Fyfa went to fetch the candle holder and led the way to Darra’s bed chamber.
“’Tis nae a guid idea for ye tae go with them, milady,” Fyfa said under her breath. A small draft in the dark corridor caused the candlelight to waver slightly. “The MacGregons are dangerous.”
“How do you know of them?”
Fyfa threw a furtive glance over her shoulder. Satisfied that Rory was far enough away, she continued, “If ye are from the highlands, ye ken. They’re one of the most dominant clans to the east, and their brute strength and wild ways are known throughout the land.” She paused as if to emphasize her last point. “Nae many men can cross a MacGregon, and live tae brag about it.”
Darra moved past her maid and pushed open her bed chamber door.
Her mind whirled as Fyfa’s dire warning sunk in. Her decision to lure these strangers away from the castle no longer seemed like a viable idea. But you had no choice, a voice inside her insisted. And she really had no choice. It was her duty to watch over her mother. If her father was still alive, he would have done the same. Yet there was also a small, selfish part of her that didn’t want to be left alone in this world. Her mother was all she had.
She scanned her bed chamber, not wanting to take along any of her possessions, since she had no intentions of going to Scotland. But the Highlander was watching her, and she had to demonstrate eager compliance.
She bent down to pick up her medicine basket that was beside the table.
“I will need my gown,” she said to Fyfa.
Her maid ran obediently to fetch the woolen gown from the ornate trunk which sat at the foot of Darra’s bed.
Glancing wistfully at the door where the Highlander stood guard, she wished that she had the nerve to scream. At least then the guards would be alarmed and would run to save her. But of course chaos would ensue and everyone in the vicinity would be endangered. After last night’s drinking and feasting, the garrison was bound to be sloppy, and the much larger and sober Highlanders would easily defeat them.
“Do not fret, Fyfa,” she said in a low voice, and smiled at her with a bravery that she didn’t feel. “When the guards are alerted of my disappearance, they will find me.”
She twisted her hands in her apron. “I’ll notify the guards as soon as I can, milady.”
“What are the two of ye blathering about?” Rory glowered at them. “If ye have gathered all your things then we’ll leave now.”
His tone caused a rush of anger to swirl in her gut. She thrust back her shoulders, and sent him a haughty look. “You are dragging me away from my home, and in the middle of the night,” she reminded him. “Because of the chill in the air, I cannot go in my chemise.”
“Hurry up then,” he snapped and presented his broad back to give her privacy.
“How will the castle guards find ye, milady?” Fyfa whispered.
She lifted her arms in the air, and with quick efficiency, the maid slipped the gown on her and laced the material.
“Perhaps I can run away from my captors, and the guards will not need to rescue me,” Darra answered, her lips barely moving. She then reached over, and gave her maid’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I vow that I will be free of them in one way or another.”
“Are ye done yet?” he said, impatience evident in his voice.
Darra swallowed as she glanced over at the brawny man who stood at the threshold. She recalled how easily he towered over her. And her traitorous body recollected only too well how his hard length pressed against her.
“Aye,” she said.
He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “’Tis about time,” he muttered, and herded them back to Lady Venora’s bed chamber.
“I’ll take the lass while ye stay here with the lady, and the maid,” Rory said as soon as they walked into the room. He jerked his chin at Darra. “I dinnae want this one tae get any ideas about fleeing.”
***
A thick silence followed them as Rory gripped her elbow, and led Darra through the dark corridor and then down the serpentine steps.
She slanted her eyes at the man who walked beside her, but the only thing that she could discern was the shadowy outline of his profile. For a lethal man, he moved quietly, as if he was used to maneuvering in the darkness. Was she unwittingly leading herself to her own demise? She shuddered at that last thought. This could very well be the last time she walked the corridors of Lancullin Castle.
Rory’s familiarity with the castle layout suggested that he had been here before, scoping out the lay of the castle. But why didn’t Sir Jarin, the garrison commander, ferret out the intruder? It disturbed her to think that the castle defenses were so easily breached.
Reaching out, she touched the rough, cold wall, steadying herself as she descended the last of the winding steps.
She wished that there was something, someone that would stop them on the way to the great hall. Unfortunately her wish was as empty as the great hall itself. The servants were retired to their quarters, and the castle guards were slumbering in their barracks. Meanwhile her mother and maid were upstairs, tied up and their fates unknown. The uncertainty and fear for her loved ones caused a tight, almost painful band to form across her shoulders. She didn’t know anything about these men, and Fyfa’s warning rang grimly in her head.
All too soon, they cleared the great hall, and she heard Rory breathe a sigh of relief. He beckoned for her to come forward, and she forced her feet to move even though her instincts urged her to spin around and take flight. Except she knew that running off would make her dilemma worse. He would simply return to Lady Venora’s bed chamber, and drag her away instead. That risk caused gooseflesh to prickle along her arms, and she lifted her hands to rub them away.
A few more steps, and they entered the deserted courtyard. She dragged her icy fingers across her forehead, pushing away the wayward strands of hair.
The storm was finished, and the air smelled of damp earth and rain. During the day, the courtyard was filled with activity and noise, with servants engaged in their chores, and the animals let loose to roam. Now nothing but a thunderous silence remained.
Taking a hold of her arm, he bent his head and murmured in her ear, “This way tae the stable, lass.”
She felt his fevered breath on her skin, and a strange warmth coursed through her system. Irritation gripped her while her body continued to hum in reaction to his nearness.
“I know where the stable is,” she said sharply.
Darra yanked her arm away from his touch. Her violent motion caused him to release her in surprise. Stumbling back, her foot crushed down on something behind her. A loud shriek filled the night air.
She jumped and gasped at the startling noise. Then before she could fully recover from her fright, a cat that was partially hidden behind a barrel, rounded on her, swiping at her tender skin with its sharp claws, and drawing blood. A stabbing pain shot to her ankle. And when she reached to press at the throbbing area, a mouse burst out of its hiding place from among the barrels. The movement was unexpected, and triggered an innate panic within her. As the vermin throttled toward her, a scream started to form in her throat.
But Rory, having anticipated her reaction, quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, smothering her cry. He pulled her tightly against his hard chest, his embrace protective and secure. Meanwhile the hairs on the cat bristled as its spine arched. Drawing back its lips, it let out a loud, threatening hiss before it wheeled, and bounded after its quarry.
The pain in her ankle faded as the warmth from Rory’s solid build seeped in, and obliterated her fear. For the length of a heart beat, she allowed herself to melt into his heat. She was tempted, oh so tempted to stay in his protective embrace, to once again meld her softness into his unyielding length. But Rory was her enemy, not her savior. Through sheer willpower, she placed both palms on his chest and pushed away.
She felt the blood rush to her face, and was glad for the shadows that hid her burning cheeks.
“Are ye hurt?” he said
into her ear. The soft burr of his voice sent a shiver down to her belly, causing a peculiar stir. A sudden warmth blanketed her. And her brain froze momentarily as she caught the faint smell of soap, and something else that she couldn’t place.
Darra nodded, unable to do anything else and he dropped his hand from her mouth. He surprised her further by bending down and sliding up her gown to expose her ankle.
“’Tis hardly a scratch,” he murmured. The contrasting sensation of cool air hitting her flushed skin, and his warm touch made her feel light-headed. He stood up. “Ye will not perish.”
Sucking in an unsteady breath, she somehow managed to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest. She was doing a noble deed, she reminded herself. She was taking the kidnappers away from her mother. That notion managed to calm her racing heart. Catastrophe would be averted, and her mother, indeed the entire occupants of the castle, would be safe. That was all that mattered.
Rory placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the stable. And this time, she didn’t protest.
They were almost at the entrance when he suddenly veered to the right, leading her to a cart that was loaded with hay.
He surveyed the area as if he was searching for someone or something. From where she stood, she could see the dark outline of the stable, and nothing else.
“Psst! Over here, Rory!” a voice hissed.
She caught Rory’s relieved expression. A second later, he dragged her closer to the cart, to where a burly man awaited.
As she neared the transport, her nose twitched. She was about to make a comment when Rory cursed aloud.
“Why do I smell shit, Griogair?”
The dark-haired man shrugged his muscled shoulders. “Sorry, this was the best I could do, Rory. The man was cleaning out the stables when I came upon him. I knocked him out, and tied him up.” He peered curiously at her and frowned as he scanned her from head to foot. He turned to Rory and quirked a questioning brow. “What’s this? I thought the healer was an auld woman, nae a bonny lass like this one.”
“There was a change in plans,” Rory said shortly. “Get us out of here before the sky starts tae lighten. If we leave at present, we’ll have at least nine hours head start.”
“But where’s Duncan?” The large Highlander folded his massive arms and frowned at his companion.
“He’s staying behind tae ensure that nay trouble arises.” Rory’s cool gaze fell on to her, and she shivered.
“A head start is a guid idea,” Griogair agreed. “Duncan will track us down later. Once we get tae the Scottish borders, the castle garrison will nae be able tae keep up with us in the craggy terrain.”
“There is truth in that,” he said. “Come, lass,” he beckoned to her. “I’ll help ye up onto the cart.”
She recoiled and took a step back as if he told her to leap out of a window. “You do not mean for me to get onto that cart, do you?” she asked, unable to keep the horror out of her voice. A man from the town came once a month to transport the dirty hay out of the castle. She had never given it much thought as to where it was taken, or when. All she knew was that the stable was cleaned, and the old hay was replaced by new sweet smelling straw.
“Aye, that is exactly what I mean. Ye better —” He cut himself off and jerked his head at his brother.
Before she could determine what was happening, Griogair dove underneath the cart. At the same time, Rory flattened his palm over her mouth, effectively preventing any noise from escaping. Then with his other hand, he wrapped it around her waist, and hauled her up onto the cart. While holding her firmly against his hard body, he tugged at the excess material of his plaid, and wrapped it around them both before diving into the dirty hay. He had just enough time to bury them deeper into the straw when she heard someone coughing in the distance.
Rory’s hand was still over her mouth, and his emerald eyes glittered dangerously.
“Dinnae move, or make a sound,” Rory said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Darra wasn’t sure if there was a threat laced in his words, but she didn’t mean to find out. She nodded, even as her heart pounded heavily in her chest. There was too much at risk if she crossed the fierce Highlander.
She sensed him staring at her for a long moment, and then slowly he released his grip over her mouth.
Another cough rang out, and she surmised that whoever was out there was not far from where they hid. There was tension in Rory’s large frame, and it tensed even more when the man outside the cart let out a curse. That obscenity had a different effect on Darra.
It was Sir Jarin; she was certain of it. But what was the garrison commander doing out at this time of night?
An instant later, the answer to that question became apparent when a woman joined him.
“You’re late,” Sir Jarin said.
“I’m sorry, sire,” the woman said, breathlessly. “Some people in the servants’ barracks were still awake, and I couldn’t get away.”
He let out a grunt and then a long moment of silence ensued. Just when Darra thought that the couple had left, she heard a soft purring. During the day, the noise might have been dismissed, but at night, the sound echoed in the still, crisp air, adding an unexpected heat.
Then suddenly the commotion was closer, as if the couple were embracing right next to them. A chill ran through her limbs. She could hear their heavy panting. And the moaning which was punctuated with a giggle became frenetic gasps. All the while the sounds grew more harsh and amplified.
She could feel the tips of her ears burn as she made the mortifying deduction of exactly what was happening nearby.
When Rory had grabbed her earlier, he had thrown himself first into the hay so that her descent would be cushioned. But now as she lay on top of his taut build, she was aware of every male inch of him, aware that her breasts were pressed tightly against his broad, muscular chest. And even though he wore a short jacket, she could feel the toned, hard brawn beneath her palm, an indisputable indication that he was no stranger to combat.
She could hear and feel his hot breath just above her. One corded arm was wrapped around her waist while the other one held the plaid over their heads. Though he didn’t move, the place that he touched scorched through her clothing.
It shamed her to know how her body betrayed her. As the erotic din vibrated in her ears, her skin pricked with awareness. She was mindful of Rory’s hard ridges underneath her. And unable to control it, her nipples hardened, while an inexplicable languid sensation swirled within her.
The air beneath Rory’s excess plaid became unbearably hot. Even though she wanted to move, to get far, far away from this handsome Highlander, she kept her head on his chest. And as the fevered passions raged on the other side of the wooden panels, she could hear and feel the rapid thudding of Rory’s heart. Then all at once she felt something growing, jabbing at her thighs.
Her heart began its own frantic race. The continued soft panting and cries of ecstasy from the lovers affected her more than she realized. She had treated many people, and knew the workings of a man’s bodily parts. Most of all, she recognized what that insistent bulge against her legs meant. She should have been embarrassed by hearing the intimate mating sounds of the man and woman. But a curiosity took a hold of her, a curiosity that never showed itself until now. What did it feel like to kiss as passionately as these lovers? Darra had only experienced wet, sloppy pecks from would-be suitors. She was certain that kissing Rory would be different. But what exactly happened after an ardent, feverish kiss? Was the mating between a man and a woman similar to that of animals? Or was there something more?
The side of the cart creaked and began to rock. Then suddenly the amorous movements stopped.
“I cannot continue,” Sir Jarin complained. “All I can smell is horse shit.”
“Maybe we can we go to the walled garden, and finish up?” the woman’s thin, reedy voice purred.
The cart squeaked and moved as if a weight lifted from it.<
br />
“Aye, let’s go.”
More movements and then a long silence.
“Rory!” a voice hissed. “They’re gone.”
Slowly Rory released the hand that was around her waist. As he sat up, he brought her to a seated position as well. The heated spell that they shared seemed to evaporate into the night air, and she felt a strange sense of loss.
Griogair crawled out from underneath the cart. “That was close,” he said.
“Aye, too close.” Rory said. “Get this contraption rolling, and get us the hell out of here.”
Chapter 4
As they rounded a bend, Griogair let out a yell, urging the pack horse to move faster. The cart lurched forward, and Darra reached to grasp the wooden rail to keep herself from toppling over. It was almost too easy how they crossed through the castle gates. The guards barely paid attention to the cart or its contents, allowing Griogair to pass through with ease. Anger and frustration simmered within her. When she returned, she would definitely need to speak to Sir Jarin about this lax in the castle defenses.
The transport continued to hurtle along, her slight frame jostled by every bump on the uneven dirt road. This was not the situation that she thought she would find herself in when she went to sleep last night. If only she hadn’t allowed her inquisitiveness to sway her. But of course she knew that her inner voice was difficult to ignore. It had served her too well in the past. And if she dismissed it, her mother would be in her place right now, facing untold dangers.
She didn’t know how long they traveled, but eventually, the cart slowed down to a more reasonable pace.
Darra sat up and plucked out the straw that stuck to her hair. Glad to be free of the stifling heat from the hay, she took in a deep, fortifying breath of brisk air. She scanned the trees, taking in the dense forest. She imagined that there would at least be one opening for escape, but they had ridden for about an hour, and still no opportunity had presented itself. If they crossed to the Scottish borders, she perceived that she would have difficulty returning home. Not only would the distance be a problem, but she also had to avoid the highwaymen and outlaws who usually waylaid unsuspecting victims. That consideration left her feeling uneasy, and she groped for something to keep her mind off the peril that awaited her. Perhaps conversing with Rory would keep her distracted, and she might glean information that would aid her escape.
The Highland Chief Page 3
