Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  “Greetings, Lady Corbett. I be Quinn McGreager. ’Tis verra nice to make yer acquaintance.” From his accent, the guy was Scottish and from the looks of him a barbarian, all animal skins, plaid, and long, tangled hair. “Laird McGreager will be wanting his men back, so I’ll just be takin’ you as a bit o’ insurance. How does that suit ye?”

  Her mouth snapped shut and she glared at the guy, unaccountably angry that he wasn’t Kellen and that one more guy was trying to tell her what to do. “Are you freaking kidding me? I’ll tell you what I think. I think this is really not happening today. I have some important things to get done, and I want you to step away from me and perhaps go find somewhere to bathe. Get lost.”

  At his grin, she shook her head, clutched the shoulder harnesses of her pack, turned, and walked away.

  Laughing, the man easily wrenched the pack from her back and threw it in the long grass, snatched her up, and mounted his horse in seconds.

  “Let. Me. Go!” Gillian kicked and squirmed, but her effort proved fruitless; she was thrown over strong legs and smacked on her bottom. Hard. She took a breath to scream and got smacked again.

  “I’ll bash ye on the head next time if ye doona settle,” he said cheerfully. “Ye ken?”

  Fuming, she settled. As they rode for the trees, she looked back at the castle in the distance. The sun was barely lighting the tips of the parapets, and she doubted anyone had seen a thing. She’d really messed up this time.

  When they hit the tree line, three more men joined them, one taking the lead, and two bringing up the rear. Her anger quickly dissipated as fear had her heart beating hard in her chest. Her captor rearranged her, easily swinging her around so she was seated behind him. “Hold on. If ye fall, ye’ll just get hurt and ’twill make no difference ta us. We willna leave ye behind.”

  After a quick glance at the distant ground, she gripped the washboard abs in front of her as all four men urged their mounts to run.

  “What does Laird McGreagor want with me?” she yelled.

  Quinn turned his head and she saw he was still grinning, clearly enjoying the situation. “He’ll be sure ta use ye as ransom. Think you Lord Marshall values ye enough to pay the price?” He ran a hand down her leg and laughed.

  She pinched him on his stomach, hard, and he laughed again but did release her leg. “Ye made it easy,” he said over his shoulder. “We saw ye leavin’ the village, had heard tale of yer wee bright pack and couldna believe our luck when ye slung it on. It fair glowed in the darkness.”

  “But why go to all this bother?”

  “The MacGregor wants the men that Lord Marshall keeps in his dungeon. And he’ll no’ be gettin’ ye back ‘til he returns them.”

  “Why not simply give back the cattle you stole?”

  “Give it back? Are you addled?”

  “It would be the right thing to do.”

  He snorted. “’Tis the principal of the thing. Besides, we doona have to as we have ye now.”

  Gillian closed her eyes. Kellen was going to kill her for giving the Scots this advantage. Of course she might be headed directly toward the guy who wanted her dead, so Kellen might never get the chance. This just wasn’t her day.

  * * *

  Kellen walked to where Owen and Tristan trained with the men, unsheathed his sword, and started hacking at them both, forcing them to defend themselves.

  “Uh,” Tristan gasped after a bone-jarring strike. “You seem in a foul mood this day.”

  “Think you?” responded Kellen, not letting up and using all his strength to drive both men backward, alternating his strokes between them.

  Owen, face aghast, defended himself when the sword slashed his way. “My lord? Has aught occurred we should know about?”

  Kellen struck out at him. “Let.” Another strike. “Me.” Another. “Consider.” Their swords clashed and held, and Kellen was happy to see the strain shaking Owen’s arm and the nervousness on his face. “What could have happened betwixt the last time I saw you both and this moment?” Kellen used his strength to throw Owen back a few paces. “Ah, yes. The lady Gillian did not show to break her fast this morn.”

  Tristan defended himself when Kellen turned on him. He skipped back a few paces, trying his best to anticipate Kellen’s slashing movements. “Nay? Was she not hungry then?”

  Kellen disarmed Tristan and he went scrambling after his sword. Kellen slashed the air twice and turned his attention back toward Owen. “Mayhap she was not. Of course,” Kellen’s sword clashed with Owen’s. “The two of you could not know she was absent as you did not show yourselves either, else you might have noted the way I mooned about, also not eating, as I waited for the fair Gillian to arrive.” He slashed again. “Which, as I’ve stated, she did not.”

  “She did not then?” Owen deflected, but Kellen threw him back so hard he stumbled, coming down on one knee before jumping back to his feet again.

  “She did not.”

  Owen and Tristan shared a look and Tristan hastily raised his sword as Kellen attacked him again. “Is there any reason the fair Gillian did not break her fast this morn?”

  “Hmm.” Kellen cut with a sweeping stroke, forcing Tristan to jump back. “Let me consider. Oh, that is right. It was because, after being influenced by two of the most feebleminded men in the kingdom, I accused her of being a poisoner last eve. Of murdering Frederick. Oh, and also of staging the entire event whereby a villain attempted to stab her in the throat.” He slashed hard, driving Tristan to his knees; and then as Tristan scrambled back and tried to regain his feet and his balance, Kellen turned his sword on Owen.

  “Did I mention that my attack on my fair lady occurred when she did come to my chamber intent upon seduction? Of course, after getting such wise counsel from my two most trusted men, I did not chance to grasp what she was about. Oh, no. I believed she tried to murder me and searched her for a weapon before accusing her thus.”

  Owen sidestepped, but Kellen kicked out and knocked him to the ground. Owen scooted backward as Kellen held the sword to his throat. He swallowed audibly. “Dear, me. What did she do?”

  Kellen stepped back, then went after Tristan again and knocked him to the ground next to Owen. Kellen, breathing hard, stabbed his sword into the dirt in disgust. His men looked at the waving sword, obviously aghast that Kellen would treat his weapon thus.

  “What think you she did? With wounded feelings, and a newfound disgust of me, she ran to her room and barred the door.”

  Owen lifted a hand to his forehead. “Kellen, I do most humbly apologize.”

  Tristan backhanded Owen’s shoulder. “We most humbly apologize.”

  Owen lowered his hand. “It had seemed—”

  Kellen raised a palm, and shook his head in disgust. “Would that I could blame you. You are both idiots, ’tis true, but I am the biggest of all. When Catherine tried to poison me, ’twas no great surprise. But the thought of Gillian doing so? It shocked me to my bones. And why? Because she is no murderer. I knew this in here.” He pounded his chest. “So you can imagine her dismay when I accused her thus.”

  They were all silent a moment, then Owen shook his head. “We are truly imbeciles.”

  Tristan blew out a breath. “It seemed most reasonable last eve with Frederick dead on the floor and no enemy in sight; but in the light of day, the charge does seem exceedingly foolish.”

  Tristan and Owen regained their feet as Kellen sheathed his sword. They looked around to see the men watching them and Owen shouted for them to get back to their training. But for themselves, they continued to stand about saying nothing. Finally, Tristan whistled. “So, you did not comprehend her attempt to seduce you?”

  Owen pushed Tristan’s shoulder and Tristan barely maintained his balance. “Mayhap if you were to offer a bauble or two?”

  Kellen pulled out a pouch of gems tucked in his belt and shook it. “She has to actually see me ere I can gift them to her.”

  “Ah,” Tristan grinned. “You have already cons
idered such. Mayhap you could send them with a love poem?”

  Owen nodded. “Or we could deliver them for you and admit our part in turning thy thoughts.”

  “What if—” Tristan paused then pointed and Kellen turned to see Marissa running toward them, her skirts lifted.

  Marissa never ran.

  The men surged forward to meet her.

  She put a hand to her heaving chest. “Lady Gillian is nowhere to be found. She is gone, as is her pack.”

  Kellen seized Marissa’s upper arm. “What do you mean, gone? She must be about somewhere.”

  Marissa shook her head. “When I awoke, I thought her elsewhere. We’ve looked everywhere, my lord. She is not to be found.” Marissa hesitated. “Gillian had claimed she was going home this morn. She was upset. I had not thought to take her serious.”

  “Keep looking,” said Kellen. “Get everyone to search.” Kellen headed toward the gatehouse, as Owen and Tristan shouted orders to the men.

  * * *

  Bread crumbs would be nice right about now, thought Gillian. A nice long trail of them leading back to Marshall Keep. Because hours later, she had no idea where she was or how to get back. Panic nipped at her again, rising and falling with her thought process, leaving her exhausted.

  The horses moved at a steady pace, walking single file through the forest. There wasn’t even a real path and certainly no trail to follow home.

  She could hear the two horses behind her and one leading the way, but with her arms locked loosely around Quinn’s waist and her head ducked behind his back to avoid the occasional branch, she felt pretty isolated. Luckily she’d gotten used to Quinn’s smell, because it didn’t bother her anymore, which was a blessing.

  She should have fought harder. Why hadn’t she fought harder?

  Once their ride through the forest had begun, it hadn’t taken long to realize how much trouble she was in. No one knew she’d been kidnapped, and no one knew where she was.

  Kellen was not going to come charging to her rescue. He wouldn’t even know where to look until a ransom demand was made; and by that time, he’d think Gillian had gone home to her father. He’d look for her at Corbett Castle and find Edith there instead. He’d have his new bride in hand by the time he got back home to find a ransom note for Gillian. He’d probably just throw it in the fire with a hearty good riddance, glad to forget all about her once he realized she was a liar.

  There would be no help for her, no ransom paid, no way back to the cemetery, and no way home.

  So, now what did she do?

  * * *

  An hour later, Kellen was convinced the woman was a half-wit. And so was he for not putting a guard on her door after she’d gone to bed the night before.

  She’d snuck out at dawn without protection, which meant she’d been gone for hours at this point. One of the guards remembered a maid carrying a basket, and it had been found at the edge of the village.

  Guilt tightened his chest as he crossed the bailey, dodging people scurrying hither and yon. The entire keep and village were still in an uproar looking for her, but Kellen was convinced she wasn’t about. He never should have accused her. This was his fault for making her unhappy.

  She’d told Marissa she was going home, which made no sense. The horses were all accounted for and she could not walk the entire way. She’d be accosted or murdered if she tried. She had never struck him as stupid, but obviously he’d have to rethink his judgment.

  Some of his men were already on the way to her father’s keep with instructions to retrieve her even if she’d made it all the way home, which he deemed doubtful. If she had gone that direction, she would not have gotten far. Kellen would follow the minute he was convinced he’d done all he could here.

  One of his men brought a young village boy forward. “This child claims to have witnessed a man on horseback early this morn.”

  The thin boy’s frightened eyes were visible under his cap of messy blond hair, and Kellen knelt before him and tried to tamp down feelings of dread. “You saw a man on horseback?” he asked softly.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “Nay, my lord. I tried to see but ’twas too dark and too far away to see much of anythin’. But I saw him riding up toward the graveyard. I thought maybe it ’twere a headless ghostie comin’ for the dead.” The boy suddenly grinned, showing he’d recently lost a few baby teeth. “Me brother would have near died of envy had I seen such!”

  With a nod, Kellen sent two of his men to the cemetery. They mounted horses and were gone within moments.

  “Did you see or hear aught else?”

  “I waited, and then he went back the way he come and ’twas the slightest bit brighter; and I saw hair flying about his head, so I knew he weren’t headless.” The boy’s disappointment was palpable.

  “Did he have anyone with him?”

  The boy shrugged, then looked up, hope gleaming in his eyes. “Think you he carried a spirit or two?”

  “Mayhap. Where did he go?”

  The boy pointed toward the northern tree line and Kellen’s teeth clenched. Scots? Would they dare? “Did you see my lady?”

  “Nay, my lord.”

  After dismissing the boy and telling him to find a treat in the kitchen, Kellen paced as he waited for his men to return. Minutes later, one rode fast through the gate house, only pulling up short when he approached Kellen. “My lord!” He lifted Gillian’s pack. “We did a quick search, but did not find her.”

  Kellen’s jaw tightened as he grimly accepted the brightly colored bundle. She was very attached to her treasures and would never have willingly left her possessions behind. Could she have been taken so close to the village? Perhaps by the man who’d tried to murder her?

  His guts clenching, Kellen mounted up and he and his men headed toward the tree line. After only a short search they found evidence of three or four horses. And tied to a tree branch was a piece of Scottish cloth.

  A message? Or a trap? Either way, Kellen was immensely relieved they’d not found Gillian’s dead body. “Gather the men,” Kellen yelled. “And bring the Scottish prisoners.”

  If Gillian had been harmed, he’d gut the men while their people watched. Then he’d slaughter the lot of them.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Gillian heard people before she saw them.

  Her captors, fists raised in the air, shouted in triumph as they rode out of the trees and into a camp where a band of wild-looking, filthy men gathered. Some stopped their training, others came out of tents, and more stood from where they lounged near a campfire. But one and all they moved forward, at least forty men, some shouting responses to her captors, and every one of them staring at her.

  Gillian’s throat tightened and, mouth dry, she gripped Quinn and watched as a huge guy made his way toward them. Men moved out of his way and, the closer he came, the more Gillian tensed. The man’s thick dark hair and beard was randomly braided and messy, though it at least appeared clean. His shoulders and arms bulged with muscle. Tall, strong, and in command, he was obviously their leader. When he reached them, Quinn half-turned, a wide grin on his face.

  “Laird MacGregor, meet Lady Corbett, recently of Marshall Keep.”

  The laird bowed mockingly. “My lady, welcome.” His voice was deep and loud. “I am most pleased to make thy acquaintance.”

  The men around them laughed.

  Before she could respond, he spoke to the men on horseback in a language she couldn’t understand and, when Quinn laughed and responded in kind, the laird grinned. Without any warning, he grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her off the horse, catching her before she plummeted to the ground. She screamed, slapping, scratching, and pushing for freedom, her feet touching the ground as the men around her laughed. She could barely walk after hours on the horse, but tried to run anyway.

  The behemoth easily caught and held her with her back against his front, his arms around her, her wrists crossed and captured in his
large hands. He laughed. “Little cat, sheathe thy claws.”

  Gillian bucked, trying to get away, but all she did was amuse the crowd, if their hoots and hollers were any indication. “Let go of me!” Breathing hard, she twisted and turned but remained trapped.

  The man’s warmth seeped into her chilled body, his wild, campfire smell settling over her with every gasped breath. The guy simply held on and let her wear herself out.

  She finally stilled. Was he planning to assault her? Kill her? It was too much: leaving Kellen, being captured, the travel, the men surrounding her, and her helplessness. She started to cry. “Leave me alone.” She bucked one more time. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Calm thyself.” His chest rumbled against her back. “You willna be harmed, lass.”

  “Then why am I here?” She kicked at his shins with a running shoe. He grunted but remained unbending. “What do you want?” When he didn’t respond, she tried to think of a way to keep herself unharmed. “Do you want to marry me? Is that it? For my family’s wealth?”

  He turned her around to look at her, keeping one hand tight on her wrist, speculation in his expression as he looked up and down her body. He grinned, his gaze settling on her chest. “Ye come well dowered, do ye?”

  As the men around them guffawed and snickered, Gillian ignored his lewd implication and decided Kellen was the best weapon to threaten him with. “Yes, my family settled a large amount on me. Lord Marshall already has it.”

  The laird chuckled. “Clever man. But it doesna matter. We simply mean to use you as ransom to get our men back.”

  “But Kellen… Lord Marshall, doesn’t know where I am.”

  “He does by now.”

  Gillian stared at him for a moment and then tension drained from her, leaving her weak and unsteady. “You left a note?”

  He nodded once. “Aye. My men left a message.”

  Kellen would be coming for her? Gillian bowed her head as relief surged through her. With his hand still clamped around her wrist, Laird MacGregor hauled her, unresisting, to a tent; and she stumbled behind him. He pushed her inside and pointed to a blanket. “Sit there. I’ll return directly.”