The Scotsman

by Juliana Garnett

  For several minutes, she sat quietly while the water tumbled melodically around her and sunlight dappled the trees and rocks. She tilted her head back to gaze up at the blue sky visible beyond shifting patches of autumnal leaf, blinking against the brightness. The rhythmic wash of water and warmth of the sun lulled her into a dreamy haze of gentler memories—the innocence of childhood. It was restoring to the soul. Her eyelids closed slowly as she let her mind drift into pleasant oblivion broken only by the sweet murmur of birds.

  So pleasant, with the splashing water sending small sprays of mist up and over her bare toes and legs. If only she could stay forever, and never return to Warfield keep. Bess had often whispered to her of the fairies that were said to haunt the meadows and dance in flower rings, of how they were known to capture humans foolish enough to seek them out. Those people were never seen again, stolen by the magical little creatures and spirited away to live forever in enchanted lands. Perhaps if she wished hard enough, she could vanish as well.…

  She smiled wryly at the fanciful direction her thoughts had taken. Foolish, of course, to even dream of such things. As her father had so bluntly reminded her, she was merely a pawn and must do what she was born to do. That thought summoned a shudder, and she resolutely pushed it to the back of her mind and stretched out more fully upon the rock, lifting her arms over her head so that water spray wet her fingers.

  Gazing upward, she listened to the water racing over the rocks, much louder now that she was lying down. She lay quietly in a pleasant reverie of suspended time and thought until interrupted by a loud splash and cold droplets spattering her face. Blinking them away, she sat up with a jerk, suddenly aware of how distant she was from the keep, and how alone.

  Heart pounding, she half turned toward the noise. When she saw its source, the breath caught in her throat and her muscles constricted, freezing her in blank terror.

  A tall, dark man strode toward her through the water, the wet red plaid that swathed his frame identifying him as one of those murderous Scots her brother referred to as savage devils. For what seemed an eternity she sat immobile and watched him approach. When he was a scant yard from her, a scream welled up from deep inside her, gathering strength as it erupted from her throat with visceral force.

  The man halted, and his dark brows winged upward. He put out a hand as if expecting her to take it. “Quiet, lass. Come easily and you will not be hurt.”

  The English words sounded strange, spoken in a thick burr that was nearly incomprehensible through the thudding of her heartbeat, but she perceived the danger of her situation clearly enough. Before the echoes of her scream faded, movement returned to her frozen limbs in a rush and she floundered from the rock and into the water. The current grabbed at her and she stumbled against it, choking as cold water filled her mouth and nose. Panicked, she fought to her feet and toward the opposite shore, water blurring her vision and the sound of pursuit growing closer.

  When broad hands descended upon her shoulders, she twisted free, but the soggy velvet gown gave way at the seams as he grabbed for her. She fell forward into the brook and went under before somehow managing to claw her way up, gasping for breath. It was no use. The Scot was upon her again, hauling her from the water and into his grasp. He held her tightly, his hands hot against her chilled flesh.

  “Did I not tell you not to run, lass? I should have, I see … ah, be still now before you drown us both. Ah, Christ—will you be still!”

  “Re … lease me … at once!” Her stuttered words were less than effective, and the big Scot just grinned down at her with infuriating mockery.

  “Nay, I think not.”

  She struggled, pushing against him and twisting like a slippery eel in his grasp, sputtering angry demands to be freed. One of her flailing hands caught him against the jaw, and with a muttered oath, he swung her into his arms and suspended her over the water. Catherine pushed desperately against him, then grew still as she became aware of the hand cupping her buttocks beneath her skirt. Startled at the feel of his rough palm on her bare skin, her gaze riveted on his face.

  A subtle difference altered his features as his mocking grin faded into a tense set of his mouth. The amused light in his eyes darkened. His eyes were gray, she thought distractedly, as gray as summer storm clouds, and fringed with a thick brush of black lashes. How odd, that the devil should have such beguiling eyes.…

  The muscles in his arms tightened, bringing her up hard against his broad chest, and his voice was rough. “Well now, lass, taking you might be more pleasant than I thought ’twould be.”

  3

  Alex held her close against his chest, fully aware of the thudding beat of her heart, and even more aware of the satiny feel of her soft curves in his hands. She gazed up at him with the stricken expression of a startled doe, eyes wide and filled with fear and shock, and her trembling lips parted. Sweet Jesus, he had not expected such a beauty when they had first spied her upon the rock.

  But it seemed to be a day for surprises, most of them nasty. Though Bruce had given permission for him to barter for Jamie’s release, he had no hostages left to offer, or coin to spare. So Alex had crossed the border with a small band of men, hoping fate would be kind. A single glance at Warfield’s well-fortified keep was enough to convince any sane man that siege would be long and unfeasible. Assault would be futile.

  And then fortune had smiled upon them, for when they paused to water the horses and plot their strategy, this angelic creature was there, perched like a water sprite in the midst of the stream. It was Robbie who recognized her, having seen her a few years before in the company of her father, the earl. Her appearance was providential. Now he had the key to his brother’s release in his arms.

  She blinked at him, and he felt her muscles tighten as the moment of immobilized shock vanished. He barely had time to tighten his grip before she began to thrash about and he almost lost his hold on her. He heard Robbie hoot with laughter from the muddy banks of the swift-running burn.

  “Och, lad, you have mistaken a hawk for a dove, it seems!”

  A little grimly, Alex recognized the truth to the taunt. The maid was no docile dove in his embrace. She alternated between aristocratic English and French, railing at him to put her down before she boxed his ears for him.

  Alex slogged through the currents toward the bank without loosening his hold on her, swearing when she almost twisted free. “Curse you, I have no intention of putting you down. Be still and you will not be hurt.”

  “Release me, you black-hearted knave!”

  One of her flailing arms swung around and her palm slammed against the side of his head, delivering a ringing blow that caught him off-guard. His ear exploded with pain, and at that moment he stepped into a hole and bent to one knee in the water. Boisterous laughter erupted from the banks, and he did not need to look to know that Robbie and the rest of his men were enjoying this far too much for the comfort of his dignity.

  Angry now, Alex ignored the temptation to duck the squirming girl beneath the cold water until she could not struggle. Instead, he lurched upright and dumped his captive on her feet in the stream, then grabbed her arms by the wrists before she could swing at him again. He held tight to her as the rushing water billowed beneath her skirts to puff them to the surface.

  Undaunted, she glared up at him with eyes the vibrant color of violets. Through her winded panting, she got out, “My family will hardly view this in a kind light, sir. Are you so foolish as to risk your life for a moment’s pleasure?”

  Grudging amusement tempered his fury, and Alex grinned. “What a vain lass you are. Do you think me so taken with your bonny face that I need to steal you away? If ’twas only a few moments of pleasure that I wanted from you, I could drag you under yon hedge. And as far as your family is concerned, I pray most heartily that your father views this in the worst light possible—’tis what I depend upon.”

  A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, but her chin rose in a defiant gesture somewhat d
iminished by the slight chattering of her teeth. “Then you are indeed a f-fool, sir. My father will rend you limb from limb—if I do not d-do so before him. If you dare to lay a hand upon me, you will draw back a stump instead of that hairy p-paw you now use.”

  More guffaws from the banks, and from one corner of his eye, Alex could see Robbie bent double with laughter. Devil take her … she was making a fool of him in front of his men, yet he was at a loss as to what to do. He was not in the habit of mistreating females, but neither was he accustomed to being abused by them. Alex stared down into her upturned face, at the dark violet eyes, elegant line of nose, and lips parted over chattering teeth, then let his gaze drift lower. The drenched gown was ripped at the shoulder seam, baring creamy flesh, but that was not what drew his attention. Wet material clung snugly to the rounded curve of her breasts, revealing the small hard pucker of her nipples beneath the velvet. He looked back up at her face, and saw her eyes widen with sudden awareness of her appearance.

  “You would not d-dare touch me!”

  “Would I not?” His smile felt tight. “Do not tempt me, lass.”

  “Tempt a Scots savage? I would sooner die!”

  His smile vanished, and a surge of anger shook him at her stinging contempt. Did she think herself so above him that his mere touch would soil her? Curse her. Curse her.…

  A small gasp escaped her and she took an involuntary step back, but she was too late. Alex bent his arms to bring her up hard against him, catching her wrists in one hand. With his free hand, he spread his fingers in her damp wealth of hair and held her head still as he kissed her full on the mouth. Her breath was warm against the cold clatter of her teeth, and for an instant he allowed himself the luxury of nothing more than appreciation for her soft femininity. It was arousing, and her struggles were even more stimulating as she writhed against him. The water-saturated wool of his plaid was bunched between his thighs in a wad, rubbing against his bare skin with her every movement. He deepened the kiss, ignoring her resistance and the loud hoots of his men on the bank, ignoring all but her surprisingly sweet mouth and the arousing contrast of cold water against his heated body.

  When at last her resistance faded and she grew limp in his embrace, Alex tightened his fingers in the silky spill of copper hair and gently tugged her head back to break the kiss. She stared up at him with sun-dazzled eyes, silence replacing her rebellion. Twas the same with all women—once they learned who was master, they became amazingly docile. He smiled slightly at her capitulation, and freed her arms.

  Still holding his gaze, her eyes narrowed slightly as she rubbed at her wrists. Her lips were moist and parted, and a deep flush stained her cheeks. Alex allowed himself a moment of self-satisfaction. Aye, she was thoroughly chastened, and should be no more trouble to him now that he had proven his mastery—

  “Whoreson!” The brutal word exploded with savage intensity from the lovely mouth he had just kissed, no less shocking than the lightning-swift blow that followed.

  Alex escaped the full force of her hand by a mere hair as he jerked back, but her long nails caught his cheek, raking furrows in his flesh. He felt the blood well even as he retaliated by snatching her to him with a rough force that knocked the breath from her lungs in a loud rush of air. Cursing harshly, he gave her a brief hard shake that tumbled the hair into her eyes and should have rattled her to the very marrow of her bones.

  Then he slung her over one shoulder and snarled a warning: “I will not tolerate another blow from you without giving back in kind, so you had best think on’t most carefully if you intend to try it again.”

  Shrieking at him as she dangled over his shoulder, she beat on his back with her fists, pounding blows that did no damage save to vent her fury as he slogged toward the muddy banks. Not even another snarled warning dissuaded her from her course, though he doubted she could hear him through her own piercing shrieks of fury.

  When he reached the bank, Alex dumped her roughly to the ground where she sprawled in a tangle of wet red hair, blue velvet, and hissing curses. Breathing hard, he looked up at his men. Robbie did not meet his eyes but his face was red with suppressed laughter, while the others turned discreetly away. Irritated, Alex looked back down at the disheveled maid.

  “I am weary of your wicked tongue, my lady. Cease, or I will tie you facedown over the back of a horse and see how well you can rail with your head bouncing off its belly.”

  Unrepentant and not a bit subdued, she glared up at him with all the spitting fury of a wet cat. “I will not allow you to touch me, you vile … odious … Scot!”

  “If ’tis your virtue that concerns you, there is no need for worry. I will not bed an Englishwoman.”

  Alex signaled for one of the men to help her up, then turned on his heel and stalked away. Robbie handed him the reins to his mount, still not looking at him, though his broad shoulders shook a bit with stifled amusement.

  “What do you intend to do with her, Alex?” he asked in Gaelic that was shaky with suppressed laughter.

  “What do you think? ’Twas you who recognized her and pointed out her importance. I will hold her to barter with Warfield for Jamie’s release.” Alex led his mount forward, ignoring the chill press of wind against his wet garments. “We have lingered too long so near the keep. Unless we wish to sup with the earl in his dungeon this eve, we had best leave England behind quickly.”

  “Aye.” Robbie looked up at him at last, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Do you think you can hold the lass, or shall I fetch a length of stout rope?”

  “Nay, I am too tempted to drag her behind the horse to chance using a rope. We needs ride swift and hard for the border, so I will hold her in front of me.”

  But actually holding the squirming maid was another proposition, Alex learned to his grim displeasure. She wriggled like a fish on a hook, panting curses that no gentle lady should know, much less spew like a fishwife.

  “I would be fascinated to know where you received your base education, madam,” he muttered at one point, when the echoes of an epithet concerning his manhood—or lack of it—had barely faded. “Your command of the English language is a bit daunting.”

  “And what would you know of proper language, when you slur your words as if you have a mouthful of rocks?” She pushed futilely at the arm he kept hard around her waist, sounding a little breathless but no less furious than she had an hour before. The hard rhythm of the horse’s pace lent an odd, clipped accent to her words. “I do not know what you hope to gain by this foolish act, but my father and brothers will see your heads on pikes at the castle walls before the day is done.”

  “’Tis doubtful they even know you are yet gone. If you are in the habit of wandering the countryside unattended, I do not think you will be missed for a time. Long enough for us to be well back into Scotland.”

  She grew quiet at that comment, and another shiver coursed through her body. Alex realized with grim surprise that she was much more terrified than she feigned. Her loud fury masked the fear that no doubt engulfed her, and for the first time, he felt a spurt of pity that she, too, had been caught up in this bloody conflict. At least Jamie had chosen his course; this maid had hers thrust upon her. Yea, he could well feel compassion for her plight, though he would not risk Jamie’s life by freeing her in a moment of compassion.

  Leaning forward so that his mouth grazed the wet tangle of hair behind her ear, he said softly, “We mean you no harm. Your father has taken my brother prisoner, and we seek to barter you in exchange for him.”

  Another tremor ran through her slight form, and she twisted slightly so that he could see her fragile profile. “You are fool indeed, sir, if you think any act you may inflict upon me will alter my father’s actions. He is not a man to be swayed from his course by sentiment.”

  “Strange words coming from a loving daughter.”

  Her laugh was short and strangled, and he glimpsed the brief quiver of her lower lip before she turned her head away. “Strange, indeed, but ’tis t
he way of it. I know him. If ’tis to his advantage, he will bargain with you. If it is not—I will rot in whatever prison you make for me before he meets your terms.”

  The horse stumbled in a rut on the narrow, hard track they followed, and Alex brought him upright with a steady hold on the reins. His arm tightened around his captive to keep her seated. It was most likely that she only sought to further her cause by casting doubt on the situation, for no father would refuse to bargain for his daughter’s release. It was not so very much to ask, the exchange of two rebellious Scots for a lovely English flower. No, Warfield would bargain, despite what this maid might say to dissuade Alex from his course.

  “What is your given name, lass?”

  She did not reply for a moment. Then, grudgingly, she muttered, “Lady Catherine.”

  “Catherine….” After a pause, he murmured, “You put me in mind of another Catherine—”

  “And you, sir, put me in mind of a mannerless cur!”

  He laughed softly. “Pull in your claws, little cat.”

  “Do not call me that.”

  “Catherine? Or Cat … or perhaps I should refer to you as her ladyship?”

  “I would prefer you not speak to me at all, but if you must, Lady Catherine will do.”

  “You sing a weary song, Lady Catherine. Be still now, before you unsettle my horse so that we are both thrown onto the hard road.”

  After the first warmth of the day, the capricious fall weather began to change. The clouds scudding overhead were stacked one atop the other and darkened ominously. The wind grew cold again, and the smell of rain was in the brisk currents that whipped the horses’ manes and the men’s loose plaids into flapping banners. Tree limbs bent and swayed, Uttering the narrow track through Kielder Forest with small branches and leaves.

  As daylight faded into gray afternoon, then deep dusk, Catherine huddled miserably in front of the Scot who held her captive in his rough embrace. She’d heard his companion call him Alex. Putting a name to her abductor did not allay her growing fear, nor lessen the dread that she may never see her home again.