she felt some relief. He remained there, standing behind her without saying another word. Fia guessed that as long as he knew she was not trying to escape, he would allow her this small freedom.

  He went back inside and returned a few moments later after she could hear more rummaging happening. All her sorting would be for naught if he continued that. Right now though, she was unwilling to meet his intense and wicked stare after seeing so much of him. Knowing now what was under those garments would change for ever the way she looked at him. His arm soon appeared from behind her, holding two of the leftover bannocks.

  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘you should eat.’ She dared a glance at him before taking the food. ‘You did not eat as much as the rest of us did and you worked long and hard. With your head injury...’ His explanation drifted off as he lifted his hand again. ‘Eat.’

  Tempted to refuse, her belly answered for her with a long, low growl of emptiness. She accepted one of the flat cakes and nodded to him to keep the other. She stood there, just under enough of a ledge of stone so as to not get soaked with the rain and ate the bannock in silence. As the winds rose once more, the rain began to pelt them, so she followed Iain back inside.

  Instead of letting the flap close, blocking all of the possible light from outside, he tugged one edge of it up and tucked it so it would remain open. The day’s light, meagre though it was,
did its best to brighten the darkness of the cave and it succeeded somewhat. Fia picked up her gown and the wooden box she’d used as a stool and moved closer to the fire to finish it while watching the pot. When the water in the pot reached a boil, she added the oats and the flour along with a bit of salt. Once it bubbled again, she covered it with the flat girdle pan.

  Iain, now dressed, wrung out as much water as he could from his clothes and laid them over boxes that would not be bothered by the wetness of them. Glancing down, she realised that she wore his only other garments. Hurriedly, she pushed the twisted and stitched length of fabric in and out of the holes along the front of her gown, replacing the laces that had been cut.

  She had time now to put her gown on. Somehow it meant regaining herself a bit, so Fia gathered the gown and sought a place of some privacy...which did not exist in the cave. Though some of the others had several smaller chambers that went back into the side of the mountain, this one did not. She decided there was only one thing to do.

  ‘If you would give me a moment of privacy,’ she began.

  A bright flash lit the whole cave and thunder rumbled right behind it. The storm had taken a turn for the worse and at the worst moment. No one should be out in this kind of weather.

  ‘Go on now, lass,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I will not look.’ Since he’d admitted he was nothing but a rogue, she doubted his sincerity. Her face must have shown that disbelief, for he laughed. ‘Well, I will try not to look.’ Fia was willing to give him a chance until he spoke again. ‘Much as you did not look when I changed my trews.’

  The burn of embarrassment filled her face and she turned away. He spoke the name they’d chosen for her. Even as he said it, she wished she could hear him say her true name instead, but she stifled the urge to reveal herself to him.

  ‘Ilysa, go about it,’ he urged. ‘I will check on the porridge.’

  Iain walked towards the alcove, the same place as where she’d been while he was undressing. If she stood in the centre of the cave, immediately behind him, she knew he would not see much of her at all. And she wore her shift even now under the borrowed tunic and trews. Fia positioned herself and untied the laces at the neckline of the tunic, tugging it quickly over her head and pulling her gown on.

  ‘Ah, lass. Could you not have given me a wee peek?’ he asked without moving.

  He could not see her, she was certain of it. He was goading her, teasing her because he could and she did not argue with him. Fia tugged the gown down and decided to keep the trews on beneath it. She’d never considered how warm they could be on cold days but now she envied men for wearing them. When she approached him and the fire, he turned and studied her.

  ‘You look like the Norse women of old, who rode and fought at their men’s sides.’ His words and tone echoed of admiration rather than sarcasm or insult and Fia’s heart warmed at hearing it. ‘All you need is a sword or battleaxe.’

  Who was this man who knew of Norse customs and legends and yet rode with outlaws? Who spoke in the cultured accent of the nobly born to her while speaking in a common one to the brigands? Who had saved her from certain assault and possible death and made certain she was fed?

  Who had held her while she fell apart...?

  This comfort she felt in his presence was perplexing to her. Any sane person in her situation would be terrified of his nearness and his attentions. The way he held her at night, at his side, close enough to feel the heat of his body.

  And his almost-kind treatment and consideration towards her puzzled her as well. Though she had no experience with rogues and outlaws, surely his care of her was not the norm?

  The loud sizzle of porridge boiling over into the fire tore her attention away from the questions about the man. She ran to the pot and used the length of her gown to protect her hands from the heat. Lifting it was difficult for the pot itself weighed almost a stone empty. As she felt it slipping from her grasp, strong arms encircled hers and took hold of it.

  ‘Here now,’ he said, his mouth near her ear. So near that his breath tickled the sensitive spot. ‘Let me help.’ His body wrapped around hers, supporting her hold on the heavy pot.

  He eased them back, step by step, until they were away from the fire and could put it down. He let go, but his hands and arms released her slowly. She stood and unwrapped her hands.

  ‘My thanks for your help,’ she said softly. The entire pot could have been lost if not for his quick actions.

  ‘I confess my actions were more about filling my belly and the others than out of kindness,’ he said. A glance at his face said he did not believe that lie either.

  He stood there as she slid the girdle and stirred the porridge. Placing the flat cast-iron pan over half the opening of the larger pot, she turned to him to ask if he’d carry it back. Before she could, he reached down and did exactly that.

  * * *

  The next hour or so passed in a companionable silence as she tended the fire and food and he watched her work. After a bit, he walked over and knelt with his back to her, but she knew he had retrieved his leather bag and was looking through it.

  From his reaction earlier, ’twas clear to her that something of importance was in that bag. More than a simple thing like gold or coins. Less likely to be something of a personal nature. Whatever it was, it would reveal things about Iain Dubh that he did not wish revealed. Once he’d checked on whatever he was protecting, he replaced all the contents, tied the bag and shoved it back inside another one.

  Fia knew she needed to discover what the item was. She knew without a doubt that it was tied to this whole endeavour. Her hours and days of observing people at Arabella’s side had taught her much about understanding motives and actions. She’d learned more in those quiet moments of observation than in her lessons to read and write. Brodie was a masterful strategist and he taught without even knowing he was doing so. His men learned from him as she had.

  And it was that experience that told her this was all connected. The secret in his satchel was part of it. It might even be the link between all the parts. The attacks. This gang of outlaws. Brodie and The Camerons. But, what part Iain Dubh played and how this would conclude was the thing that terrified her the most.

  She must find a time to search through that bag. Though, with his constant presence and now his suspicions of her, Fia knew it would be difficult at best. Her mother bemoaned her stubbornness and so had Iain Dubh.

  He had no idea just how stubborn and tenacious she could be.

  * * *

  The lass was driving him mad. Utterly and completely daft.

  He would and could not allow her to be a hindrance to his mission, for too much and too many people would be affected by it. Just as he’d settled that argument in his own thoughts, she would do something that would make him question his resolve. She was quick-witted, funny, skilled at cooking and sewing, and intelligent.

  Niall knew she was keeping secrets from him, just as he was from her. But his secrets involved King and Country and were too important to disclose. Hers? He suspected, from the way she shoved strips of dried meat and a few bannocks into what seemed to be an opening in the edge of her cloak when she thought him not looking, that it involved escape and an attempt to return to her village. Well, if his plan worked, he would know the truth very soon.

  With the porridge cooked and a large number of bannocks baked on the girdle, they took advantage of a brief lull in the storm to make their way to the other cave. The men’s behaviour surprised even him, for they did not call out one insult or threat to the lass. Not even when she bent over and showed the lovely outline of her fine arse to them as she served the porridge.

  Amazing, he thought, what an empty belly and hunger would do to a man’s self-control.

  As the men sat and ate, she carried her bowl with her as she walked the perimeter of the larger cave. Though he could
not see them clearly, the shadows revealed that there were smaller chambers that led back into the mountain. She seemed very interested in those chambers. Only by watching her closely did he notice the momentary pauses in her route and her observations. Niall noticed it again on their way back to the cave he’d claimed.

  They reached the place where the path turned and headed up the mountain a bit and she stopped, tugging on the length of her gown as though it had gotten caught on a bush or rock. Niall watched as she kept pulling on the fabric, seeming to be loosening it, while her gaze moved in a different direction—towards another small path that split off several yards further up. If the rains had not returned just then, stronger than they had before, he thought she might have paused longer to study the path. As they ran the final yards to the cave, all the bits and clues fit together.

  The lass knew the encampment!

  She did not get her knowledge from her mother as she’d claimed, she knew it because she had been here.

  By the time they closed the flap against the increasing winds and lit the lantern, Niall understood her plan—gather supplies and then escape using some secret passageway or path known now only to her. She walked to the box she used as a seat and sat down. Her cloak remained around her shoulders, hiding her secret hoard.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he asked, moving towards the alcove and its banked fire.

  ‘A bit,’ she said with a nod. ‘It will pass now that we are back inside.’ He tossed another brick of peat into the fire. Lundie’s coins had bought supplies of all sorts for their time here.

  The warmth increased and spread throughout the cave. Granted, there would always be a certain damp coolness within its stone walls, but the fire helped. If she grew warm, she would need to remove the cloak. If she did that, her hidden supplies would be revealed. And what would she say?