CAPTURED BY A LAIRD (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY)

by Mallory, Margaret

  David turned to the other prisoners. “Who will be next?”

  He fought half a dozen Blackadder warriors, one after another, pounding them with his sword until each submitted and no more would come forward.

  When he was finished, every Blackadder man knew that he lived only because David Hume, Laird of Wedderburn, had shown him mercy—this time.

  “Take them to the dungeon,” he ordered. “I shall decide their fate later.”

  And now, it was time to tell the lady of the castle hers.

  ***

  Alison’s head throbbed from the clank of swords. And yet she had been unable to tear herself away from the window until Wedderburn defeated every Blackadder warrior willing to raise a sword against him. What in heaven’s name was the point of that display?

  Admittedly, she felt some satisfaction when she first looked out of the window and saw Wedderburn fight Walter, the huge, black-haired warrior who refused to deliver her message, and defeat him with lightning speed. The Hume laird exhibited a violent grace with his sword and never showed any sign of tiring, though he fought man after man. He must have grown warm from the effort, however, because after a time he removed his tunic and shirt.

  Alison continued watching him as he rinsed off with a bucket at the well in the courtyard. Though he was a vile brute, she understood why other women might sigh over the sight of him shirtless. How different his lean, muscled torso looked from her husband’s. She shuddered at the memory of Blackadder’s sagging belly and his barrel chest covered with gray hair. Praise God she would never have to see her husband’s flesh, feel his touch, or hear his voice again.

  She shook off the bitter memories and joined her daughters, who were playing with their rag dolls on the bed as if this were a day like any other. She brushed their hair back from their foreheads and kissed them.

  “Did that man hurt you?” she asked them again.

  “No, Mama,” they said in unison as they continued their play.

  Her children believed the danger was past. They did not understand that they were now at the mercy of a violent man, the Beast of Wedderburn.

  When word of their plight reached her brothers, they would come to her rescue with so many Douglas warriors it would not matter how well Wedderburn fought. They would drive him and all the Humes out of Blackadder Castle.

  Alison’s task was to make sure that she and her daughters survived until then.

  At the sound of the broken door scraping across the floor, she spun around. Alarm shot through her with the force of a lightning bolt as Wedderburn entered her chamber without knocking, as if he had a right to. He looked even more dangerous with his shirt plastered to his damp skin and molded to the muscles of his chest.

  His gaze traveled over her slowly, from her head to her toes and back again. “I see you’re feeling better.”

  His remark might have seemed civilized, but his eyes had the feral look of a hunter.

  “’Tis best we discuss our business alone,” he said with a glance toward Beatrix and Margaret, who had forgotten their dolls and were staring at him wide-eyed.

  By “business,” she assumed he meant ransom. She did not want to discuss her daughters’ worth in front of them, so she did not argue.

  “I brought the nursemaid,” he said, nodding toward the door, “though I can’t see that she’s much use.”

  Alison saw the skirt of Flora’s drab gown through the splintered door.

  “She’d be fine if ye hadn’t frightened the poor soul half to death,” Alison said, startling herself with her boldness. “Girls, go with Flora to one of the other chambers.”

  Beatrix and Margaret looked at her over their shoulders as they trailed out of the room. Alison attempted to give them a reassuring smile, then swallowed hard when Wedderburn shut the door behind them with a thump.

  She was alone with her captor.

  CHAPTER 7

  Wedderburn’s unwavering stare made Alison feel like a rabbit caught in an open field beneath a circling hawk. When she realized she was still sitting on the bed and leapt to the floor, Wedderburn stopped staring at her long enough to carry a chair from the hearth and bang it down in front of her.

  “Sit.”

  She had an overwhelming urge to run, like the rabbit when the hawk drops from the sky with its talons out.

  “That was not a request,” he said. “We must talk, and I can’t have ye fainting again.”

  Escape was impossible, so she sank into the chair and folded her arms across her waist. He pulled the other chair up and sat facing her, uncomfortably close. She scooted back to keep her knees from touching his. If he was trying to intimidate her, he had succeeded.

  His silent scrutiny strained her nerves until she had to speak.

  “Since ye haven’t murdered me and my daughters, I take it you’ve decided to hold us for ransom.” She licked her dry lips and prayed that he had not merely delayed murdering them. “My family will expect ye to treat us well until the ransom is paid.”

  “A ransom,” he said, his hard green eyes assessing her. “Is that what ye think I want?”

  “It would be foolish to harm us,” she said. “I am the queen’s sister by marriage.”

  “From what I hear, the queen is none too fond of Douglases these days.” He tilted his head to the side. “I suspect the only way she’d like to see her husband is hanging from a rope.”

  Alison had hoped word of the queen’s disenchantment with Archie had not reached Wedderburn’s ears, but clearly it had. No wonder he did not fear royal retribution.

  “Ye make too much of a lovers’ spat,” she said. “I assure ye the queen loves my brother most passionately.”

  “She did once, and that is the problem, aye?” Wedderburn gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Violent love slips easily into violent hate.”

  In the queen’s case, that appeared to be true. Alison drew in a deep breath and decided to try a different tack.

  “The Douglas clan is powerful in its own right,” she said. “My brothers will arrive soon with hundreds—nay, thousands—of warriors to rescue me.”

  “I doubt that,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

  “Then ye are mistaken, Laird Wedderburn,” she said, annoyed that he did not appear the least bit concerned by the prospect of hordes of Douglas warriors coming to wreak vengeance upon his head.

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His coldly handsome face was so close to hers that she could see flecks of gold in his green eyes and drops of water from the well glistening in his hair.

  “Perhaps I should tell ye,” he said, “I caught your messenger.”

  “Ye caught Garrett?” Despair washed over her, quickly followed by guilt. “What did ye do to the poor man? Murder him?”

  Wedderburn drew in a deep breath before answering. “Nay, I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then what did ye do to him?” She would never forgive herself. “How could ye hurt Garrett? He’s an old man.”

  “He’s unharmed,” he said.

  “I don’t believe ye.” She turned away and blinked back tears.

  “I am guilty of a great many transgressions, lass,” he said, “but I’m no liar.”

  He got up and went to the door, where he spoke in a low voice to someone outside. Unease settled in her stomach as he leaned against the wall with his arms folded and once again examined her at length. The man’s capacity for stillness was unnerving.

  “I’d prefer that ye leave my chamber now,” she said.

  “You and I are far from finished, Lady Alison.”

  Her pulse jumped at the implied threat. “Then I beg ye to say what ye will and be done with it.”

  She barely got the words out when Garrett stumbled into the room, pushed by the guard at the door.

  ***

  “I praise God that you’re alive,” Lady Alison said, taking Garrett’s hand and squeezing it.

  David watched her greet the old man. Though he was a servant, she treated him
with a warmth that put David on edge. She was too soft-hearted. Not the sort of woman who should be with him.

  And yet there was no denying he wanted her. Badly.

  “I am well, m’lady,” the old man answered.

  “Though ye did not succeed in reaching my brothers,” Lady Alison said, “I am exceedingly grateful that ye tried.”

  “But I did, m’lady,” the old man said, bobbing his head.

  “Did what?” Alison asked with a puzzled expression.

  Old Garrett displayed several broken and missing teeth in a wide grin. “I took your message to ’em, m’lady.”

  He was still clinging to her hand and gazing at her with calf eyes as if he were a lovesick lad of twelve.

  “That’s enough,” David said. “Release the lady.”

  The old man dropped her hand as if it were a burning pot on the fire.

  “Leave us,” David told him, and waited to speak again until the door closed behind the old man. “Ye made a good choice with Old Garrett. Though I had all the roads watched, he got by us the first time.”

  David had been sitting on his horse on a hill above the Edinburgh Road when he spied the lone figure crawling on his hands and knees through the tall grass. For days, he had expected the Lady of Blackadder to attempt to get a message through to her Douglas kin. He and his men kept watch on the road, hoping to catch the messenger on his way to Edinburgh, or failing that, to see the Douglas warriors galloping out of Edinburgh in time to withdraw and postpone their attack on Blackadder Castle.

  What had puzzled David about the fellow sneaking through the grass was that he was traveling in the wrong direction. He’d nearly let the old man go.

  “The first time?” Lady Alison asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I caught him on his return from Edinburgh,” David said.

  “Garrett got through!” Lady Alison said, triumph flashing in her eyes.

  “Aye.” He waited for her to realize what that meant, but she had too much faith in her brothers to see the truth.

  “If ye have any sense,” she said, “you’ll make your escape before my brothers arrive with all their men.”

  “When I caught Garrett,” David said, speaking slowly, “he was carrying a message for you.”

  Her violet eyes went wide as David handed her the parchment from the leather pouch at his belt. The seal was broken—he had read it, of course—but it was clearly recognizable. From the way her hand trembled as she took the letter from him, she must have an inkling of what was in it.

  He watched her closely as she read it. She drew her delicate brows together, forming a slight crease. Then she drew in a sharp breath, and the color drained from her face.

  “Come, sit down,” he said and took her arm.

  She showed no awareness of his presence as he guided her back to her chair. Her gaze was unfocused, and she sat down hard. He took the chair opposite, where he could watch her face to gauge her reaction.

  “My brothers knew of my plight and did not come,” she said in a whisper. A single tear slid down her cheek.

  David prided himself on his steady nerves, but that tear sent panic racing through his veins. Merciful God, don’t let her fall to weeping.

  She should have known not to expect better of the Douglases, being one herself. Perhaps now she would be ready to accept her fate.

  “They could have saved me,” she said, her voice so low he could barely hear her. Finally, she raised her gaze from the parchment, and the pain in her beautiful eyes struck him like a fist in the chest.

  “It would make no difference, lass, if your brothers had come,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger. “Once I made up my mind to take you and your castle, no one could have saved ye.”

  ***

  Alison was vaguely aware that Wedderburn’s finger was under her chin, but she did not push him away. After the shock of her brothers’ abandonment, it took all her strength just to remain upright.

  The words on the parchment still burned across her vision.

  Have patience, dear sister, and take heart. Every day, more men join our side, and I am certain we shall soon restore our family to our former glory. Once our success is assured, I will send help at the soonest possible moment.

  Until then, hold fast.

  Archie

  George’s scribbled note across the bottom of the letter hurt her even more than Archie’s callous refusal to come to her aid. George had always been her ally. If Archie showed some initial reluctance, George was supposed to persuade him. Archie listened to him. George could have persuaded him.

  My darling Allie, be brave. If the worst should happen, do not underestimate the power of a pretty and clever lass to bend a man’s will.

  Your most affectionate brother,

  George

  Her life and the lives of her daughters were at stake, and her brothers advised her to “hold fast” and bat her eyelashes.

  She pushed Wedderburn’s finger away and tried to gather herself. Because her brothers were too busy to protect them, she and her daughters had already lost their home. And now this glorified night raider would calculate their worth and demand a ransom. Fortunately, a ransom would not require her brothers to divert their precious warriors.

  “My brothers do not place as high a value on me as I thought,” she said, her voice wobbling just a bit. “Nonetheless, they will pay a reasonable ransom. May I ask how much ye intend to demand for us?”

  She prayed her brothers would not dither over the cost and leave her at the mercy of the murderous Humes for long.

  “I’ll not seek a ransom,” Wedderburn said, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “No ransom?” Alison blinked at him. “You’ll simply let us go?”

  Hope soared in her heart. This ordeal would soon be over. She would pack at once. What would she be allowed to take with her? Not her jewels, but perhaps a few gowns. Beatrix and Margaret would weep bitterly if they had to leave their ponies. Was there any hope the Beast of Wedderburn would let the girls keep them?

  “Nay.” Wedderburn’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

  For a moment, she thought she must have spoken aloud and he was refusing her request. Her heart sank to her feet as she realized he was saying nay to more than the ponies.

  “I cannot let ye go,” he said, his tone as unrelenting as the north wind.

  “But why?” she asked. “If you’re not holding us for ransom, what other reason could ye have for…” Her voice trailed off as the only other possibility came to her.

  She could not breathe. Nay, this could not be happening to her. Not again.

  And yet Wedderburn was looking at her as if he thought he already owned her.

  CHAPTER 8

  “I’m taking ye for my wife,” David informed her, though he could see that she already understood.

  “I will not marry you.” She stood and backed away from him with her hands clenched. “I refuse.”

  David chastised himself again for his lack of foresight. Since the day of his father and uncle’s execution, he had planned every step that brought him here. Wedding the widow was always a part of his plan—the central piece. And yet he had failed to consider that she might be obstinate about accepting her situation.

  Not that it made a damned bit of difference to the outcome, but he should have anticipated this complication.

  “I cannot permit ye to refuse,” he said. “The wedding will take place as soon as my brothers arrive.”

  “Brothers?” She looked horror-struck. “There are more like you?”

  By the saints, David wished he’d refilled his flask with whisky before starting this conversation with her.

  “My brothers should be here tomorrow,” he said between his teeth. “That gives ye a full day to accustom yourself to the notion of being my wife.”

  “An entire day? How very considerate,” she said, folding her arms. “But I assure ye that a year and a day would not suffice.”

  As irritat
ing as he found her tone, he preferred her temper to the despair she had shown earlier. He hoped anger sharpened her wits, as it always did his, so that he could reason with her now.

  “As there’s no avoiding this marriage,” he said, “I suggest ye reconcile yourself to it.”

  “Reconcile myself to it?” she said, her voice rising. “I’d rather be boiled in oil.”

  Now she was truly annoying him.

  “Many marriages are made under similar circumstances,” he said after pausing to take a deep breath. “Once ye think it over, you’ll see that this arrangement can benefit us both.”

  “Oh?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “What possible benefit could this marriage bring to me?”

  “For one thing, you’ll have a better man than Blackadder to warm your bed,” he bit out.

  She blushed to her roots. “Don’t be disgusting.”

  David was not accustomed to being thwarted—or to being called disgusting. Though he was aware of his appeal to the lasses, he was not vain about it, probably because he never cared much one way or another if a particular one said aye or nay.

  Until now.

  “Ye cannot make me do this.” She went to the window and turned her back to him. “Please go.”

  He considered the two obvious means of persuading her. Both were distasteful, but she was forcing his hand. The first one he discarded immediately. Though he was certain she would crumple if he threatened her daughters, he could not make even a pretense of doing that.

  That left him with the second obvious method, which he did not like much better. She jumped when he came up behind her and rested his hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her with his body. Heat seared through him when he leaned forward and his chest touched her back.

  “You’re not the first lady to wed her captor,” he said next to her ear. “How do ye suppose that’s usually accomplished?”