A Laird's Promise

by Aileen Adams

  She paused as if waiting would force Sarah to respond, which of course, she couldn't.

  “Oh, you're waiting for me to explain all this, aren't you?” She smiled, glanced up at Fergus, and then back at Sarah.

  “A little birdie told me that Phillip was looking for me. That he wasn't at all happy about my treatment of his brother.” She scowled. “And then I wondered where he got that information. Of course it came from you, didn't it?”

  Sarah tried to hide the dread that swept through her. Ceana had deliberately tried to poison Jake. She had just confirmed it.

  But now what?

  What did these two have planned for her? She didn't want to contemplate the options, but couldn't help herself. Why hadn’t they killed her to keep her quiet? Would they take her to the Orkney clan? Keep her captive for the rest of her life? Or would they abuse her, use her, and then kill her?

  She tried to swallow, but had no saliva. The gag in her mouth didn't help any. She choked back a wretch.

  “Let me explain,” Ceana said, sitting carefully on the ground near her, arranging her kirtle around her legs before glaring at Sarah. “You think you're so smart, don't you?”

  The woman leaned so close that Sarah felt her breath on her face. Desperately trying to hide her fear, she stared at the beautiful woman, features now twisted with disgust and hatred.

  “I am a healer, and believe me, I do know how to heal. I just chose not to do so with Jake.” She paused and waited for Sarah's reaction. “You want to know why? I'll tell you. We grew up together, played together, and then fell in love. Or at least I fell in love with him, and he made me believe that my feelings were reciprocated.”

  Sarah tried to calm her racing heart. She found it hard to follow what Ceana was saying, her ears occasionally buzzing with the pain of her throbbing skull, and with fear.

  “I even allowed him to take liberties with me,” she shrugged.

  At that, Sarah glanced quickly at that the man standing over her, arms now crossed over his chest, scowling.

  Still, he didn't move.

  “Then Jake went off to battle. I had thought for sure before he went that he would ask me to marry him. After all, it's what we all expected. But you know what he said to me?”

  She didn't wait for an answer, even if Sarah had been able to give her one.

  “He thanked me for my friendship, but told me that he was not interested in marrying, at least not for a few more years.” She shook her head. “He thanked me!”

  Sarah sat perfectly still.

  “Can you believe that? After all these years, after all the effort… he just threw me away like a piece of garbage. After he used me!” She offered a guttural laugh in her throat carried no indication of humor. “He's a pig. He took what he wanted from me and then he lost interest. So when he came back to the manor wounded, I pretended to be the dutiful friend, the scorned lover, the healer dedicated to making sure that he lived.”

  Sarah could tell that Ceana was growing increasingly incensed; her face flushed with anger, her eyes flashing with emotion. A sheen of tears emphasized her pain and her fury at such a betrayal.

  “Well, as far as I was concerned, Jake needed to be taught a lesson. He needed to suffer. And he was, until you arrived.”

  Sarah tried to speak beyond her gag. As if she had had any choice being brought here! She tried to shake her head, but the movement proved painful. She winced.

  “Phillip kidnapped you! And yet there you were, doing your best to nurse Jake back to health. Why?” She shook her head. “Why would you help the very person who kidnapped you?”

  Sarah tried to speak beyond the gag, but nothing intelligible came out.

  Ceana shook her head. “When he finds out what I did to Jake, he's going to kill me. And you know what? He's going to kill you too.”

  “Enough,” Fergus growled. “Let's go.”

  Sarah glanced up at him, eyes wide with alarm. She turned to look at Ceana, rising from the ground and brushing at the dirt and twigs clinging to her gown.

  Go where? What were they going to do with her?

  No, this couldn't be happening!

  She thought of Phillip.

  Would he come after her? Or would he be so angry that she had escaped the manor that he would leave her to the dangers of the woods? Perhaps he—

  “Yes,” Ceana smiled, her calm returning as she stood stared down at Sarah. “Let's go.”

  14

  Phillip’s enraged roar reverberated through the manor. He stood at the doorway to Sarah's bedchamber, staring at the empty room, his heart pounding, his mind spinning with disbelief. Despite his warnings, despite the fact that he had promised to return her to Kirkcaldy, she had disappeared.

  Escaped.

  His frustrated anger released, his next immediate thought was concern for her safety.

  The little fool!

  Did she think he had been lying to her about the dangers of a Highland forest? That he had been trying to frighten her with his warning of wild animals and outlaws?

  How could she—

  “Laird Duncan! What's wrong? Is it Jake?”

  He turned to the sound of steps hurrying up the stairway and saw Agnes, skirts lifted, rushing toward him.

  “No,” he quickly assured her. “It's Sarah. She's gone.”

  “Gone?” She frowned, confused. “Where?”

  “Probably lost in the forest as we speak,” he growled. “Go check on Jake. He slept through the night. I believe his fever has broken.” He swore again under his breath. “I promised her I would take her home. You heard me promise her that! But I had to make sure that Jake was going to be all right, that he was going to heal properly, that he wouldn’t succumb to another fever or—”

  “I watched her very carefully when she made the poultice for his leg last night, Laird Duncan. I'm sure I could do it myself now. And the same for the broth she gave him.” She placed a hand on his forearm. “Go find her. I fear that she may be in danger out in those woods by herself.”

  “Yes, she is,” he muttered. “What was she thinking?”

  “May I speak plainly, Laird Duncan?”

  He made a face. “Agnes, when have you ever needed my position to speak plainly?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “She's been kept against her will. Did you honestly expect her to linger once Jake took a turn for the better? The lass is frightened and wants to go home. Can you blame her for that?”

  His anger bubbling inside him, he wanted to rant against what Sarah had done, but deep down inside, he understood. It still didn't make it right. “She promised to help Jake—”

  “And she did. She kept her word. But I'm afraid she wasn't so certain that you would keep yours.”

  He started to protest, but she just gave him the same look that she had given him ever since he could remember; that look that there was something that he wasn't telling her and she knew it.

  He sighed. “I like the lass.”

  “I do too,” she said. “But there's something that frightens her even more than remaining a captive here with you. I've been watching her. Phillip, I've watched her with you. While I don't see complete trust there, I do see… I don't know quite how to put it. It's as if she senses that she’s safe with you, even when you're angry with her like you were last night.” She paused, searching Phillip’s eyes.

  “I still don’t understand—”

  “You’ve certainly noticed how she cringes, even though she tries to hide it, when something startles her, when voices are raised, when someone moves too quickly nearby? There's something on her mind, something that is compelling her to return to her home as quickly as possible. Surely you noticed that?”

  He nodded, somber. “She's been abused. And as you recall, I demanded that she tell me where she got those bruises, those old scars…” Because if told, he would do something about it? Take revenge? He shook his head again. This was none of his business. She could very well be married, or a widow with children, or—
>
  “That’s just it, Laird. You demanded it,” Agnes said gently. “Such an easy thing for a man to do and by the looks of her, she's had a man telling her what to do and how to do it for a very long time.”

  He watched as Agnes turned and walked toward Jake's bedroom. She was right. If Sarah was being abused and manhandled, the last thing she needed was another man making yet more demands. And that's exactly what he had done.

  He sighed heavily as he headed toward Jake's room as well. He stood in the doorway for several moments, looking at his brother before he realized that Jake's eyes were open and he was smiling up at Agnes, hovering over him at his bedside.

  “Jake!” He hurried into the room.

  Jake looked at him. “Again your bellowing is keeping me awake. What's gotten into you?”

  Phillip was torn between wanting to sit down and fill his brother in on everything that had happened and his urge to saddle his horse and go in search of Sarah.

  The little fool would get lost out there. Maybe had already fallen into the many crevices that riddled the mountain slopes. Hurt herself. Maybe at this moment she lay at the bottom of one, broken and bleeding, unable to help herself. Alone. Not to mention the wild boars, the wolves, and the outlaws that called the forest their home.

  “I’ll tell you everything, but first, I have something to take care of—”

  “Where’s that young lass, that pretty thing that's been taking care of me?”

  “She left.”

  “Whatever she did, whatever she gave me, I certainly feel a lot better. Just tired. Like I could sleep for a week.”

  Indescribable relief surged through Phillip. “Then you sleep, brother. I'll do my best to keep my voice down.”

  His brother grinned up at him, then dropped off to sleep again. He looked at Agnes. “You’ll watch over him, won't you?”

  Agnes scowled at him. “Of course I will. Been doing it my whole life and will likely be doing it until the day I die.”

  Phillip bent over and gave the older woman a kiss on the forehead. “I know you will, Agnes. Thank you.”

  “You just go find that lass before she gets herself hurt out there.”

  Phillip quickly left Jake's room. Just as he passed her doorway, he stopped, retraced a couple of steps, and looked into her bedchamber. She hadn’t slept in the bed. He saw the slight dent in the pillow where she may have lain her head, but that was all.

  Did she despise him so completely that she couldn't bear the thought of staying one more moment?

  No, Sarah MacDonald was nothing if not practical. And stubborn. Once she had made up her mind, she would want to move quickly.

  In a fit of pique, he strode out of the room, down the stairs and through the main room to the front door. With every step he took, his anger grew. He imagined Sarah dashing through the woods, her feet flying, her hair trailing behind her, skirts lifted in her hands. Eyes wide with panic as she raced through the trees, leapt over stones, and through streams.

  Heading south.

  By the time he slammed the front door behind him and headed toward the stables, his images grew darker and blacker.

  Imagined her lying at the bottom of a crevasse, limbs broken and bloodied from a violent fall. Being attacked by wolves, terrified, backed against a tree with no weapon, no way to defend herself.

  “Maccay! Hugh!” He roared, his stride taking them ever closer to the stables. The horses in the corral stared at him, ears flicked forward, tails swishing an alarm.

  Maccay strode out of the stable wiping his hands on a rag. “Phillip, what's—”

  “Saddle my horse. You and Hugh will ride with me.”

  Maccay nodded and immediately turned toward the stables to do his bidding when Hugh emerged.

  “What's wrong?” he asked.

  “Sarah's gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where? His gaze darted toward the meadow and the woods beyond. “Don't tell me she went to gather more herbs on her own—”

  Phillip growled low in his throat. “She's gone. Escaped. Sometime during the night.” He glowered as he turned toward the woods and gestured. “She's out there somewhere, probably lost, maybe injured. Certainly frightened.”

  Hugh and Maccay exchanged knowing glances, but Phillip was too upset to question them about it. While he waited for the horses to be saddled, he strode back into the main hall and the large trunk in the great hall that held swords, dirks, and daggers. He snatched a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a small dagger and then returned outside.

  Maccay and Hugh waited for him, already mounted on their horses, Maccay holding onto the reins of his gelding. Both men were also armed with bows and quivers of arrows, swords, and dirks tucked into their boots.

  “Let's go,” he said shortly. Without another word, he leapt onto the back of his horse, and the three rode away from the manor, keeping the horses to a walk. All three of them looking to the ground, looking for fresh footprints. Sarah had been wearing foot slippers, not shoes, not boots. In a matter of hours, her feet would likely be bruised and bloody. He swore under his breath, again shaking his head. What had compelled her to run? He had promised that he would return her to her family. One more day, maybe two. She couldn't wait?

  He realized she might be afraid of him, but he'd given her no reason to fear him. If anything, he had softened to her. That kiss when she was bathing, and then later, the look in her eyes when she had seen him washing up in Jake's room…

  He liked the girl. He admitted it.

  She was brave and spoke her mind, even when it didn't serve her well. She had spirit, and he admired that. But… he was a fool. A fool to think that perhaps her feelings and attitude toward him were not nearly as gracious as he imagined. He had kidnapped her after all. He wasn't sure what he felt beyond his anger at this moment. Worry, yes. Disappointment? Is that what he was feeling?

  The thought of never seeing her again left him feeling like something vital was missing from his life.

  He grunted.

  Ridiculous. He had only known her for a few days. He didn't know her at all. He had pulled her into his life, made demands of her, and had learned that he had underestimated her. Not only her skills; she had proven those.

  Perhaps he had been a laird so long that he automatically expected everyone to do his bidding without question, without argument.

  But Sarah MacDonald? No, she was no—

  “Phillip, look.”

  They had rounded the far side of the pond along the trail, but had seen nothing. They continued around it, heading back toward the manor around the far side. She had to have left some sign of her passage. He pulled his horse to a halt and looked where Hugh pointed down at the marshy, somewhat soggy soil along the side of the pond between the closer corner of the manor house and the forest.

  Two distinct foot impressions. Small.

  “That's her,” he said. He peered along the direction of the footsteps, which gradually disappeared to the point where they entered the forest. “Come along.”

  They followed the sporadic trail until they entered the tree line.

  Then Maccay pointed to a nearby shrub.

  A thread hung from it. Perhaps her undergown or kirtle had caught on the shrub, but not enough to tear off a piece. Just a thread. Nearly hidden by the shrub, he saw another small imprint.

  His relief transformed to confusion when he saw other footprints nearby.

  Larger and heavier, left by someone wearing a boot.

  Another smaller set of tracks left by someone wearing pointed, flat-soled shoes.

  “What the hell?”

  “Do you think someone came from Kirkcaldy to fetch her?”

  Phillip looked at Maccay, frowning as he shook his head. “Nobody knows we took her. There was no way she could have sent a message either. She hasn't been here that long.”

  Maccay disagreed. “Maybe somebody saw us take the girl. Followed us.”

  “Doubtful,” Phillips said. “They would have confronted us before we reac
hed the mountain. No, she was alone when she left the manor house.”

  “Then who do those prints belong to?” Maccay asked.

  “That's what we're going to find out.”

  They had ridden only a short distance into the trees when they spied hoof prints in the loamy soil. Phillip swore. “I warned her about this!”

  Both Maccay and Hugh glanced at him, then exchanged yet another glance between themselves.

  Phillip noticed. “If you two have something to say, then say it. Now!”

  Maccay, not at all intimidated by Phillip’s gruff manner, grinned. “You’re sweet on the lass, aren't you?”

  Hugh glanced at Maccay, nodded, and then turned to Phillip, eyebrow lifted. “I think he has been since the moment we took her.”

  Phillips sighed. “All right, so I like her. She's…”

  “Spirited.”

  “Very gifted.”

  Maccay and Hugh spoke at the same time, but then they sobered.

  “Phillip, she can't have gone far, even on horseback,” Hugh pointed out. “The landscape is too rough around here. Too rough to risk a fast-moving horse. Too many gullies and rock-strewn slopes. There was no moon last night. The horse would've had to move slowly.”

  Maccay pointed out the obvious, his comment only slightly serving to calm Phillip’s growing concern. “Phillip, we've seen no signs of blood. No body. Even if someone has taken her, she's still alive.”

  The thought of Sarah being taken against her will yet again caused his heart clench and his stomach to roil. Was it possible, or were these tracks just coincidence?

  Maybe the tracks had been left by some of his own people. His villagers. He knew the likelihood of that was slim. These hills were rugged. While his men routinely patrolled the region, he didn’t often send them out in pairs unless signs of other clans or activity were noticed on his lands. Besides, the two sets of horse tracks they followed were not heading back toward the village, nor toward any of his holdings.

  No. They were heading northwest.