by Aileen Adams
She would remember.
That would not mean she liked it.
9
Would that she would never know how far out of his depth Quinn truly was.
He had never held a woman for ransom. Yes, he had traveled with women who would rather not have been in his company, but that had been no fault of his. Alana was the most recent, and she’d been quite the handful.
But Brice had managed to tame her, so to speak, and there had been the others, as well. They had worked together, had made decisions together, had relied on each other.
He was alone now. There was no asking for advice as to how he ought to handle this infuriating lass with her countless questions.
There were moments when he questioned the wisdom of this far-fetched plan. Moments in which he’d struggle to control both his mount and hers on a road which wasn’t a road at all. When he would ask himself how he was going to find out where they were going, and how they were going to get there.
And damn it all, he had left pearls behind. He ought to have allowed her to take what mattered so much, should have thought twice about whether she carried something of value. He’d been foolish to take her at her word when she’d sworn there was nothing for him there.
He had been too hasty, too fearful of passersby.
He needed to make better decisions if he hoped to make a success of this.
She was ominously silent. He was not certain if he would rather she stay that way or if he preferred to know what was on her mind. She could be plotting anything at all, smart as she was—or, as she believed she was.
“I need to stop,” she suddenly declared after hours of silence.
It was likely that she did. They had been riding straight through. The horses probably needed rest, as well. “We will stop when we reach water,” he decided. There was certain to be a stream somewhere, the sound of flowing water was never entirely absent, always on the edge of his awareness.
He followed the sound, guiding the horses toward it.
The lass winced and groaned with each bounce she took as the animals picked their way over uneven ground.
“I truly have to stop,” she moaned.
“Hold it,” he snapped, both sorry for her and wishing he’d never set eyes on her. Traveling alone had been far preferable to this. Always having to consider the needs of another who he could not trust to ride untethered.
They reached the bank of the stream—little more than a trickle, but it would do—and he was mercifully quick to help her from the saddle. “I don’t trust ye,” he muttered as he tied her wrists before tying the rope around her arm. “But I’ll give ye a bit of privacy.”
“I’m grateful,” she muttered through clenched teeth before disappearing behind the nearest tree. He kept his face turned away as she attended to her needs, then led her to the stream so she might refresh herself.
“You seem to be unfamiliar with this. Taking women captive,” she clarified after drinking from her cupped hands.
“It’s none of your concern.” He jerked the rope perhaps a bit harder than he needed to while leading her to another tree, where he tied her to a branch.
“Are you in the habit of kidnapping young women, then?” she asked as his hands worked the rope.
“Perhaps I am, lass. Perhaps I make a living of it.” He cinched the rope tight enough that she winced in discomfort.
“Do you?” she sniffed, looking away. “Hmph.”
“Hmph?”
She shrugged. “Think nothing of it.”
“You made a noise. With yer mouth.”
“I did.”
“But I’m to think nothing of it?”
“Correct.”
They locked eyes for a moment; hers were so very blue, bluer than he had ever seen.
So blue, in fact, that he had no choice but to walk away before his baser nature took control of his senses. He went to the horses, then, intent on leading them to the stream one at a time.
And yet, he could not ignore that sound.
“What was it about? Why did ye make it?” he called out over his shoulder.
She let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the tree as if she were resting rather than being unable to leave. “Am I not allowed to make slight noises? Is that against the rules? You must teach me these rules in order that I might not break them again. I wouldn’t wish to offend you, especially since you seem the be the one with the power in this situation.” She tugged her ropes as if to confirm this.
“I know well enough that ye don’t mean half of what ye just said,” he snickered.
“If you wish to think it so, by all means.”
He drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly before daring to speak another word. “I only wish to know why ye sounded so dismissive with that little snort. Nothing more.”
“Since you asked nicely,” she replied, “I will grant you a reply. It’s only that you don’t seem very skilled at kidnapping and ransoming. Not that I wish to offend you,” she was quick to add when Quinn’s mouth opened in protest. “I was merely making an observation.”
“Ye were wishing to draw me into an argument, ye mean.” He switched the horses, leading the second to drink while he held it in place.
“Not at all! That was the furthest thing from my mind!”
“Spare me yer words,” he snarled, spitting on the ground for lack of anything more forceful to offer. “I’ve no time or use for them.”
He all but threw her back up onto the horse before mounting his own and starting out again.
They rode in silence for a stretch, neither of them deigning to look to the other. Only the thought of his brother languishing, friendless and alone, in debtor’s prison kept Quinn from slicing through the rope which connected them and sending the wretched woman on her way.
When she cleared her throat—a small, delicate sound—likely a result of the fine education she insisted on lording over him. “Might I make a suggestion?”
“Ye may not.”
“It’s merely that I think you could be doing better.”
He nearly laughed. “I do not remember asking ye whether ye felt I could.”
It mattered not, for she continued speaking. “The better treated I am, the better condition I’m in when I’m delivered to the Marquis, the more you will be able to demand for my return.”
“Ye don’t understand much about kidnapping, do ye?”
She sighed again, the sigh of a woman speaking to one she felt was far below her in terms of intelligence. “You are the one who doesn’t understand. If I have been mistreated in any way, if it looks as though I’ve been abused or manhandled, you will be in much greater danger of getting nothing at all. You might even be captured and punished.”
“By whom?”
“By the Marquis, naturally. Or his men. Or whoever might be charged with such business.”
Quinn laughed. “Perhaps it’s ye who needs to learn about kidnapping and holding a person for ransom. The worse ye look, the more frightened ye appear to be, the better for me.” He watched her from the corner of his eye. “I might even send a lock of your hair to prove I have ye.”
“My hair?” She sounded both disbelieving and nervous. “You wouldn’t dare do such a thing.”
“Take care. I may change my mind and decide on a finger or toe, instead. I suspect I’ll fetch an even better ransom if I do such a thing.”
He had no intention of removing a finger, a toe, or any part of the lass’s body. It did not hurt to allow her to believe him capable of such action, however.
She chewed her lip. “If I do not complain and tell the Marquis’s men that you were good to me, that you treated me fairly, he will be less likely to send a group of armed guards after you to take me by force. You must see it clearly.”
“Do you know this Marquis well?” he asked.
“No. I’ve never met him. I had no idea of his existence prior to receiving word of my grandfather’s death.”
Honest, she was. Unfailingl
y so. It never occurred to her that she might feign kinship with the man in question, to assure Quinn of the power and quick temper of the Marquis. She was innocent enough and untested enough to simply answer a question truthfully.
Before thinking.
“Though I’ve heard many things about him,” she was quick to add.
“Oh? Ye have, now?”
“Yes. He’s very, very powerful. Wealthy beyond measure.”
“Ye don’t say. I chose the best possible captive, then, did I not? He ought to be able to pay quite handsomely.”
“He also has many friends who might make life difficult for you.”
“Difficult? Difficult in what manner? Does my life appear simple and easy to ye, lass?” It was time to end the game, as enjoyable as it was to jest with her. She was easy to lead into an argument, too, which made it all the more entertaining.
He looked forward, between the horse’s ears, keeping his eyes focused on the path ahead as he spoke. “I do not do this because I’m well off, lass. I don’t do it because I enjoy taking lasses such as yourself for ransom, or any lasses at all. It’s merely a means to an end.”
“What is the end?”
“What do ye think? To collect a ransom. To make a living.”
“There are no other ways for a man to make a living in this world? I would beg to differ, if this is your belief.”
“I know there are other ways,” he snarled, glaring at the road ahead as if it had done him some wrong. “I’m not a fool, and you’d do well to stop speaking to me as though I were. Ye do not want to know how much blood I’ve had on my hands--and I’m not merely saying so simply to get a rise out of ye. That is a fact.”
“…whose blood?” she whispered.
“I didna take names, lass.”
“But who were they?”
“Why did I have to choose someone who never stops asking questions?” he muttered.
“I merely wish to know who you killed. Was it during the war?”
“Aye.”
She made a sympathetic noise. “I’m certain you’ll be forgiven for that. Men fight in wars, they have been since the world began and will likely do so long after we’re dead.”
“Not only in the war.”
“Oh. I see.”
“No. You see nothing. Which is exactly the problem. Unless ye would like to know—to truly know of things which I wish I could forget—there will be no further questions on the matter.”
For once, she fell silent and stayed that way.
10
Morning turned to afternoon. Afternoon turned to evening.
Not once had he let her out of his sight, except when she needed privacy to attend to nature’s needs. Even then, while he’d freed her hands, he’d tied the rope to her arm, instead.
Tight. No chance of working out the knot in time. She had tried, too.
The same went for the two times they’d stopped to water the horses at a narrow stream. Ysmaine was unfamiliar with the territory and could not have guessed where they were, nor was she in any position to flee with the rope once again tied around her arm while she washed her hands and face.
She had pulled once, just once, to see what he might do in response.
The quick jerk on the tight rope had convinced her how easy it would be for him to dislocate her shoulder. As it was, her muscles had strained terribly and left her with an arm which ached worse than it already had.
“Do you have any food?” she asked when her stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard over the chattering of birds in the branches above their heads.
It had been nearly an entire day since she’d last eaten at the inn. If she’d known how long it would be before her next meal, she might have savored the experience a bit more.
“I’ll catch something for us to eat once we make camp.”
“When will that be? Are you not tired?” How could he stay upright in the saddle? His back was straight, his head held high, his eyes constantly searching the terrain for any signs of trouble.
All the while, Ysmaine struggled to stay in the saddle with her eyes open.
“Fatigue does not plague me overmuch,” he informed her, still surveying their surroundings.
“I suppose you grew accustomed to fatigue while a soldier.”
“I suppose.”
He had grown terse, short, his responses making it difficult to carry on a conversation. There was no way for him to understand just how much she needed to hear his voice. To remind herself that a thinking, feeling man held the rope which tethered them to one another.
The sun sank behind them, making the shadows it cast before them longer than ever before. They looked like monstrous things, large and shapeless, with four legs and two heads. Like something out of an old myth or legend, some creature the ancient ones had destroyed in order to maintain peace and order in the Highlands—
“Lass!”
His sharp voice startled her into wakefulness, and she realized with no small amount of embarrassment that she’d begun to fall asleep. If he hadn’t looked her way in time, she would have fallen to the ground.
“Ysmaine,” she mumbled, shaking her head and taking deep breaths to rouse herself.
“What is that?”
“My name. Ysmaine. You might use it when speaking to me, should you choose to do so. Rather than referring to me as ‘lass’ again and again.”
He did not respond to this. Instead, he brought the horses to a halt. “I suppose we ought to make camp for the night, then. No sense in allowing ye to tumble out of the saddle.”
“Oh, thank you,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes. “It’s a comfort to know you have the decency to be concerned whether or not I break my neck.”
“My concern is with keeping you alive, so I might collect the ransom I intend to demand,” he was quick to inform her. “You are valuable as far as the price I might put upon your head. Nothing more.”
She did what she could to let this pass, though it stung her pride considerably. Was that truly all she meant? It mattered not that she was human, a woman with a heart and a mind?
He was a truly desperate individual, she realized with a shudder. Desperate individuals were like cornered animals, another of her father’s preferred adages. He never trusted a man acting from desperation.
Just as she could not trust her captor, no matter how much they conversed or how handsome he could appear in the right light, when he would remove the hat to run the back of his arm over his forehead. At these times, he revealed dark red hair and a sharp, handsome profile.
It mattered not how pleasant he sounded when he laughed at himself, or how much she had always respected men who could do so.
He led her horse off the road then, allowing her to fall behind him as they walked their mounts through the woods. The trees had only just sprouted their leaves, the grass beneath them had only recently sprung up from the dark, rich soil. The scent of new life still hung heavy in the air.
In any other time, it would have been a lovely place to take a ride.
They arrived at a recently cleared stretch of land. “I can smell the fresh wood,” she murmured as she took in the sight of new, freshly-cut stumps.
“It’s much more pleasant than the stench of horses.” He helped her from hers, guiding her to a wide stump when she walked slowly. Painfully slowly, thanks to the soreness in her legs and backside.
“Rest here,” he ordered as he tied off the horses.
“My wrists are still bound,” she pointed out, holding them up.
“And?” He turned away, intent on heading further into the woods.
She looked around. The light faded faster all the time, the sun all but set. “What do you expect me to do here, alone, while you’re finding food?”
“You might join me,” he suggested.
She chewed her lip, considering this. It would mean companionship.
It would also mean walking, when her legs burned from the exertion of riding throughout the night and
day.
Exhaustion won out, and she stayed in place. “I will wait here.”
“A wise decision.” He whistled some tuneless melody as he walked away, carrying a thick limb which he’d picked up from the ground. What he intended to do with the limb turned Ysmaine’s stomach—she imagined some poor, unknowing rabbit currently hopping through the woods unaware of what was about to take place—but hunger was far stronger than disgust.
She had never been one for watching the men come back from a hunt with game strung up by their feet from poles. She could not think of animals as food until they’d already been skinned and roasted.
The woods were peaceful, at least, the air sweet. A breeze drifted through the clearing, and she closed her eyes, breathing deep.
It would be over soon enough, would it not? She need only endure. The riding was difficult, certainly. Her legs chafed beyond anything she’d ever suffered before. She hoped there would no longer be reason to ride through the night; they had put a reasonable distance between themselves and Inverness. The chances of being followed were slim.
So she told herself.
It mattered not to her either way, in the end. They would either be captured, or they would not. She would go to France, regardless.
Would she not?
Footsteps told her he’d returned. She shook her head, sitting up. Once again, she had fallen asleep without realizing.
She looked at the horses and noted the direction in which their ears were turned. Toward the footsteps. They were uneasy. Worse than uneasy. They strained against the reins, wishing to be free.
She was halfway to standing when she sensed the presence behind her.
“What are ye doing out here all alone, lassie?”
There was no time to turn, no time to scream. A hand clamped over her mouth, arms pulling her against a body which reeked badly enough to make her eyes water.
Though it might have been terror which brought tears to her eyes. Or the way the hand not clamped over her mouth ran over her body, touching and grabbing hard enough to hurt. He held a dirk between thumb and forefinger, and the edge of the blade scratched against her kirtle.
