22
The horse was in a lather by the time Boyd arrived. There was not a single stable lad in sight, and he was quick to find a bucket of water for the horse to drink from before he ran into the keep.
One of the guardsmen sat just inside the door, then had likely been half-asleep before Boyd stormed inside. The man leapt to his feet, drawing his sword, while still blinking the sleep from his eyes as he brought Boyd’s form into shape before him. “Laird MacPherson?” he asked, his voice thick with confusion.
“I must speak to your laird immediately. Bring him from his chambers at once.” He paced the entry hall as he waited, wondering how many hours had passed since he had seen Olivia last. How far away could she be by now?
An older woman descended the stairs, and he nearly jumped on her. “Where do the maids sleep?” he asked.
The old woman blinked rapidly, stunned nearly speechless by his sudden appearance. “Their quarters are outside the keep, across from the weavers.”
“Please, ye need to go there to find whether Olivia is in bed. ‘Tis extremely urgent. Ye must go, at once.” He sent her on her way, and in moments Calan appeared at the top of the stairs, still pulling a tunic over his head.
“What is it about, then? What brings ye back so soon?” he grumbled as he descended.
“Did your rider return to ye? He never made it to the keep.”
Calan ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of this when only minutes earlier he had been sleeping. “I canna say. He didna arrive, ye say?”
Was he destined to repeat this time and again, with no one to be of any assistance to him? He bit back a sharp word, reminding himself to whom he spoke. “Nay. None in the house nor none of the guards were aware that I was going to return when I did, though I sent word that I would be on my way after dining with ye.”
This did not seem to alarm Calan in the least. “Perhaps he was injured. I will send—”
Boyd stopped him from going to this study. “I already sent two dozen of my guardsmen searching for him. I dinna believe they will find him there, however.”
“Why? What makes ye think this?”
Before Boyd had the chance to answer, the old woman returned. “She is not there,” she reported, and just on her heels was young Mairi, the other maid who he had defended in the market.
“She never came to bed,” Mairi said, breathless and wide-eyed. “Do ye suppose something happened to her?”
Calan scoffed at the notion. “What might have happened to the lass behind these walls? Unless she ventured outside in the middle of the night, and any lass foolish enough to do so might well deserve what comes to her.”
He ignored this. Olivia was not some daft lass running about in the night. Not unless she felt she had good reason to do so.
Had she run again? Even though he had warned her against it?
Boyd stormed from the keep, going straight to the stables in search of her mare. If the horse was missing, he would know she had left.
Yet the mare was in its stall, munching lazily on some straw and peering out at him with innocent eyes. Would she have taken another horse? No, she would consider that beneath herself. She would see it as stealing, even. It was one thing to lie about her homeland but another to take what did not belong to her.
If she was nothing else, she was honest. When she could be.
Calan met him halfway to the keep. He was awake now, truly and fully. “What is this all about?” he demanded, while several guards gathered about after hearing the commotion.
Mairi ran out after him. “Find Alec!”
Calan turned on her, glowering down at the frightened maid. “What of Alec? What has he to do with this?”
Boyd placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to ease his anger. “I dinna believe Alec had anything to do with this. Still, you might wish to bring him on the run. Along with more of your guardsmen. I believe she has been taken.”
“Taken?” Calan and Mary demanded at once.
“Who would wish to take her?” Calan asked.
He ought to have said something before. This was all his fault. If only Calan had known the truth, he might have been able to protect her.
“Forgive me,” Boyd murmured. “She is not who she pretended to be. I have known it all along, but she—that is, she was in grave trouble.”
Calan scowled. “I might have been ye knew her all along. Come with me.” He marched into the keep with Boyd behind him, and even in his panicked state of mind there was no avoiding notice of the clenched fists which swung at the great man’s sides. He was furious, and deservedly so.
“She is the Englishwoman, is she not? The one whose intended is searching for her? I might have known.” Calan slammed a fist onto the table, glaring across the room Boyd. “Tell me all, and tell me quickly.”
Boyd did tell him all. It did not take long, in truth. When he finished, he all but fell to his knees to plead with his old friend. “Ye must understand, her father sent her here to protect her. I only wished to do the same for her. If she ran from the man when he came for her at Donnan MacNair’s, there had to be reason to do so. It was far too dangerous a chance for a lass to take on her own. She would rather have faced the Highlands all alone than join him. He has come for her, I am certain of it. His men must have overtaken the rider and learned that I would be on my way this evening. I will curse myself until the day I die if he harms her, I swear it, but I didna imagine they would follow me, thinking I would find her.”
“Because they knew ye were looking for her, then. I suppose ye will tell me next that ye love this woman. Only love could make a man take leave of his senses as ye took leave of yours.” He pushed past Boyd to leave the room again, calling for the guard to be roused from their barracks.
“Ye must find her!” Mairi gasped, clutching Boyd’s arm and following him no matter how he wished she would not behave so. She slowed him down when he wished to move quickly.
He could not bring himself to speak sharply to the lass upon looking down and finding her face stricken and tear-stained. These were not feminine tears, not the product of cleverness or artifice. The lass was truly dismayed.
“What is going on down here?” Greer demanded while barreling down the stairs, one of her personal maids behind her holding a candle. The entry hall was as crowded as it would be during a feast or celebration.
“OIivia has been kidnapped!” Mairi cried out in a voice choked with tears.
“Olivia? The lass will be the death of me,” Greer groaned with a shake of her head before turning to Boyd. “Ye must go after her, of course.”
“I will,” he vowed.
This was all becoming too much. Men shouted, ran in all directions, their feet pounding the stone floors and the ground in the courtyard. He had to get away from it all—to say nothing of the time being wasted while Calan roused his men from slumber.
He decided on the spot. “I will ride south. Follow me as soon as ye can.” He ran for the stables again, shouting at anyone who happened to hear that he needed a fresh horse. Alec Stewart was there, seeing to the preparation of the beasts and water for the men.
“It will be a pleasure, drawing the blood of an Englishman,” Alec called out, his mouth curving upward in a smile which struck Boyd as truly joyful. “I wonder which of us will be the first to reach him and get our satisfaction.”
“Ye need take no satisfaction,” Boyd reminded him as he mounted. “Ye need only spare the lass from him. Nothing more.” For it was Boyd who deserved that satisfaction, if it were to be had at all. Not Alec, not anyone else.
But Alec merely laughed as Boyd brought the gelding around that they might leave the stables. “Aye. We shall see, shall we not?”
Yes. They would, indeed.
He thought as he rode from the stables and out through the courtyard that George Ainsworth might be better off if he found him first, rather than Calan’s men.
23
George loomed over her, staring down at where he had
all but dropped her after pulling her from his saddle. Her backside was sore, her bones aching after the rough treatment. She could scarcely see him thanks to the cloud-choked sky, but there was no mistaking the menace in his voice when he spoke.
“If I allow you the use of your mouth, do you vow that you will not attempt to scream or bite me again?” he asked, standing over her.
She nodded, her mouth gagged with a balled-up handkerchief which he had tied in place with a strip of her apron which he’d torn free in a moment of rage.
She supposed she would be angry, too, if someone had just bitten her finger. But he had no right to touch her, none of them did. After all, she was not yet his wife, and he had become quite familiar during the ride south.
He had struck her once the gag was in place, and her throbbing cheek was a reminder of his strength. And cruelty. She had seen stars dance behind her closed eyelids as pain exploded through her head. All because she’d bit him when he took her chin in his hand as if he wished to kiss her.
How long had they been riding since then, with her pressed against the saddle horn all the while? She had no way of knowing. The sky was just as dark as ever, clouds thick as they had been while she was in the courtyard before visiting the seer. A few minutes might have passed, or a few hours.
When in the grip of panic, a person was not easily able to make sense of their surroundings or of the amount of time which had passed.
Taking his time, George bent to untie the linen strip knotted at the back of her head. He had caught many bits of hair while tying it, cursing her all the while, and she winced and groaned as he now pulled those hairs from her head. “Be silent,” he muttered. “I cannot abide a woman who weeps and complains.”
How many women had he known, and how many of them had wept? She knew nothing of this man, even less than she’d imagined before. What was he truly like? It was clear by now that he cared little for women in general, and less for her.
He then withdrew the handkerchief from her mouth, one which stank of him and tasted bitter. She stretched her jaw as best she could, licking her parched lips. It did little good, for she still tasted that dreadful linen square.
“You might thank me,” he snickered. “Now, drink. Be quick about it. We must be on our way.”
She was so grateful to have a mouthful of water from the trickling stream beside which she sat that she managed to control the impulse to snap at him. Why would she thank him for allowing her to drink? Why would she thank him for freeing her mouth when it was he who had gagged her?
Standing over her, he spoke while she drank. “When I think of the trouble I have gone to for you,” he said. “Truly, I have asked myself many times whether you were worth riding for weeks over such terrain. Being so close to these filthy people. They are little better than animals, and you would choose to live among them?”
The water allowed her to speak, and she raised her head to look him straight in the eye before giving him an answer. “Yes. I would much prefer living among them than living with you,” she replied, as coolly as she could in spite of the solid thudding of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears.
He sputtered, hands on his hips. “I believe you have taken leave of your senses. If you ever had them at all. I might call your father up before the magistrate on charges of having misled me.”
“Misled?” she snorted.
“Yes, misled,” he spat. “He led me to believe you were of sound mind, but now I know that had to be a lie. For what woman of sound mind would choose to be with those people when she might take her rightful place at her husband’s side? In a civilized country, no less?”
“You do not know of what you speak,” she murmured. She would not give him the satisfaction of upsetting her, nor would she rise to the bait and cut him down. No matter how she wished to.
The presence of two guardsmen made it more difficult for her to believe she would emerge victorious if she tried.
“I do not know?” His hand twitched as if he wished to strike her again. “You are nothing but a foolish woman.”
“Why do you so wish to marry me, then?” she challenged. “Why was it so important that you find me? When I am nothing but a foolish woman?”
“All women are fools,” he sneered. “But I need a foolish woman if I am ever to produce an heir. You would not understand such matters.”
“I understand all too well. Just as I understand any woman could do what you have in mind. Why must it be me?”
He surprised her, taking her by the arms and hauling her to her feet. The cold, hard fury in his eyes helped her to understand something she had misunderstood before. This was not a man to be taken lightly.
His fingers bit into her flesh, but she gritted her teeth rather than allowing him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out in pain. “Because your father promised, and I will have what I was promised. The daughter of the Earl of Carlisle. A man with no sons to whom his title and lands will pass. A man whose death will mean adding to my lands, the lands my son will inherit. Can you understand that, you wicked thing?”
He shook her then, hard enough to make her head swing back and forth and for stars to bloom behind her eyes. For one brief, terror-filled moment, she thought he might never stop. That he might shake her until her neck snapped.
But he did stop. When he did, his teeth were bared in a snarl. “And you have forced me to be away from my lands, from the comfort of my home, for far too long. It is best for you to understand now, right this moment, that you are mine to do with as I wish.”
The cold truth of his words settled into her head. She was his, and he was not a simple lad in the market who wished to have his way with her. He was not even the nasty Alec Stewart.
This was a man who would make life terribly unhappy for her, all the rest of her days, and all because she had caused him inconvenience.
“What if I tell my father of this?” she asked, her mind darting frantically from one possible solution to the next. She could not marry this man. It had been a dreadful notion before. Now? It simply was not possible. She could not do it. “He will break your contract when he hears of how you have mistreated me.”
He let out a derisive snort. “As if I would give you the opportunity. No, my bride, we will be wed first thing upon crossing into England. I will not take the chance of you escaping me, either on foot or through your father’s doing. You might entirely abandon the notion. For I warn you,” he added, now digging his fingers into her wrist this time, “I will be even angrier if you make this any more difficult. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Speak,” he spat, squeezing until she thought he might break her wrist entirely.
“I understand,” she replied, hating the tremor in her voice but unable to hold it back. He had her, there was no doubt, and the harder she fought the harder he would make her existence past this night.
Perhaps it was the satisfaction which shone from his eyes and the way his features instantly relaxed, leaving his face looking more like the one she recalled from their only other meeting, that frightened her most of all. Once he’d gotten his way, he returned to the cool, calm nobleman in the time it took to blink an eye.
“Very well, then. Now that we understand each other, we might be on our way.” He looked at her mouth, through which she breathed in tiny gasps which she did everything in her power to control before they turned into full, gusty sobs. “Do I need to gag you again? Or might I trust you to hold your wicked tongue and keep your teeth to yourself?”
“I will behave well,” she whispered, her chin quivering just as the rest of her did. He could not be human, not truly. Not with such emptiness in his blue eyes. They might flash with fire, those eyes, but they would never hold warmth.
“A good thing,” he sneered, satisfaction all but dripping from his voice. “Perhaps you possess a bit of sense, after all. Time will tell, I suppose. But never believe you will get the better of me, my dear. I will not allow it. Your father was dreadfully
wrong to raise you as he did. I shall not make the mistake of allowing our daughters, should you bear me any, to believe themselves equal to a man. And I will not make the mistake of allowing you to get away with only bearing me one living child, either.”
His laughter was cold, cruel, and it shook her to her core. He would even jest over the death of her mother and of her three stillborn children, the last of which had killed her on its way from her body. Was nothing sacred to him?
No. Not even marriage.
This might as well have been the end of her life, for it certainly seemed that way. She had nothing to which she might look forward, nothing to grant her any happiness or contentedness. Women of her station in life did not raise their children as the wives of Scottish lairds might do. She would bear the children, give them over to a wet nurse and spend the rest of her days locked in a room, or as good as.
She would not even have the joy of watching them grow.
A memory came back to her, sweet and cherished. The day Boyd had won the feat of strength, when he had lifted the little girl in his arms and accepted her token. The smile he’d granted her, the way the sun had painted him gold and amber. The little girl’s laughter, the kindness with which he’d spoken to her.
He would have made a wonderful father to their children.
She squeezed her eyes tight, willing the thought away. It was never to be, so why torture herself with imagining it? Her pain was enough in itself. Thinking of Boyd, imagining him holding their children and smiling her way, was akin to a hot knife running through her heart.
“Come, my bride.” George, unaware of her agony—though he would not care were he aware, she knew this now—lifted her with little effort. She positioned herself in the saddle without a word, knowing another of his sharp blows would be the result of a complaint or question.
He had already trained her as one would train a horse, had he not? She knew better than to speak if she wished to avoid pain.
If it were not all so terrible, she might have laughed at how it had come to pass. All of her efforts were for naught. The indignities she had suffered as a maid. The manner in which an English lady had debased herself.
The Highlander’s Lady: Highlands Forever Page 15
