A Laird's Promise

by Aileen Adams

  He glanced at the young woman, surprised to find her glaring his way. He hardened his heart, convinced himself that kidnapping her had been necessary. Nothing he had ever resorted to before, but a necessary evil. He would do everything and anything to save his brother. Younger by two years, Jake had fought for years under the Scottish King Alexander III, son of King Alexander II and grandson of William the Lion.

  While his brother had gone off to fight against the Norsemen, Phillip, as the oldest remaining son, had been responsible for the safety, protection, and maintenance of Duncan Castle and lands and their people, a responsibility he took seriously and dedicated himself to.

  While Phillip was known as a fierce and uncompromising warrior, he was beloved among his people. He took his responsibilities to heart, and he ruled with fairness and compassion yet firmness to those who looked to him for their safety and to protect their farms and livelihoods.

  Would it matter to the clan if his brother died? The thought left Phillip feeling oddly untethered to his otherwise solid foundation. He should've found a wife long ago, had children to carry on the traditions of the Duncans, but he had yet to find a woman who he found interesting enough to marry.

  Oh, there had been plenty of women who threw themselves at him. He was known as one of the most handsome in the region, and his reputation as a more than adequate lover had gained him a mistress or two over the years, but none had held his attention for long.

  His brother Jake often teased that Phillip was way too picky, that he should just select one and get it over with and sire children, but Phillip resisted. Jake, like Phillip, had no trouble finding or bedding women, and Philllip often threw Jake's words back at him.

  But Jake, a soldier often away from home had no time nor inclination, at least at the moment, to find a woman to settle down with.

  Now, Phillip wondered if Jake would ever have the chance.

  The sound of voices raised behind caused him to halt his horse among the trees and glance back over his shoulder.

  What the hell?

  The woman was reaching for the reins of Hugh's horse. What was she doing?

  He belatedly realized she was trying to agitate the horse, perhaps even toss the both of them to the ground. To what purpose?

  He growled with impatience. He didn't have time for such foolishness!

  “Stop,” he ordered.His voice, though not raised, was commanding.

  Startled, the woman’s attention was pulled from her intention, and she met his angry gaze.

  Hugh had his hands full trying to pull the woman's hands from his horse's reins and pressed them closer to her body.

  Phillip knew that a change in situation was required. He quickly dismounted, stepped toward Hugh’s nervously prancing horse, and grabbed its bridal with one hand. With the other, he reached for the girl. He grasped her around her arm and pulled her from the horse.

  She uttered a startled cry as he caught her in his arms, and in one smooth movement had her on the ground, flat on her buttocks, legs sprawled before her. She gasped with indignation.

  He quickly pulled his knife from the sheath at his waist and slashed at her bindings.

  She cried out in startled surprise, probably thinking he was going to plunge it into her heart. Instead, still grasping her hands, he gestured with his chin toward Hugh.

  Hugh blinked at him, not sure what he wanted until Phillip waved his hand.

  Hugh suddenly understood, reached for his own knife, and cut a length of his horse’s rein and tossed it to Phillip.

  Phillip quickly bound the girl's hands behind her, then rose to his feet. Reaching for her arms, and he stooped slightly, then heaved her upward, again flopping her over his shoulder.

  She struggled mightily.

  With another growl of annoyance, he struck the flat of his hand against her buttocks.

  The sharp slap rang out in the stillness of the forest.

  He heard her gasp, mutter something in her throat, but the gag stopped her words. She calmed down, at least for a moment. Would he have to deal with this all the way back to his castle?

  Phillip carried her to his horse then placed her back on her feet, turning her to face him. “Either you ride astride in front of me, or you can lay over the saddle like a sack of grain. You choose.”

  She glowered and managed muffled words from behind the gag. “I'll sit, thank you very much.”

  He almost laughed. Almost.

  Such bravado and audacity!

  Her tone was defiant, and once again he had to force himself to hold back a grin. That he had never met anyone as feisty as she was no understatement.

  Without further ado, he lifted her up onto his saddle and then leapt up behind her. Her hands, tied behind her now were nestled just above his groin. While his intention had been to keep her from aggravating the horses, he now had second thoughts. What if she grabbed hold of his—

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, her words again muffled, but discernible, as the gag had slipped slightly.

  “No questions. Now, we ride. I'm warning you. You keep your hands to yourself, or you’re going to regret it.”

  She said nothing, but her jaw defiantly lifted in the air.

  He urged his horse into a trot, the others following. His mood had darkened considerably, and for once, he heard no teasing from his friends.

  But every step the horse took caused her to jostle against him. His thighs nestled her buttocks and legs. Her hands dangerously close to his delicate parts, her shoulders bumping against his chest.

  A delicate fragrance wafted from her hair into his nostrils. What was that? Mint? It was distracting and yet intoxicating.

  His thoughts drifted, and he wondered what this woman might be like in bed. Passionate surely.

  He forced his thoughts away from such an idea, growling in dismay at the turn of his thoughts.

  3

  Sarah lost track of time. She sat stiffly in front of her captor, her heart pounding. Despite her show of defiance and bravado, she was terrified.

  She had to escape!

  Where were they taking her? Why? Try as she might, she couldn't come up with a plan to escape. Maybe tonight, when they stopped.

  But as late afternoon turned to dusk and then dusk into evening, she feared that they wouldn’t stop. They rode mile after mile in a northward direction. Would they travel through the night? She grew tired as she tried to hold herself away from leaning against her captor.

  Her hands began to tingle from being tied so long. Her shoulders ached. Because she was afraid of toppling off the horse, despite the fact that her captor’s arms straddled her body as he held the reins of his massive gelding, she had tightened her thighs around the barrel of the horse. Even through her skirt and under her drawers, her skin felt chafed and sore.

  How long would they ride?

  She blinked back tears, wondering what Heather would be thinking by now. Worried about her, wondering why she hadn’t returned home. Would someone go looking for her?

  Surely, Heather would have returned to their home by now, discovered her sister nowhere in the vicinity. Had their stepfather also returned home? Likely questioned Heather as to the location of her sister? Of course, Heather couldn't know.

  Sarah’s heart thumped in dread. When she wasn't there to protect Heather, she was often the recipient of their stepfather's foul temper. While Heather was more than capable of putting together a simple meal for her stepfather, it was usually a task the Sarah undertook herself. The less time her younger sister spent in the vicinity of their stepfather, the better.

  Increasingly, as time passed, Sarah found herself leaning against her captor's chest. She fought against the sense of despair that rose within her. She couldn’t surrender. Couldn’t give up, not so soon. She would take the first opportunity to escape, to make her way back to Kirkcaldy. To her sister.

  But for now, she felt the increasing weariness flooding through her. The result of a long day, the terror of being ki
dnapped, of fighting her captors, of riding so many hours on horseback, trussed up like a sheep to be slaughtered.

  It took so much effort not to lean against the man behind her. Besides, it was more comfortable. And he was warm. Solid framed, riding tall, not at all tired.

  Who was he? Where was he from? What did he want with her? The questions raced through her mind one after the other.

  He had manhandled her back there at the cliff side, but not roughly. Actually, he had shown great restraint, so much more so than her stepfather. He had seemed surprised that she'd fought back.

  Why would he be? Wouldn't any woman fight? She was no sheep. Over the years, she’d had to rely on her resilience, her determination, and her anger to get through everything her stepfather heaped upon her.

  If it wasn't for Heather and Sarah’s concerns for her younger sister, and of course, her own fear of what was going to happen to her once her captors reached their destination, Sarah didn't have much of a problem riding away from Kirkcaldy. No, getting away from Kirkcaldy was an overriding dream. Ethereal, something that lingered beyond her grasp but one dreamed about nevertheless.

  She had imagined it often. She and Heather leaving their stepfather behind, to begin new live somewhere. She as a healer, her younger sister as a nursemaid, a governess, or caring for children somewhere.

  Unfortunately, she and her sister belonged to a caste of people who would forever find themselves listed among the poorer, rural populace. With no dowry, and no remarkable lineage, each were destined to simple lives, seeking out a simple living. Still, Sarah didn't care. Someday, they would get away from her stepfather's clutches and breathe easier.

  But now—

  “We'll stop here for the night.”

  The comment came from her captor, who, upon entering a meadow bathed in the soft glow of the rising moon, pulled his horse to a halt. His companions halted their horses and nearly in unison, all slid off.

  Before Sarah could even process the fact that they were finally stopping for the night, she felt hands on her waist pulling her from the back of the horse.

  “You will not fight me.”

  The command was uttered softly, but brooked no argument. Sarah was too tired anyway, her joints stiff from hours of riding. It took an effort, but she allowed her captor to guide her toward a large rock at the edge of the meadow. Her stiff-jointed movements did not escape her captor.

  “Sit.”

  She obeyed.

  “I'm going to take the gag off your mouth. If you scream, shout, or speak louder than a whisper, I'll put it back on. Understood?”

  Sarah glared up at him but nodded. There was a time and a place. This wasn't it.

  He removed her gag, and she opened her jaw several times, working out the stiffness, using her tongue to moisten the inside of her mouth and her lips.

  He watched her.

  “Hugh, give me some water.”

  The man named Hugh stepped to his horse, retrieved a leather flask and handed it to her captor.

  “I'm going to untie your hands. Again, I warn you that if you try to escape, hit, scratch, kick or in any other way attack any of us, I'll hogtie you and you can ride belly down over my saddle the rest of the way. Understand?”

  Brute.

  She had to bite her lip to keep from uttering a sharp retort. Were all men such bullies? She looked up at him as he crouched down in front of her, his eyes on a level with hers.

  He stared at her implacably until she nodded. Leaning close, his head close to hers, he reached behind her, reached for his knife, and sliced through her bindings. It took everything she had not punch him in the nose.

  Even as her temper roiled, something else simmered beneath the surface.

  He smelled good, not at all what she expected of a kidnapping ruffian. He smelled of horse, the earth, and the wind. For the first time, in the moonlight, and thanks to the fire that was quickly built nearby, she got a good look at him.

  Dark, unruly hair. Clean, though. It hung down past his shoulder, much of it loosened from the queue at the nape of his neck. Shorter in the front, a curl hung over his broad forehead. A dark slash of eyebrows.

  She couldn't tell what color his eyes were in the darkness, but she imagined they were hazel, maybe even almost black.

  His nostrils flared, his jaw tightened, and she saw the sudden frown he gave her.

  What?

  She hadn't even done anything. He handed her the leather flask of water. She took it with one hand, and tried to hide the trembling despite her feigned bravery, she uncorked it. With both hands, the cork clutched in her palm, she lifted the flask to her lips and drank deeply. The water felt good in her mouth and flowing down her throat. After three gulps, she handed the flask back to her captor.

  Without taking his eyes from hers, he also drank, then casually reached for the cork, snatched it from her palm, and recapped the flask.

  The sensation of his fingers brushing against the palm of her hand sent a frisson through her. Startling, really, considering her circumstances. To her horror, she found herself attracted to him.

  No, impossible! He’d kidnapped her!

  “What do you want with me?” she asked, striving to keep her voice calm so that it didn't come across as demanding, although that's exactly what she was doing. She demanded an explanation.

  He glanced at his two compatriots, huddling close to the fire, one of them in the process of wrapping a hunk of already cooked meat around a stick.

  Rabbit? Her stomach reacted to the idea of food. Luckily, the reaction was soundless.

  He wandered over to the fire. Three sets of eyes warily watched her.

  “You're a healer.”

  It wasn't so much of a question as a statement.

  She nodded. But how did he know? He wasn't from around here, she knew that. She'd never seen any of them before.

  “One of my people told me about your skills.”

  “One of your people?”

  “My name is Phillip Duncan of the Highland Duncan clan in the Grampian Mountains.”

  The Grampian Mountains? The Highlands? He had come from the Highlands down to the Firth of Forth? For her? But why?

  She frowned. “You have no healers closer to home?”

  “Let's just say I need a one whose skills surpass those that I have met.”

  “Why?” she asked again.

  He frowned as he stood, handing the water flask back to his friend.

  “Surely I am not the only healer in Scotland with skills that meet your needs.” She gazed at him from top to toe.

  He cut a fine figure of a man and didn't look at all sick. So he didn't need her. Who did?

  “I have no supplies. All my herbs, my tinctures, and my salves are back there in Kirkcaldy. Do you expect me to work miracles?”

  “Enough,” he sighed. “You will get your answers soon enough.”

  It was at moments like this that Sarah grew frustrated by her many faults, one of which was impatience. She had no tolerance for mysteries or secrets. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the rock, and counted to ten. “How do you even know I can help you?”

  Phillip paused by the fire as he headed for his horse. “It is not I who needs your help.”

  “Then who?”

  “In due time.”

  She groaned in frustration. “How do you even know that I can give you the help you seek if you don't tell me what you expect from me?”

  He paused, staring into the black, inky darkness of the woods beyond the dull glow of the fire. Then, without another word, he disappeared into the blackness.

  She watched him go and then turned toward the other two, both of them now focusing their attention on the rabbit, or whatever was warming over the fire.

  She was worried. Worried about Heather. No, more than worried. Fear and desperation bubbled up inside her. She glanced around her surroundings; thickly wooded, dark and chilly, very few stars, at least not yet. She had no idea where she was. She ha
d never traveled this far from Kirkcaldy. How far had the horses traveled? Ten miles? Even more?

  The Highlands.

  He was taking her to the Highlands. How long would it take to get there? Two days' ride? A week? What would happen if the person who needed her healing skills died before they got there?

  It was obvious that her captor, Phillip, had gone to great lengths to help somebody. A person only did that for someone deeply cared for. And if that person didn't survive? Would he take it out on her? While she had no doubt of her skills, there was always the chance that she would be faced with a challenge she didn't know how to solve. Healers were not always able to cure maladies. Sometimes, a body was so ill or broken that nothing could be done to save it.

  She barely paid attention to the low conversation between the other two until one of them approached, shifting a hunk of hot meat from one palm to the other. He crouched down in front of her, much like Phillip had done earlier, and offered a smile. How could he be so lackadaisical about kidnapping her? What did he have to smile about?

  She frowned at him.

  “Hungry?”

  “No,” she snapped.

  Unfortunately, her stomach took the opportunity at just that moment to grumble loudly.

  He laughed, grabbed her wrist and placed the hunk of meat in her palm. He turned away as she stared down at the meat, resisting the urge to throw it back at him. She had to be rational. She had to stay strong and sharp, and she wouldn't do that by starving herself ,or displaying stubbornness that would only get her hurt.

  Grudgingly, she lifted the meat to her mouth, and wrinkled her nose at the odor. The meat wasn’t spoiled, but it wasn't fresh by any means. She nibbled it slowly, paying attention to what her stomach told her as she ate.

  After a short time, her captor emerged from the woods. He looked at her, then at his companions. He took several steps in her direction and then gestured toward the woods. “If you need to take care of…”

  He didn't finish the sentence, but she knew what he implied.

  She felt the heat of a flush warm her cheeks. Fortunate that he couldn't see it in the darkness. With a stiff nod, she slowly got to her feet. He pointed.