An Outlaw's Word (Highland Heartbeats Book 9)

by Aileen Adams

  The carriage fell apart, the wood splintering onto the road when it made contact and sending up a great cloud of dust before the half-mad team dragged the carriage body off the road and into the woods.

  Quinn took advantage of the chaos, taking hold of the soldier when he jumped from the driver’s bench and holding him by the wide collar of his tunic.

  When the man’s hand went to his sword, Quinn was quick to remove it from his belt before tossing it aside. “I would not make any further attempts to defend yourself. Let us see if the lass is injured.”

  “If you brought harm to her, I will make you pay,” the soldier swore, though anything else he wished to add was lost forever thanks to the blade which Quinn pressed to his throat.

  “Aye, I’m certain I will,” Quinn grunted as the two of them followed the path the horses took to what was left of the carriage box.

  It was empty except for a trunk and a handful of supplies.

  “Where is she?” Quinn hissed, pressing the blade tighter against the man’s throat until a thin trickle of blood ran down.

  “I do not know! There was nowhere else for her to go!” The man sounded genuine, just as perplexed by this sudden turn of events. They had more than likely both expected to find her injured, perhaps grievously so, lying in a heap.

  “Let him go.” Both of them turned as one and found the lass in question holding the jeweled-hilted sword with both hands. He caught a glimpse of a crest engraved in the metal close to the hilt, though he did not recognize it.

  She leveled the sword at Quinn’s chest.

  It shook terribly.

  “I’ve nothing for you,” she declared. “Nothing of value. You might take this sword, so long as you swear not to harm us with it, but that is all we have.”

  “Lass,” Quinn whispered as soothingly as he could, suddenly concerned. Not because he thought the woman could harm him, she could hardly hold the thing still, as strong as she appeared.

  His concern was with the time they had already wasted. They might be overtaken at any point by another traveler who would spy what was on the road and perhaps wish to be of service.

  The horses, still hitched to the carriage, had dragged much of it off the road, even so, the wheels and several pieces of wood were still scattered about and would surely attract attention.

  “Are ye certain ye wish to do this, lass?” he asked.

  “You are the one who brought us to this point,” she reminded him in a trembling voice. “Now. Please. Release him and allow us to be on our way.”

  “That isn’t how this type of situation normally progresses,” he smirked. “You’re in no position to be making demands. I’ll slice the throat of your friend here.”

  “He’s not my friend,” she admitted before wincing at her loose tongue.

  Not that Quinn had been under any other impression. Men who carried swords and wore what was clearly a uniform of some sort did not escort young women out of charity.

  “Just the same, I’ll kill him, and that would leave ye all alone.”

  She hesitated, holding his gaze for one breathless moment.

  It was the soldier who spoke first. “The Marquis will hunt you down for this. He will see to it that you are severely punished for laying hands upon me, not to mention how you’ve threatened this young woman.”

  Quinn was still looking at the young woman holding the sword. “Who are ye to this Marquis, then?” he asked, keenly aware of the time they wasted but curious just the same.

  “He is waiting for me,” she admitted. “We have business to address.”

  He couldn’t help smiling at this turn of events. “Is he, now?”

  A plan quickly formed itself in his mind. If a nobleman waited for her, there would be much more involved in her delivery to him than the price of a sword. No matter how handsome the hilt.

  She was to be the man’s bride, like as not, and a man awaiting a bride—especially one as comely as the lass before him—would be more than willing to pay handsomely for her safe delivery.

  Her arms were growing tired. The sword’s sharp tip sank further until it all but touched the ground.

  In one quick move, he released the soldier and pulled the young woman to him instead. He wrenched the sword from her hand while holding the dirk to her throat instead of to the soldier’s. In the time it took to blink an eye, Quinn had gained a new captive.

  He motioned to the remains of the carriage. “Take all of that off the road. Now.”

  The soldier wished to defy him—Quinn could see it in his eyes, how bright they were with hostility—but complied, instead. The man had seen enough fighting to know when he was outsmarted.

  Quinn waited in the shadows, holding the lass, while the soldier was quick about removing what was left on the road. It was not an unpleasant task, her body was warm, soft, the reminder of all he had given up over the last weeks.

  “I tell you, I have nothing for you,” she whispered. Her body shook from head to toe, her knees nearly knocking together. He wondered in the back of his mind whether she would be able to hold her water in such a state.

  “Ah, but ye do,” he chuckled. When she let out a pitiful whimper, he softened slightly. “I do not mean what ye think I mean, lass.” He had no intention of ravishing her, tempting though she was.

  “What do you have in mind, then?”

  “All in good time.” He beckoned for the soldier to join them. “Now. Strip down.”

  The man blinked. “What?”

  “Strip. Take off yer tunic, trousers, shoes. Hat. All of it.” He held the sword out, the edge dangerously close to the man’s stomach. “Be quick about it.”

  As he did this, Quinn bound the young woman’s hands in front of her, using the reins from one of the two horses still hitched to what remained of the carriage. They had quieted somewhat but were still rather anxious.

  “Calm them,” he ordered.

  She couldn’t ride away on either of them, attached as they were, so he had no concerns on that matter.

  What concerned him was the now nearly naked man before him, trembling in the chilly night air while wearing nothing but a pair of thin breeches.

  Quinn leveled the sword at him. “Make a false move, and I’ll cut her throat,” he whispered.

  “You will do no such thing, if you intended to, you would have done it by now.”

  “I intend to do much more with her. She is quite valuable to me. But do not think that means I wouldn’t kill her rather than let you have her.” Quinn led the man to a thin birch, the trunk just big enough around that one might wrap their arms around it and touch their fingertips.

  “What is your plan, then?”

  “Nay,” Quinn chuckled. “Do ye think I would tell ye what I have in mind? When ye might be able to tell another and send them after us?” He used a coiled rope from the remains of the carriage to tie the man to the birch while the young woman looked on.

  Only once did a brief flash of guilt stab him, but the man would not freeze. It was not quite that cold. He was far enough from the road that he would not be seen but not so far that he would not be heard if he called for help, though, judging by the fact that they had not been disturbed, he might not have the chance to do so until morning.

  Which would give Quinn time to get away.

  He bundled up the man’s clothing and was quick to unhitch the horses. Beautiful creatures, both. Which reminded him of something. “If ye manage to free yourself, there’s a chestnut gelding tied off on the other side of the road. Where I overtook ye.” He would hate to see it starve there simply because he’d come up with a new plan.

  “Wait,” the young woman begged. “Please. If you wish to leave with me, please allow me to take my few possessions along.”

  “Where are they?” he asked, exasperated.

  “In the trunk.”

  Quinn shook his head. “We have neither the time nor the room in my pack to transport your garments and shoes and so on.” He took her by the waist and
lifted her onto one of the horses, holding tight to the reins before she had time to come up with any ideas about escape.

  “Please, please. They’re all I have left of my mother,” she began to weep. “Do what you wish with me, only do not ask me to part with the only reminders I have of her.”

  He merely snickered as he led both horses to the road, looking both ways before crossing to the other side. His chestnut was there, waiting faithfully.

  “It is time for us to part ways,” he murmured as he untied the pig’s bladder which served as his water jug and removed his bedroll from the rear of the saddle. “Thank ye for helping me feel less alone.”

  “Where are you taking me?” The bound woman stared at him, the tears still fresh on her cheeks.

  Would that he might be able to wipe them away for her, but this was not the time for such flights of fancy.

  “You’ll see when we’ll arrive,” he promised, mounting the second black gelding and taking her reins in one hand.

  The truth was, he was as uncertain as she. A marquis meant France, even he knew that much, but there was no telling where. She would have to provide him that information.

  Which meant he would need to get her to trust him if he hoped to collect a ransom for her.

  8

  It beggared belief.

  She was captive.

  And he hadn’t allowed her to take the only things she had left of her mother.

  Tears had long since dried on her cheeks, leaving them sticky, and new tears sometimes surprised her by trickling slowly from her dry, swollen tired eyes. They had not stopped to sleep, and the sun was already on the rise.

  She had never felt so heartbroken. So utterly desolate.

  He barely spoke to her. Hardly a word. She might as well have been alone; though if she were, her hands would not be bound tight enough to leave them numb. She was nearly unable to hold onto the saddle’s horn to maintain balance.

  They were no longer on the road to Inverness, that was for certain. She kept her wits about her as best she could, determined to remember the route they took in order to trace her course back home. Or at least to the place on the road where she had been overtaken.

  They were on little more than a trail at times, the trees closing in on either side, hardly much more than a thin strip of worn-down ground marking the way. It was full of stones which made for slow going, the horses needing to take care in finding secure footing.

  In other words, it was little traveled. Which meant there was little chance of anyone saving her.

  If only he would tell her what he wanted, what he expected of her. The brim of Geoffrey’s hat shaded his face from the sun, making it impossible for her to discern his thoughts or even the mood he was in.

  “You know,” she said, just to twist the knife in his chest, that he might understand some of the pain she felt, “my mother’s pearls were in my trunk. And her brooch. Both of which might have fetched quite a sum. But you would not allow me to bring them along.”

  He growled. “I didna know, did I? I suppose I would have taken them, at that.”

  “You would have stolen them from me and sold them, in spite of how I begged and pleaded with you over how much those things meant to me?”

  “Pearls are merely pearls, lass,” he informed her, casting a doleful eye in her direction as he did.

  In Geoffrey’s tunic and other garments, he reminded her of a child dressing up as a man.

  He was far younger than Geoffrey, for one.

  Though his shoulders and arms were much larger, stretching the cloth in places.

  Her eyes snapped back up to his profile, rather than lingering over his sizable frame. “They meant something to me! And you were foolish enough to order me to leave them behind. Now they are worthless, lying in a trunk which someone else might discover and benefit from.”

  “If ye had told me what ye were going on about, I would have only taken them from ye,” he reminded her. “Which ye didna tell me, because ye knew that was what I’d do. It was smarter for ye not to mention pearls or any sort of finery. I would do the same in your place. I would most certainly have taken them into my possession, as well, so ye would have parted with yer precious pearls in any case. Let us forget about it and be quiet, for the love of all that’s holy.”

  His attention turned to the road which was not a road, to guiding their mounts between two close-growing trees with branches which tangled together low overhead. She did not speak again until they were clear of it.

  “Why did we not continue on to Inverness?” she asked, though she knew the answer. She merely needed to hear another voice, even if the voice happened to be his.

  “I thought I told you to be quiet.”

  “I merely wished to understand. You have me bound up like a brood sow on the way to market. The least you might grant me is understanding of what you plan to do.”

  “Why do you speak as ye do?”

  She blinked. This was a rather abrupt change of subject. “What do you mean?”

  “Are ye from the Highlands?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve spent yer entire life here?”

  “Yes.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Yet ye speak like you’re a noble. Educated. Why is that?”

  She smiled with fond memory. “My mother wished it so.”

  “Who was yer mother? A noble?”

  “Why do you insist on going on about nobles?”

  “Because only nobles think educating their bairns is important—especially little girls,” he added.

  She could not argue the point. “My father did not see the importance of it,” she admitted with a wry grin.

  “He was the Highlander, then.”

  “Yes. He was.”

  “Which clan was his?”

  It did not seem as though he could use the information against her, and her sense of pride pushed her to speak. “Fraser.”

  “Clan Fraser, eh?” He nodded. “Not a clan to be trifled with.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “It is a good thing, then, that we’ve left their territory,” he grinned.

  She controlled her distaste and her disappointment. “I suppose you would see it that way.” She might have thought to mention her clan before then. It might have caused her captor to think twice about taking her.

  After all, the Marquis was in another country. Niall and the rest were like as not on the road to Inverness while the entire nightmarish event of her capture took place.

  She might have thought to mention this to him, perhaps threaten him with their possible presence. This ordeal could have been avoided… perhaps.

  “Ye wanted to know why I didna wish to travel further toward Inverness,” he reminded her. “Do ye think I’m daft enough to take ye into a busy, crowded place and allow ye to scream at the top of your lungs that I took ye captive? Do I look like a fool?”

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t answer that question,” she replied as icily as possible.

  He laughed. “Aye, I shouldn’t have asked it.”

  Strange. He seemed good-natured, even amusing. He could laugh at himself. He had been so fierce and ruthless while taking her under his control. It might have been the fact that they were now far from Inverness, or by the looks of it, any village.

  He felt secure, so he could be in good humor.

  “What is it you plan to do, then? Escort me all the way to France? You do not even know where we’re going.”

  “I expect you’ll tell me, if ye ever plan to make it there.” He looked at her, his keen eyes taking in her face, slumped shoulders, and bound hands. “I suppose I might as well make it clear to ye. I have no intention of harming ye. I’ve never harmed a woman and never wish to do so. This is merely a way for me to earn your ransom. We will part ways after that.”

  She could hardly believe her ears. “You think it will be so easy? That the Marquis will allow you to leave unscathed?”

  “Leave that to me,” he muttered, looki
ng straight ahead.

  Ysmaine fell quiet, but only for a minute. “Truly, I think this is poorly conceived.”

  “I didna ask ye for an opinion. And I won’t be letting ye go, so ye might do well to abandon all such hopes.”

  “Where are we going, then?” she asked.

  “Must there always be questions?”

  “Yes, because you chose to take me captive,” she pointed out.

  “I could gag ye and earn a little silence,” he mused.

  She snickered. “I’m certain that anyone we happen to cross paths with would find it worth questioning, a young woman, bound and gagged, on horseback.”

  “If they spent five minutes with you, they would understand the reason for the gag,” he grunted.

  They rode in silence for a stretch, with Ysmaine gathering her thoughts as best she could. If there was any chance of escape, it would have to be when they’d dismounted. Either to water the horses or to answer the call of nature, something to that effect.

  While she hadn’t the slightest understanding of where they were, she could follow the nearest stream or river to find help. One thing her father had taught her was the importance of following the flow of water to where people built their homes. If ever she became lost, simply follow the water.

  It would do her well to wait until the horses needed watering, then.

  “How much longer will we ride without resting?” she groaned. Every muscle in her body fairly screamed in protest at the slightest movement.

  “Will ye ever tire of asking questions? I am holding the rope which binds your hands together, along with the horse’s reins. And I will not hesitate to harm ye if pushed too far.”

  “You already said you wouldn’t.”

  “I said I had no wish to.” He fixed her with a cold glare. “I also had no wish to leave a man tied to a tree while he wore nothing but a pair of breeches, but I did so because I had to do so. I would not want to make ye even more uncomfortable than ye already are, but I could if the need arose. Keep that in mind, lass.”

  As if to prove his point, he gave the rope around her hands a mighty tug, along with the reins of the horse on which she rode. She jerked to her left, closer to him, unable to stifle a cry of surprise at the sudden movement.