For one wicked moment, Olivia wished he had.
It was a dreadful thing to think, even in such a state of emotion, but there was no denying a moment of grim satisfaction when she imagined George Ainsworth dying for his foolishness. No doubt it was pride that had brought him all this way.
It certainly had not been love.
Ann withdrew a square of linen from the girdle about her waist and used it to dry Olivia’s cheeks. “I wish I could tell ye Donnan could fight to keep ye here, with us, if ye dinna wish to go with him. She understood, it was clear. She knew Olivia had no desire to return to England with a stranger.
“I feel as though I will never truly belong anywhere,” she confessed in a thick voice, still fighting back waves of emotion. “Not there, not here.”
“Where do ye wish to belong, lass?”
“I wish I knew!” she admitted with a bitter laugh. Earlier, while observing the festivities, had there not been a moment when she wished she knew what it meant to live so freely, so easily? With such exuberance? Did she not imagine what it would have been to know her mother’s people better?
She could never be one of them, for so many reasons.
One of which waited to be allowed onto MacNair land, that he might claim her and take her back to his home. She supposed it would be her home, as well.
It struck her then that she would feel even less a part of it than she did while living among the MacNairs—and she at least wished she could be part of them.
“What does it matter?” she asked, dull and flat. “I forgot myself.”
“How is that?” Ann asked with a frown, rubbing her back just as a mother might.
For an instant, Olivia allowed herself to believe this was her mother. Ann was as close to her mother as she would ever get now. A connection to a woman she remembered less and less clearly every passing day.
“I am the daughter of an earl,” she whispered, searching Ann’s face for some sign of understanding. “I cannot choose my own way. It is not meant for me to choose. George will see to my comfort and safety, and in times such as these there is little more I can ask for.”
“And what of love, lass?” Ann whispered.
“What does love matter?” Olivia spat, frustrated and heartsick. “I will make myself love him if I must. Nobility do not marry for love. My father did not ask whether I thought I could love the man, for it simply does not make one bit of difference in a successful marriage.”
“A pity, then, knowing how he loved yer mam.”
“Please. That does not make this easier.” She closed her eyes, leaning against the wall again, wishing for… what? What could possibly make this better or easier to live through?
“I hate to see ye go so soon, and like this,” Ann murmured, stroking her hair. “Donnan will like as not ask him to stay until morning, that he might rest himself.”
She could hardly imagine George or any Englishman making himself comfortable in the home of a Highlander. No, he would want to take her right away, that very night. If it meant sleeping in the out of doors, he would do it, so long as he had what was his.
How she knew this, she could not say. It struck her as the sort of thing a man willing to march his way through the land of the enemy would do. A man of great pride. Far too much pride, at that.
She could not go with him. That was clear as she leaned against the cool, stone wall. She imagined the wall’s coolness and solidness seeping into her head as water seeped into soil. It calmed her overheated thoughts, her panicked mind.
“I ought to get my things together,” she mused, standing on her own again. There was not much time to waste. Once Boyd secured George’s passage through MacNair territory, they would be on their way to the keep. To her.
“I can help,” Ann offered.
“No, no, I can manage. Thank you. Please, return to the festivities. You will be missed, and questions will follow. Let us not cause any trouble.” She pulled Ann into a brief, fierce embrace. “And thank you for everything you have done to see to my comfort and ease. I will not forget you.”
“Och, lass.” Ann passed a hand over her face, wiping tears from her cheeks. She choked back a sob before fleeing down the corridor, whimpering as she fought back more tears.
Olivia wasted no time balling up what few kirtles and chemises she had brought with her and stuffing them into a canvas bag to be hung from her saddle. She pulled her cloak from a hook on the wall and tied it about her shoulders. Then, as an afterthought, she wrapped the food she’d brought from the kitchen in the linen she’d used to cover it and packed that as well.
No telling how long she would be riding, after all.
She flew down the steps on silent feet, taking solace in knowing everyone would still be outside the keep. Only Ann, Donnan and the few guards who’d patrolled the border would know of the foreign visitor.
And Boyd. She found it difficult to breathe when she thought of him, and of his kiss—
No. There would be more than enough time for that. This was not that time.
She slipped outside, keeping close to the walls of the keep, fleeing to the stables. “Och, lad,” she attempted in her thick, clumsy brogue. “Saddle my mare for me, would ye? Quickly.” She tossed him a penny from her purse while looking over her shoulder. If only they gave her enough time…
Another penny once the mare was saddled and her pack tied securely. “Dinna ye speak a word of this to anyone. Do ye ken?”
“Aye,” he whispered, eyes wide at his new fortune.
“Verra well.” She took care, leaving through the rear of the structure, using the rear gate rather than the gate opening onto the south-facing side of the fence running around the keep. This was the gate through which goods were delivered to the kitchen, sacks of grain and the like.
Had she not made a point of observing the goings-on of the household she might never have known of its existence. Sending up a silent prayer of thanks, she opened the gate and led the mare through.
There was nothing left to do now but go and be done with it. But where would she go? That was the problem at hand as she mounted the mare, tucking her skirt around her legs. She knew no one, and her Scottish accent was only barely passable, if that.
It mattered not. Either she set out now or would have no choice but to return to England with a man she now knew beyond any shadow of a doubt she could never marry. Not after learning what it meant to know a man who stirred fire in her heart.
Even if this meant she could never be with the man who stirred that fire, she would have to go through with it. For she’d destroyed any hope of him feeling anything for her but hatred, so it was not as if she could win his love now.
With tears in her eyes, she rode north to what she hoped would mean her freedom.
10
Boyd frowned. This was the man to whom the lass was betrothed?
This pompous, preening, shining thing who looked as though he’d never dirtied his hands a day in his life? How disappointing.
Boyd observed him from afar, taking pains not to draw his palfrey too close to the man or his four guards. At least he had the sense not to ride through Scotland without guards to protect him. Though Boyd wondered just how effective the men would be against bloodthirsty Highlanders.
“I fail to see why I cannot continue on to my intended,” George Ainsworth sneered.
“I fail to see why ye wish to see her at all,” Boyd replied, his voice level in spite of his rising anger. She was to marry this man. All along, she had been promised in marriage to another.
The lass might have spoken of this.
Then again, why would she? She had certainly never considered Boyd as being worthy of her time. Not when there was a nobleman waiting to take her hand in marriage. Like as not she’d seen him as a dalliance, nothing more. A pleasant way to pass the time.
It was ye who kissed the lass, a prodding voice reminded him. He growled under his breath.
George looked him up and down with eyes of pale blue
, much like his pale skin and hair. “I do not have to explain myself to you or any Scotsman. The matter is between myself and the girl’s father. He gave her to me in marriage and as such, he ought to have told me of this scheme to send her over the border. I should have been spoken with.”
“She is not your wife,” Boyd reminded him. When the man rewarded him with a sharp look, he continued, “Not that it matters to me in the least, ye ken. I dinna care whether ye take her with ye or nay. But she is not your wife yet, and these were her mother’s people. She had a right to see them.”
“Not without first discussing it with me. The earl ought to have made me aware of his plan, so I might dissuade him from it.”
“Even if the lass wished to see her mother’s people before she wed?” This was not the case, and he knew it. Olivia had nothing to do with her journey to Scotland. It was entirely her father’s doing.
Still, he wished to hear the man’s thoughts on it.
George scoffed. “The whims of a child matter little.”
A child.
He loathed this man.
George raised his chin. “Either you will escort me to the house, that I might collect my intended, or I will go on my own. Which will it be?”
Boyd lifted his shoulders in a shrug, taking note of his opponent’s much narrower frame. He could snap this man in half without so much as losing his breath, a notion which pleased him greatly. A bonny thing that would be, smashing his delicate face until it was little more than a lump of bleeding flesh.
“Aye,” he grunted, bringing the palfrey around. “I shall take ye, if ye dinna mind your guard waiting here. I canna promise the clansmen will take well to a group of armed Englishmen riding upon them. And there are far more of them than there are of ye.”
At least the man had enough sense to see the truth in this. “You might remain behind,” he informed his men. “I shall return with my intended.”
His property. She was to be his property once they were wed.
Why did it burn his mind so? Why did his chest tighten at the image of Olivia sitting in a grand castle, alone? The woman was nothing to him, and he meant nothing to her. One kiss did not change anything.
Not even knowing how she’d wanted him to kiss her changed a thing. He supposed that were he a lass of her years, and the man riding toward Donnan’s keep were the intended groom, he would wish to kiss a real man while given the chance.
“I trust my betrothed has been well cared for here,” George grunted as they rode.
“I would say aye. Not that I have been with her, mind ye, but I know Donnan MacNair well enough to know he would not mistreat her. Nor his wife, Ann.” Who he did not speak of as though she were something he owned.
“I would be glad to pay them for their kindness,” George offered.
Boyd’s hands tightened into fists around the reins. “I dinna think t’would be appreciated, ye ken. Donnan is a man of great pride.” How he managed to speak the words without snarling was nothing short of a miracle. As if a MacNair would accept payment from an Englishman for merely behaving decently.
“I see,” George sniffed. “Very well, then.” He held himself stiffly in the saddle, as if showing himself off. As if he expected all eyes upon himself and his shining chestnut gelding. The man was all show.
Boyd doubted this man had it in him to kiss a woman hard enough, with passion enough, to leave her dazed and wide-eyed. To make her breast heave, to leave her skin flushed and her lips swollen. The sort of man Olivia needed.
Olivia who lied to ye, that voice in his head reminded him. He set his jaw in a firm line, wishing he might drive these dark thoughts away, but it was no use.
She’d allowed him to kiss her, knowing she was to marry another. All the while, over the days they’d known each other, she might have told him she belonged to another man. She might have made mention of someone waiting for her in England.
He might not have allowed himself to be so reckless. To allow a fainting spell, the memory of a hand taking his, a smile and a laugh and a fetching flush of her cheeks to work their way into his mind until she was the thing his eyes sought when he first entered a room.
“I have yet to meet a woman worth making such a journey for,” he growled, more to himself than to the man riding beside him.
George snickered. “Women have their uses. I’m certain you must know that by now. Things cannot be that different on this side of the border.”
And that was what Olivia meant to him. Hardly a surprise. She would provide an heir. Nothing more. While he understood the importance of having an heir in place. He himself would need one someday if he hoped to maintain peace in his clan; he could hardly imagine using a woman for that purpose alone.
Not one such as she.
The keep rose up before them, and with it the revelers still enjoying themselves. “Dinna pay them mind,” he advised. “There was a feast today and games. They are all in their cups by now and will like as not allow ye to pass without trouble.”
George sniffed again, though offered no response. He seemed to sniff quite a lot, as if he did not like what he smelled on the air. Perhaps Scotland did not agree with him. A good thing he would be on his way shortly, then.
Donnan met them, his normally friendly face fixed in hard lines. “Och, so this is the man set on marrying young Olivia,” he said, looking the man up and down as if judging his worth. The slight upward quirk of his mouth told Boyd what he wished to know of his opinion.
“Indeed, according to the marriage contract signed by her father,” George announced. “I would like to see her now, if you please. There is a great deal of riding to be done.”
“We are not yet finished visiting with her.” Ann stood beside her husband, hands on her hips. While she was a wee thing, she was fierce. Many was the man who’d backed away from her when she’d worked herself into a frenzy. If they’d had tails, every one of them would’ve been tucked between the legs of the retreating men who wished they had not stirred her to anger.
“I appreciate that, and the generosity you have extended,” George assured them. He did not spit upon or curse them or even speak down to them as if they were lower them himself, which Boyd grudgingly admitted in silence as he watched this unfold.
“Ye might spend the evening here with us,” Donnan suggested.
“I do not think that will be necessary.” His words were more clipped than before, suggesting a man coming to the end of his patience. “I would like to see my betrothed. Now.”
“She ought to be on her way down from her chambers,” Ann assured him, a bit of tartness slipping out in her tone. “She was just gathering her things when I left her.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” He did not dismount, Boyd noted. He intended on riding out at once.
Moments spun into minutes. George sniffed several times, while beyond them the revelry continued. Boyd could not help but watch George as he watched the clan’s men, women, and children enjoying a spring evening together.
He felt it coarse and beneath him, no doubt. The wrinkling of his nose said what words did not.
“I shall see what’s taking her so long,” Ann offered, exchanging a worried glanced with Donnan before turning to scurry into the keep. Indeed, Boyd was beginning to wonder what kept her. No one could blame her for taking her time about it, considering the man in question, but—
“She is not here!” Ann called out from the window on the upper floor. “Is she out there among ye?”
Not there.
Would she?
No. She could not.
Boyd dismounted and went to the stables, thinking she might have retreated there or had perhaps gone to ready her mare. A lad mucked out the very stall in which the mare had been kept. “Where is this horse? And its rider?” he asked.
The lad’s freckles stood out sharper than ever when the rest of his face went deathly pale. “I-she asked me not to say—”
“Ye will tell me, lad, or I will strip the skin from your ba
ck.” He towered over the lad, who could not be more than twelve years of age.
“She rode away!” The lad lifted a shaking arm, pointing through the rear of the stables and out to the gate. “Asked me not to tell any of ye! Please, dinna flog me!”
He did not know whether to curse her or admire her.
“I will not flog ye, but dinna speak of this to any others. Only Donnan and myself. Ye ken?” He left the shaking lad, wondering how to explain to the Englishman that his betrothed had fled.
And whether he ought to be half as pleased to be the one to tell him.
* * *
“How could you have allowed this to happen?” George glowered at Donnan, then at Boyd.
“I have nothing to do with this,” Boyd reminded him. “Though I will tell ye, she was not kept in shackles.”
“Aye, ‘tis true,” Donnan agreed, seated at the table in his study. Only when they’d convinced George it would be best not to conduct an embarrassing conversation among the others was he willing to enter the keep, then the study. “The lass was free to come and go as she pleased.”
“You allowed this,” he repeated, his face flushing. “And if any harm comes to her, I would hold you responsible.”
Boyd was not about to take this from any man. “And just what do ye intend to do, then?” he murmured, arms folded over his chest. He was a head taller than the man and twice as wide. It would not be an even battle, but it would be satisfying.
If the difference in size gave the man pause, he did not show it. “You kept me from this place. You held me back while she had the chance to ride away. Did you plan this from the start?”
“I did not,” he growled. “None of us knew of ye until ye arrived, and that is the truth. I left her and rode out to meet ye, to make certain there would not be difficulty with your men. That is all I know of it.”
“The lass has a mind of her own,” Donnan shrugged.
The Highlander’s Lady: Highlands Forever Page 7
