by Connie Mason
No one would blame Lachlan Drummond if he wished to cry off.
Would they send her to a nunnery?
Elspeth was as good a Christian as the next Scottish lass, but life in a cloister didn’t bear thinking of. To be penned away, never to run free on the heath or wear a pretty gown…
Or lie beside a man.
Rob shifted in his sleep and pulled her closer to him. Her body glowed with something that had nothing to do with shared warmth.
No, she was not suited for life in a religious order. Her brief time with Rob MacLaren had proved that. Her body and its bewildering needs were far too strong to be overruled by even the strictest monastic discipline.
She was meant to be someone’s wife.
And now that she thought about it, she realized Lachlan Drummond wouldn’t abandon her. She represented too many heads of cattle and rich grazing lands. Her father was laird of a powerful clan, the queen’s own cousin, albeit a distant one. Alistair Stewart offered too strong a political alliance for her bridegroom to give up her without a fight.
The realization didn’t please her as much as it ought.
Would she never be wanted just for herself?
“Are ye awake, lass?” Rob’s whisper tickled her neck.
She sat up, keeping the plaid wrapped about her against the cold.
“Good,” he said, moving with confidence in the darkness. “It’s time we were away.”
Away. Perhaps if she managed to steal away from Rob and return to Lachlan on her own, she’d prove herself to be courageous and strong.
And pure. A woman who’d been defiled surely wouldn’t have the will to free herself.
Her betrothed would realize she was worth far more than beeves and grain and bonds between clans. Elspeth Stewart was valuable, in and of herself.
“Aye,” she said softly. “Let’s away.”
Chapter 4
When Mad Rob decided to leave a place, he didn’t let anything slow him down. In the black cave, Elspeth couldn’t see her own hand when she held it before her face, but the MacLaren seemed to know exactly where he was going. The rope at her waist jerked her along to keep up with him as he led the stallion out.
Once they cleared the cave’s mouth and stepped into the crisp, star-splashed night, Elspeth worked the knot at her waist, but it held firm. “Will ye no’ untie me?”
“No. Hush now.”
Rob climbed up on the rocks and surveyed the countryside, lying flat so as not to present a silhouette that might catch someone’s watchful eye.
If there was anyone watching.
Elspeth cocked an ear. Wind rustled through the heather down the valley. Small animals scurried to their burrows for the night. She startled when an owl screeched nearby, but she didn’t hear any sounds that might be attributed to a group of men.
The search party must have given up for the night and camped in the rough, so they could look for her trail at first light. With any luck at all, she and her captor would stumble upon them in the dark.
“Please untie me. I willna run,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back. A promise to a man like Rob MacLaren surely didn’t count. She’d run like a hind if she got half a chance.
“I thank ye kindly for your parole, but no.” He slid down from the boulder and began inspecting the stallion’s hooves. “I’ll keep ye on a tether, lass.”
“But…” Would the wicked man make her say it? “I need some privacy before we travel.”
“It’s a long rope.” Rob didn’t even look up from adjusting the stallion’s girth. “There are bushes aplenty on the other side of the rocks.”
She shot him a glare that should have burned off his eyebrows, but since he didn’t deign to look at her, he suffered no ill effects. Elspeth snorted at him, pulled the cloak he’d let her keep tighter around her, and stomped around the boulders. As soon as she was out of his sight, she bent down and picked at her hem, ripping off a small piece. She’d leave it draped on a bush for Lachlan to find.
The rope at her waist drew taut, and she felt a tug.
“Dinna try to work free, or I’ll have to come round there,” he called out. “And it may not be at a time of your liking if I do.”
“I’d name ye a pig, Rob MacLaren, but t’would be an insult to swine everywhere,” she muttered as she relieved herself.
She needn’t have worried. As she started back around the rock, he said, “Best ye give me a moment as well, unless ye’ve no wish to guard the innocence of your eyes.”
He was gushing on the other side of the boulder, his stream loud enough to pass as the stallion’s. Then after a few moments, the rope at her waist jerked.
“I assume that gentlemanly summons means it’s safe for me to return,” she said.
“Safe? No’ exactly, but aye, come ahead, lass. Will ye be pleased to break your fast? I’ve a few bannocks and a rind of cheese.”
She accepted the crusty bun and nibbled a bit on it. Then she decided to share the last bite with the stallion. If she intended to escape, taking Falin was her best chance.
She held out the crust to the horse, keeping her palm flat. He nosed her cautiously then accepted her offering, his velvet lips and warm, sweet breath brushing her hand.
But when she grasped his mane and tried to swing up onto his back, he shied away with a little kick. She stumbled backward, trying to avoid his hooves, and landed on her bottom while the horse snorted and rolled his eyes at her.
“Ye didna listen to what I said, did ye?” Rob asked, watching unconcernedly from his seat on the rocks. He took a swig from the flask of whisky, offered it to her, and then popped it back into his sporran when she declined. “I told ye Falin will suffer no one to ride him but me. That was a warning. If ye persist, he’ll do ye damage.”
“Ungrateful wretch,” she hissed to the stallion as she scrambled to her feet, rubbing her backside. He whickered back at her, laying his ears flat.
Perhaps the beast did deserve the name of a demon.
Rob mounted him smoothly, and the horse didn’t so much as swish his long tail. The MacLaren leaned toward her and offered his a hand to help her up.
She folded her arms across her chest.
“Perhaps I misjudged the seriousness of that fall on your arse.” He shot her a devilish grin. “Will ye no’ be able to ride astride?”
“Of course, I can ride,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I just dinna want to ride with the likes of ye.”
“Verra well, Mistress Stewart,” he said, nudging Falin into a brisk walk through the narrow boulders and down the slope. “If ye wish to stretch your legs, who am I to gainsay a lady?”
The rope pulled her after them, and she trotted to keep pace. She stumbled once when her foot found a hole, but managed to keep her feet. They moved briskly along the valley floor, heading north. Every hundred yards or so, Elspeth tore off another bit from her skirt and dropped it behind her.
“Is this what passes for chivalry to a MacLaren?” she finally asked when her wind was nearly blown and she was reduced to heaving breaths.
“Oh, aye, my father always told me to give in to a lady’s wishes. A man lives longer that way.”
“I didna say I wished to run along behind you.”
“Or maybe my father said it only seems longer,” Rob said, twisting in his saddle to look back at her. He slowed Falin to a sedate walk.
“My wedding shoes were no’ made for such hard use,” she muttered. Like her dress, whose hem was now hopelessly tattered, her cunning kidskin slippers were probably scuffed beyond redemption. They were so lightly soled, she felt each pebble on the balls of her feet.
“May I remind ye, my lady, that walking is your choice?”
“None of this is my choice, MacLaren.” Now that their pace had slowed, she f
elt the cold more keenly. Wind whistled down the valley, slicing through the wool cloak Rob had let her use as if it were made of thin silk.
“My father dragged my mother all the way from Ireland,” Mad Rob said, “and I’ll wager she didna complain as much as ye.”
“Well, I dinna suppose your father stole your mother from her wedding.”
“Ach, no. He took her from a nunnery, and she didna care to go at first either,” he admitted. “But dinna fret. She came round to his way of thinking in the end, and it was all for the best.”
“Charming tale,” she said with sarcasm.
“Aye, I always thought so. If my mother had kept her veil, I wouldna have been born.”
“What a loss to the world that would’ve been!”
She’d picked off all the silk piping from her hem. It could be easily explained as an accident of the rough road and his own fault for making her walk.
When he faced away from her and kept plodding, she untied one of the sleeves from her bodice beneath the cloak and let it drop to the ground. In another fifty paces, she considered undoing the other one as well, but decided against it. She’d likely be able to explain the accidental loss of one sleeve, but not two.
He reined the stallion to a stop so she could catch up to them. “Ye ride with me now.”
She looked away, continuing to defy him. If she walked, they’d travel more slowly, and it would be easier for the men tracking them to catch up. She’d picked as much of her hem as she dared, both for modesty sake and because she feared Rob might discover what she’d done. Angering a madman was never wise.
“Come, lass.” He held out his hand.
She was tempted to take it, because she could no longer feel her toes, but he needed to know she wasn’t his spaniel to come and go at his bidding.
“Have it your way, then.” He leaned down, caught her around the waist, and swung her up into his lap, her bum to the sky. He gave her bottom a swat, and embarrassed warmth coursed through her. She gave a yelp, more from surprise than pain. “Nothing like a good tanning to warm a body.”
He didn’t strike her again, but he kept his hand on her buttocks.
“Let me up,” she demanded.
“Will ye stop ignoring me when I tell ye what ye must do?”
“Aye,” she spat out.
He grabbed her waist and lifted her to ride astride before him. Then he kneed the stallion into a trot.
Her teeth chattered in the cold.
Rob spread the MacLaren weave over her and snugged her tight against his chest. “Better?”
“Better than freezing to death, I suppose.” Elspeth didn’t know how much warmer the extra wool made her, but she decided the heat from his body was worth a bit of her dignity. His thighs around hers set her blood flowing at a brisk pace.
Rob kicked the stallion into a canter, and they flew across the heath.
Elspeth remembered that her mother had insisted on tucking a handkerchief into the sleeve of her chemise.
“A bride always needs a handkerchief,” Morag Stewart had said, her eyes tearing up. Elspeth hadn’t been in danger of weeping at her wedding, but she felt the pressure behind her eyes now when she thought of her mother and how worried she must be.
“What woods are those up ahead?” She turned her head to ask and, as she’d hoped, it drew his attention. While he was telling her, she managed to pull out the kerchief and let it fly away from them without his notice.
When they reached the line of trees, he slowed to a trot.
“Not that I care if ye’re lost,” Elspeth said, “but I thought MacLaren lands were south of here.”
“Aye, they are. Clever lass. Most wenches canna tell up from down.”
“Then why are we going the opposite direction?”
“We canna go by a route your bridegroom will expect, can we? When they search for ye at daybreak, they’ll all head south. So, o’ course, we’ll go north.”
“Then we’ll never reach Caisteal Dubh.”
Surely not everyone in that stronghold would agree with their laird’s decision to take her prisoner. She’d find someone to help her there if Lachlan and her father didn’t catch up to them first.
Rob made a tsking noise. “Oh, ye of little faith. I’ve arranged for a way to swing south in safety.”
Elspeth’s chest constricted. He’d planned this abduction down to the last detail. Who knew a madman could be so devilishly clever?
They slowed to a walk and entered the forest, following game trails.
“Why are ye doing this?” she asked. “What did Lachlan Drummond ever do to ye?”
His arm around her waist tightened, and she felt his whole body clench, but he didn’t answer. He was silent so long, she wondered if he hadn’t heard her.
“There must be a reason,” she said. “Because no one would abduct a man’s bride without one.” Not even a madman, she added silently.
“Sure of that, are ye?” The bitterness in his tone cut like a blade.
“Aye. I think I have a right to know why ye’ve taken me.”
“Where have ye been the last two years?” he demanded. “In a hole in the ground?”
“Hmph. If ye must know, I’ve been in Edinburgh with the queen,” she said, straightening her spine. “I’m one of her ladies-in-waiting. That’s something ye might have considered before ye kidnapped me. Ye’ve not only angered my betrothed, ye’ll have every Stewart hand against ye, as well. My father has a long reach, and the queen will take what ye’ve done very ill.”
“If news of Drummond’s deeds didna reach the court, this willna either,” he said flatly. “And if your father didna know the measure of the man he was giving his daughter to, then he canna be a verra canny sort.”
She bristled at that. Her father was the Stewart, laird of a powerful clan. “My father is a great man.”
“Your father made a deal with the devil, and unfortunately, ye get to pay the bill.”
They came to a fork in the trail, and he turned the stallion’s head to the left onto the track heading down.
“Trust me, lass. By and by, ye’ll thank me for keeping you from becoming Lachlan Drummond’s wife.”
Elspeth curled her toes inside her left slipper and managed to wiggle it off without his knowledge. It fell under the stallion’s hooves and was pressed into the path, marking their way as clearly as if she’d stopped and drawn an arrow.
Chapter 5
“Wine!” Lord Drummond bellowed as he entered the solar.
Old Normina shuffled forward with a horn and a wineskin of the best vintage to be found in the laird’s cellars. She’d anticipated he’d demand more than mead this night after chasing all over creation for his lost bride. Without a word of thanks, the laird knocked back the horn in one long swallow and held it out for Normina to refill.
Not that she expected thanks. A laird couldn’t be bothered to notice the likes of her. It was enough to have a roof over her head, a full belly, and a warm place to sleep. At her age, she was grateful for small comforts.
Lord Stewart followed him into the comfortable, tapestry-bedecked room. He pulled off his gloves, shrugged off his heavy cloak, and glowered at his would-be son-in-law. Without being told to do so, Normina scurried over to offer him a drink.
The Drummond didn’t suffer servants who couldn’t correctly divine his needs or the needs of his guests.
Then Normina took her place in the corner and propped herself on a little straight-backed chair. That way, she’d be ready if called upon, and out of the way and of no more consequence than the boar hound lolling before the fire, if she was not.
“Well?” Lord Stewart said, his fists bunched at his sides. “Are you going to try to tell me this isn’t about that sorry business from two years ago?”
“W
ho knows with a madman?” the laird said.
Lady Stewart appeared in the doorway, her eyes red rimmed from a long day of praying and weeping. She ran to her husband. “Tell me you found her, Alistair.”
“Not yet, love,” Lord Stewart whispered and took her into his arms to comfort her.
Normina didn’t move to offer Lady Stewart wine. She’d not taken a bit of nourishment all day, though Normina had tried to tempt her with a number of dainty morsels. After her laird’s disappointing news, the lady wasn’t likely to change her mind now.
“But you will,” she pleaded, her face pressed against his chest. “Promise me you will.”
“Aye, we’ll start again at first light. Lachlan thinks he knows where he lost them, and we’ll begin there to pick up the trail. We’ll find her, Morag.” Lord Stewart patted her hair, bound in a snood, and then pulled her away from him. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Now, to bed with you, and let us men worry about our plans.”
“She’s my bairn, Alistair,” Lady Stewart said as she backed out of the room, her hands covering her face, her shoulders slumped. “My last, rosy-cheeked bairn.”
Lord Stewart watched his wife leave, his mouth in a grim line.
“Dinna have children late in life, if ye can help it, Lachlan. Mothers get overly attached to that last little hatchling.” Alistair Stewart swiped his eyes and coughed to cover an unmanly sniffle. “’Struth! Fathers do too. If it’s a lass especially.”
Normina had birthed five bairns, two lads and three lasses, and nary a one lived long enough to see ten summers. Her husband was gone now too, but that was the lot of all flesh. The cradle swings above a grave, and beds are empty at the last.
But how lovely it would have been to have had a daughter to comfort her last years. Someone to bring her a cup of willow-bark tea when her old bones ached or to give her grandchildren to dandle on her knees.
“Drummond, you know I want to believe your version of the tale, but MacLaren has naught against me or my house.” Lord Stewart slumped into one of the leather chairs by the fire. “Why else would he do this if not for revenge against you?”
