Brigand

by Sabrina York

  So he’d checked the solar. Surely that was where she would have gone to pout. But she wasn’t there either. Nor was she in any of the musty unused rooms of the keep. Or in the cellar. Or the washhouse. Or the garret.

  He’d become concerned then and sent the all men—including Colin—out to search the island. After hours of hunting, she still hadn’t turned up. Dread prickled at his nape. Where the hell could she be?

  The thought of her hiding somewhere, curled up and cold, or worse, injured and helpless, devastated him.

  “Ewan?”

  He spun on Colin with a furious snarl. “What?”

  “My boat is gone.”

  His heart thudded. Once. Then ceased to beat altogether. Pain swelled in his chest. His head went light. Acid churned in his belly and crawled up his throat. She wouldn’t have… She couldn’t have. She was frightened to death of the water. Always had been. There was no way she would have stepped into a dinghy on her own. Someone must have taken her.

  His gaze scorched the assembly, taking note of each familiar face. Rory was there. And Tavish. Jessie and Pip. Mungo. Hell, they were all there.

  Except Craig.

  Blinding rage buzzed in his brain.

  He’d kill him. He’d tie him to the parapets of this decrepit castle and—

  Craig rounded the corner, slapping the dust from his sleeve. “Well, she’s not in the garderobes.”

  Ewan stared at him. As furious as he was with the man, he wasn’t happy to see Craig. Not in the slightest. Because that meant Violet had to have taken the boat. And she was out there alone.

  The river had a wicked current when the tide changed. More than one idle fisherman had found himself floating on open sea when the fog lifted.

  He scored his fingers through his hair. Panic skirled in his veins. His brain refused to function. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t bear it if she…

  Hell. He couldn’t even think the word.

  Thank God for Colin. He sprang into action, barking out orders like the military man he was. “You men, signal the shore to send over the other boat. You three, take the backup dinghy by the old chapel and head toward Dundee. Search the shore on both sides of the river. Go as far as the North Sea if you have to.”

  Faced with these indomitable commands, the men scattered.

  It seemed to take an eternity for the men posted on the far side of the river to row over. Ewan glanced up at the sky and frowned. It was getting late in the day. Soon the sun would slip behind the hills and everything would be shuttered in shadows.

  “Can’t they move faster?”

  Colin’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ewan. We’ll find her.”

  Finally—finally—the skiff scraped the shore. There wasn’t room for everyone, just Colin, Ewan and Wolfe. He clutched the tattered remnants of her old dress. If he needed to, he would use his faithful hound to track her down.

  Rowing together they made speed, heading toward the west bank. But they didn’t dock. When they got close, they turned left and followed the shore to the south.

  It seemed they rowed for hours with no sign of her. Ewan was about ready to give up—surely she could not have come this far, not a small girl with no experience maneuvering a heavy boat all on her own. But then he saw it. The prow of his purloined dinghy thrusting from the underbrush.

  Dizzying elation, boiling relief and howling rage fought for dominance in his mind. He pressed them all down in favor of resolute determination. He would have her back. In his arms. Tonight. Or die trying.

  * * * * *

  Violet paused, leaning against a tree and clutching her side as she gasped for breath. She kept looking over her shoulder but there was no one there. No one following. She probably didn’t need to keep up such a mad pace but she was frantic to find some kind of shelter before it got too dark to see.

  The woods were thick and gloomy. The sun, far in the west, was beginning to set. The air had taken on a bitter chill. The thought of spending the night huddled in the bushes didn’t appeal at all.

  She was miserable enough as it was. She hadn’t thought to bring food or water with her on her headlong flight. And the shoes Jessie had given her didn’t fit right. They probably would have been fine for clomping around the keep but she’d traveled miles over woodsy terrain and now they chafed at her heel and blisters were forming on the side of one foot.

  Her belly growled and she sighed, peering through the falling murk. Why did the wilds of Scotland have to be so…wild? What she wouldn’t give to find a kindly crofter’s hut or a hunting cabin.

  With a low growl to herself—which accomplished nothing—she hoisted herself from her repose and kept going.

  It was almost near dark when she found a rutted track snaking through the woods. It was so narrow she almost missed it. She took a moment to get her bearings. It wouldn’t do to head back the way she came. It was a challenge because there was no sun by which to navigate, but she figured she should turn left. That would send her south. Or…west. Either would work. Either would take her farther away from the river. And the Cloud.

  She stumbled several times, once banging her toe painfully on a root and once nearly falling on her face, but she kept going. She was rewarded by the sight of a dark, looming shadow.

  Usually dark, looming shadows in the woods would be ominous. But this one was shaped like a house. A small house, but a house nonetheless.

  She approached it carefully. It was seated in a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees. The windows were dark. She softly knocked on the door. There was no answer. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, she turned the knob. Delight scudded through her when the door swung open.

  She peered inside. “Hullo?”

  No response.

  “Hullo?”

  Again, nothing. The cabin was empty.

  She left the door open—there was a little light from the waning moon but not much—and fumbled, searching for a lamp. She found a candle on the table and a tinderbox on the mantel.

  As light flared, her trepidation burned away.

  It was a cozy little cottage. Nothing fancy. Just a table and chairs, pantry and a bed in the corner.

  It was the pantry that caught her attention.

  She started the fire that had been mercifully laid in the hearth and riffled through the food stores.

  In her previous life, she would never have dreamed of breaking into someone’s house and stealing their food—especially not someone of such modest means. But she was desperate. She found a wheel of cheese and some oatcakes and an apple. That, along with a cup of water from the rain barrel, filled her belly and sent contentment clear through to her soul.

  After she ate, she sat by the fire, taking in its delicious warmth. She would never turn her nose up at a simple meal ever again, she thought with a yawn. She glanced at the bed and shivered.

  Dare she lie down and fall asleep?

  The thought of walking through the night horrified her. As much as she wanted to reach some kind of civilization, her thighs burned, her ankle pinged and her feet just plain hurt. All of her muscles ached.

  It would probably be best to rest here a while and leave again at first light. It would be easier to make her way through the woods with the sun to guide her. And it would be stupid to leave this comfortable cradle to wander aimlessly in circles all night. And it was cold out there.

  Yes.

  She would rest.

  Sleep claimed her as her head touched the pillow.

  * * * * *

  Ewan’s tension ran high as they made their way through the dark woods, following Wolfe’s lead. Thank God he’d thought to bring the dog. After sniffing Violet’s dress, he’d taken off like a shot, stopping only occasionally to snuffle the ground.

  But they’d gone for miles now and there was still no sign of her. It was full dark and the woods were treacherous. There were no animals to fear but Ewan knew this forest—he had a hunting cabin here. More than once he’d come upon men eng
aged in nefarious work. Smugglers, highwaymen, criminals running from the law… He shuddered at the thought of Violet in their clutches—brutally exorcizing the niggling reminder that he had been all of these things at one point or another in his career.

  Wolfe stopped and lifted his nose, gleaning scent from the air. He bayed once and took off again.

  “Come on,” Ewan snapped at Colin, who was trailing in his wake. He’d been panting at their pace for the past hour.

  They followed the dog and emerged in a clearing.

  His hunting cabin. And there was smoke curling from the chimney.

  Ewan’s heart stuttered as Wolfe ran up to the door and started sniffing madly at it.

  What were the odds?

  That she would come here.

  Without hesitation, he opened the door and peered inside.

  Relief—sweet, coiling relief—gushed through him at the sight of Violet’s slight form curled on the bed, limned in the light of a dying fire. A tiny snore rumbled through the room.

  He nearly collapsed.

  “She’s here.”

  “Thank God.”

  Ewan nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair. When he thought of the disasters that could have befallen her out in these woods, utterly alone, his pulse surged again. A new emotion deposed his anxiety.

  Fury.

  Fury that she’d run from him. Fury that she’d put herself in peril. Fury that, hell, she’d left.

  They’d only been apart for a day and his soul roiled and churned to be with her again. Something inside him, some beast, snarled to, once again, claim dominion over her.

  Colin’s chuckle ripped him from his reverie, dismal though it was. “Aren’t we going in?”

  Ewan blew out a breath. “I’m going in. I don’t think she would appreciate witnesses. Can you go back to the Cloud and let everyone know we found her? I’ll bring her back tomorrow. It’s a much shorter walk if you follow the track. It leads straight to the pier.”

  Colin’s eyes glinted. A grin split his face. “I don’t envy that girl when you get your hands on her.”

  Ewan grunted. Anger rode him hard. Anger and frustration and some odd brand of joy.

  He’d found her.

  But he would make damn sure she never ran from him again.

  Colin whistled for Wolfe and the two made their way back down the track. Ewan waited until they disappeared before he opened the door to the cabin again. He needed a little time. To rein in his whipping emotions.

  If he went in there straightaway, he’d probably turn her over his knee.

  Hell. He might do that anyway.

  As it was, he didn’t turn her over his knee. He went into the cabin and sat by the fire and nibbled the remnants of cheese on the table, and watched her sleep.

  He shouldn’t have. It was galling. It was painful. It was frightening.

  When the hell had he come to care so much?

  Oh, he had loved her when he was a boy, no doubt about it. But those feelings had been dead for years. This new emotion, this was something else entirely. It wasn’t sweet or pleasant or warm.

  It was cold and desperate need.

  Not just a need for her body, although there was that. Even as he watched her sleep, so innocent and pure, his cock stirred.

  No. It was something more.

  He yearned to be hers in every sense of the word. He wanted—nae, demanded—her complete adoration. He found it difficult to breathe without it.

  She had run today because he’d hurt her, disappointed her. He knew it.

  Her discontent with him was like bile in his throat.

  He ached to be a man of whom she could be proud.

  And he was not.

  That only added fuel to his simmering rage.

  Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked. Then gasped and sprang up. She probably would have run but her legs were tangled in the blanket.

  It didn’t matter if she did. He would have caught her. Claimed her.

  He always would.

  Chapter Ten

  Violet stared at the hulk of a man lounging in the chair by the fire. Her heart skittered in her throat. He was so…ominous. So angry.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” His voice, a low thrum, echoed through the small room. “Did you think I would just let you go?”

  “Ewan.” She swallowed. “How did you—”

  “How did I find you? It hardly signifies.” He stood, tall and menacing, and approached the bed. “I did. I always will.” He glared down at her. “Do you have any idea how dangerous these woods can be?”

  She tipped up her chin. “I can take care of myself.”

  He snorted. “The hell you can. Goddamn it, Violet. You could have been injured. Or raped. Or worse.” His eyes took on an unholy glow.

  “The risk was worth it. Better than being held captive, being used by you.”

  His lip curled at her choice of words. “Used?”

  “As a means to an end,” she spat. Then she hunkered back because he leaned toward her, nostrils flared, ferocity flowing from him in waves.

  “You know it isn’t like that. It wasn’t like that.”

  “I don’t know.” She flinched as he seized her shoulders in a crushing grip. Shook her. Just a tiny bit.

  “It wasn’t like that. And you enjoyed it.”

  She put out a lip. “I did not.” A complete and utter falsehood but she let it slip out because she was still tender, still wounded by his words. The denunciation of her true feelings helped dam up the pain.

  Her denial infuriated him. He yanked her up and into his arms. His mouth closed on hers.

  It was not a gentle kiss. There was something of a beast in it. He mashed his lips against hers and forced his tongue into her mouth and took what he wanted.

  She resisted, thrashing and fighting and attempting to wrench away. He did not allow it. But then something changed. He softened. Or perhaps she did. The kiss became something else altogether. Seductive, tantalizing, irresistible.

  Oh, she tried to resist. She didn’t want to want him. Didn’t like the rising passion coiling in her belly. But his scent, his taste, the masterful way in which he possessed her lips set a fire raging within her.

  Against her will, she responded, pressed against him. Gave as good as she got.

  He growled low and deep in his throat and pressed her back onto the bed, yanking up her skirts. She murmured her dissent but he swallowed the peep and delved deeper, finding the curls, the tender nerves at the crux of her being.

  He stroked her hard, rough, and shudders raced through her.

  “You’re wet,” he muttered, and then he plunged his fingers inside. Everything in her seized. He hissed in a breath. “So…tight.”

  He fumbled with the ties to his braes, yanked them down with short, desperate tugs, fisted his cock and drove it home.

  Violet wailed as bliss plowed through her. The invasion was an assault of sensation. Delight screamed on every nerve as he filled her, stroked her her inner walls.

  His passion was not gentle. It was not slow or tame.

  It was as though that wild creature within him had awoken and was intent upon feasting on her soul, determined to own her, possess her, command her every breath. Every ort of her being trained on the delicious thrusts, the agonizing withdrawals, the magnificent filling of an aching void as he entered her again and again in a frantic flurry.

  Passion flooded her, easing his passage.

  He looped his forearms around her thighs and lifted her up and took her from another angle, hitting another spot deep within her. White-hot heat scalded her, a bliss so intense it curled her toes.

  Her crisis threatened. Her body began to quake, to flutter, to spasm. She clenched him hard to hold it off, or to coax it closer. She wasn’t sure which. Her thoughts had shattered and spiraled off into the night. She could only feel. Barely breathe. Only be.

  And then she peaked. Bliss claimed her and took her and sucked her down into a miasma, a
churning whirlpool of spinning emotion and sensation and rapture.

  But he was not done.

  He thrust again and again, pressing hard into her channel, near whimpering when her muscles melted and he sank deep—deeper than he’d ever been before. Another wash of sharp pleasure raked her.

  His pace increased. Became shorter, harder, faster. “Never,” he panted. “Never.”

  “Ah! Never?”

  His nostrils flared. His member swelled. He erupted, flooding her with his hot seed. It burned through her. Warmed her. Body and soul.

  “Never run from me again,” he growled. And then he took her mouth with his, repeating the words against her lips. Making her taste them.

  His hips slowed but still continued that exquisite motion, now easing in and out as they both recovered from this sprint of passion. He drew out and lowered himself to her side. His pulse was visible in his temple, throbbing at a manic pace. He blew out a breath and scrubbed his face with a palm.

  They lay there in silence, side by side, breathing heavily.

  Violet struggled to calm her heart. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. How could she have enjoyed that? How could she already be yearning for more?

  He was a beast and a brute and to him she was nothing but a vessel.

  She longed for a man who would love her. Truly, deeply love her…not just make glorious love to her.

  She wanted to matter to him. But she didn’t.

  She turned her head away from him so he couldn’t see her tears. Not that he was paying attention. He’d finished with her after all. At least for now.

  After a while, when his breathing calmed, she rolled over on her side and stared at the wall. He curled up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her against the wall of his chest. His heart thumped, resonating in the echoes of her soul. Why couldn’t he love her?

  Why couldn’t he love her the way she loved him?

  With all his heart?

  Because he wasn’t that kind of man.

  And he never would be.

  “I meant what I said.” His voice rumbled sleepily in her ear. “Never run from me, Violet. I won’t allow it. I cannot allow it.”