“Be prepared fer anythin’, men! We dinnae ken who or what those English will send efter us,” Bhaltair warned, nudging his steed again to speed the pace back up, racing through the hills toward the Highlands.
Inwardly, he wondered as they continued their journey, if he had made the right decision. As he held the sweet young lass in his lap, he questioned his motives but steeled his mind again moments later. She might be young, and she might be beautiful, and possibly innocent, but she was still of England.
He hated that he felt a stirring in his loins for an English woman but he wrote it off as lack of women in his life. It had been ages since he’d had a woman. Perhaps finding one to bed upon arriving home would make his head clearer and not so clouded by this now tempered but natively feisty lass.
Chapter 3
“Do ye ride?”
The Highlander’s voice came to her from behind her head, an intimate proximity to her ear.
“I do,” she answered softly. Riding horses had always been one of Jane’s favorite things but being forced to sit in someone’s lap and ride for hours on end was not something she liked.
When he didn’t speak, she continued, “Though not in this position.” It was painful, being jostled against the man’s firmness and the saddle’s rigid pommel whenever they had to make a jump.
“Hae ye ever ridden astride?” he asked, his brogue thick and deep.
“Not well,” she admitted. She had mostly ridden sidesaddle, but the few times she had tried to ride normally, she had been punished for it, as it was not a ladylike thing to do.
Within an hour, her thighs and back were aching from the uncomfortable position. Even so, she did her best not to complain, only shifting in his lap every once in a while to try and ease the ache that was settling into her bones.
“Och,” he moaned behind her, his hands clenching her tighter.
Jane could tell that her movements affected him. She felt a slight ridge pressing into her bottom whenever she moved across his lap. Her cheeks would flush, and she would immediately go still again for fear of raising his ire.
She was a hostage and, at this time, didn’t wish to give him cause to throw her from the horse. He promised not to hurt her, but she honestly wondered if she should believe him once they reached their destination. Could he be trusted with her safety? He had abducted her from a ball, for heaven’s sake.
“Easy lass, we hae a long ride afore us.” Bhaltair said, “Eight days.”
Jane felt a tightening in her stomach. How was she to survive eight days in this position? Moreover, she was supposed to trust him but she didn’t even know his name. Determined to find out at least that much, she said, “What is your--?”
“Ye’d be better off no’ speakin’, lass.” Bhaltair replied, “We’ll be ridin’ through tha moors and mountains tae get tae Clan McColl, so save yer breath.”
Jane was cut off from asking her question by his brusque words, and with a grimace, settled herself in for an arduous journey.
She was aching all over. That was the sole sensation Jane could feel. Her legs were stiff, her thighs sore, and her stomach tight. Eight days of riding over flat grassy marsh lands and rocky mountainous tracks with scant food and little water had drained her.
The party rode from morning to night, only settling in for a few hours rest where she laid on makeshift blanket cots, while the men went about watering the horses. When the mere pink strains of dawn came, they were up and resumed the journey.
Jane was getting steadily fatigued and begged to ask when they would get to their destination.
She was just about to ask the question but she was stopped by something that sounded like cheering. Lifting her head, she blinked her eyes and tried to focus. Disoriented, she realized she still wore the sack her captor had pulled over her head.
She couldn’t see anything but she could hear. Women, children, and men, all cheering in a lyrical language she didn’t understand. Gaelic? She’d heard it spoken before, but never had she had the chance to learn it.
Her father, and her uncle especially, had forbidden her from learning “the savage’s language.” There were people speaking English, too, but their words were muffled, and she couldn’t make them out above the noise the rest of the people were making. Dogs were barking, horses were whinnying and donkeys were braying. There was so much noise Jane was nearly overwhelmed.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. As hands tugged at the hem of her fancy-now stained-dress, her captor leaned down slightly to brush them away gently, almost affectionately.
“Easy, lass,” he murmured.
Jane knew that affection was not directed toward her, but this man’s people. Who was he, anyway? Was he just a warrior or was he their Laird? She likely wouldn’t be given that kind of information but she still wondered.
It was in her nature to be curious, to want to know things, even if that nature had been suppressed by all the tutors her uncle had hired for her on her father’s behalf.
She was nearly blinded when the sack was pulled off of her head and she was greeted with early morning sunshine. “Ah,” Jane sighed.
She could hardly believe that they had ridden for eight days, but when she stretched her sore back muscles and flexed her legs, she whimpered in pain and decided that it was true.
Once her eyes adjusted to the sunlight after the near constant darkness, she glanced at her surroundings and tried to take everything in. Squat little houses made of polished stone and thatched roofs lined the street that their horses were walking up.
The street was lined with people of all ages cheering, “Bhaltair, Bhaltair! Laird Bhaltair!”
All of this affection and joy seemed to be directed at the man seated on horseback behind her, who she could now get a decent look at. Tilting her head back to stare up into his face, she was dumbstruck.
He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. A chiseled jaw so perfect the angels must have cried when they made him, curly bright red hair and a beard to match, with eyes like sparkling blue sapphires, added to the muscled form she felt beneath her. She was momentarily stunned.
His voice had been deep and raspy whenever he spoke, and it gave her a completely different impression of him. He was every bit a Scot, from his tousled head to booted feet. Why could no Englishmen be like him? If there were any that looked like him, she would have happily married years ago.
Swallowing the strange feeling in her throat, Jane looped her arms around her middle and tried to think of something happy, like her carefree childhood, or the puppy she’d gotten for her twelfth birthday.
Her mind was a place she had control over, in contrast to the surroundings where she had none. Where she was headed - a massive castle sitting atop the hill that the village was placed on - she would have no control at all. What little control over her life she'd had before she’d been captured was now gone and she was completely at this man’s mercy.
The people who crowded around their procession toward the castle began to thin out the further from the village center they went. Before long, it was only their small group gathered together in the courtyard before the castle, where Bhaltair pulled his horse to a stop and lowered Jane to the ground.
Reaching up to cling to his arm for support, Jane heaved a sigh of relief at finally being off the horse after days of back-breaking riding. Her body screamed in protest at even the slight muscle movement it took to step to the side in order for him to dismount, her fingers still clinging to his arm.
“I can’t feel my legs,” she squeaked in surprise, her legs tingling beneath her and the muscles in her back beginning to spasm.
“That’s normal, lass. Breathe. I won’t let ye fall,” Bhaltair husked, his deep brogue rumbling in his chest as he slid his hands onto her hips to support her slight weight so she wouldn’t fall.
Jane sucked in a deep breath and sagged back against Bhaltair’s chest. She felt safe doing so, his grip on her keeping her upright even though her legs felt like they would give out
any instant. “Thank you,” she whispered softly under her breath.
He’s my kidnapper, why does it feel so good to be held like this? She wondered inwardly.
It took several long moments before the feeling came back to her legs, and by the time the feeling had returned, she didn’t want to leave his arms. She forced herself to do it anyway, pulling away from him and rubbing her arms nervously as she turned to face him again.
Her body was sore, every inch of her ached, and even though he had been kind to her during the ride he was still her kidnapper. She couldn’t trust him no matter what her body was telling her. It didn’t matter that her body tingled when he touched her. He was the enemy.
“Dinnae fash yerself, lassie. I may hae kidnapped ye, but I am no animal,” Bhaltair explained himself, laying one hand on her shoulder. Jane jerked slightly at the touch and pulled herself away from him almost immediately.
“Don’t touch me,” Jane whimpered, the tingles running straight to her stomach and pooling there. She couldn’t risk gaining feelings or desires for the man who now held her captive. Perhaps she could keep whatever this was contained by not touching him. “Please,” she added as an afterthought.
Allowing him to support her was one thing; strangely feeling safe in his arms was another, but as a hostage she didn’t want to feel comfortable with his hands on her.
I don’t want to like it. Do I? She thought to herself. No good could possibly come of it.
“If that’s what ye want, I won’t touch ye,” Bhaltair promised, surprising her. Jane had expected a fight, some sort of resistance, maybe even being grabbed. Instead she was greeted with understanding and it was puzzling.
“I won’t touch ye, but ye must follow me, and listen tae what I say. Understand? I will nae tolerate ye tryin’ tae run.” He stated simply, to which she nodded her head. She knew better than to run right now. Where could I possibly go?
It was then that she heard her father’s voice calling for her, crying out her name as he was pulled from the horse ridden by Dugald, who had already dismounted. The man had taken the sack from Peter’s head and he could now see his daughter standing so close to the man who had taken them hostage.
“Let my daughter go, you savage! My brother will have your head for this!” Peter yelled, “Jane! Be strong, my girl! Edward will come for us.” He choked out as Dugald gripped his bound hands and tugged him away from Jane toward the castle.
“Papa!” Jane cried mournfully, moving to run to her father, but Bhaltair’s hand on her arm stopped her. It only lingered a moment before he pulled it away and shook his head at her firmly.
“Do ye nae remember what I said ‘bout runnin’?” Bhaltair growled under his breath.
“But my father. Where is he taking him?” she pleaded for an answer, pulling her arms to her chest and watching with fear in her eyes as Dugald pulled her father through the castle doors and disappeared. Her frightened tears began to dribble down her cheeks but she did not make a sound. Giving this man the satisfaction of her sobs would only make her feel worse.
“What will you do to us?” she asked harshly. The fight returned to her now that she had some say over her own movements.
Bhaltair took his time answering her, standing in silence as he handed the reins to his horse off to a stable boy. Watching the lad take the horse away, he then turned back to Jane and stared down at her. She was tall for a woman, he now noticed, as her eyes nearly came to his mouth. He didn’t have to look down far to catch her gaze.
“He’s takin’ him tae tha cells beneath tha keep, where he will stay until yer uncle pays yer ransom. I already told ye. No harm will befall ye in me care, lass.” Bhaltair explained exasperatedly, sighing and shaking his head to clear his mixed thoughts. “Now, follow,” he instructed and started toward the castle without waiting to see if she actually obeyed.
Jane didn’t hesitate to follow along behind him as he pushed the heavy oak double doors open, holding one for her until she came inside after him, and then letting the door swing shut again with its own weight.
The inside of the castle was lighter than she had imagined, thanks to the wise use of windows on the first and second floor, along with a chandelier on the ceiling that was lit with at least a dozen candles. It gave the large hall they walked into a warm glow.
Rushes covered the floor to catch debris. There were tapestries lining every wall within the great hall, some depicting epic battles between man and monsters. Another showed a fantastical wedding. The largest of all, hanging above a table on a raised platform, was a mighty dragon rearing its ugly head with wings unfurled. It was beautiful, unlike anything she had seen before and she was momentarily mesmerized with it.
“While I enjoy tha fact ye appreciate me home, ye’ll have plenty o' time tae see it later. Follow, lassie,” Bhaltair instructed. “Lest I be forced tae carry ye,” he warned.
Not needing to be told twice, Jane hurried across the room to draw alongside Bhaltair where he stood next to a large stone spiral staircase that disappeared up to the second floor and beyond. When she caught up, he started to ascend the stairs, this time occasionally looking back to make sure she was keeping up.
The second floor was similar to the first, except there were walkways along the wall that overlooked the great hall below them, with numerous doors lining the walls on the other side. She didn’t know where any of them led, and she didn’t get a chance to find out, or ponder it as Bhaltair didn’t stop on that floor, instead continuing up the spiral stairs.
Scampering up them after him, she came to a stop at the landing for the third floor, where Bhaltair stepped away from the stairs and walked down the hall to a door at the very end. Unlocking the door with a set of keys from the belt that held up his kilt, he pushed the door open and waved her inside.
“Welcome to yer new, temporary home,” Bhaltair said gruffly, watching as she tentatively moved past him into the room.
It was far more lavish than Jane could have imagined. Those aren’t blankets… is that fur? She wondered as she eyed the large bed that was pushed against the far left wall of the room. There was a fireplace on the opposite side that was already lit, warm and inviting.
After the chill of the night, she would have been satisfied sleeping next to that fire but the bed called her name. Even in her home in London, she had never seen furs like those that lined the bed, and as she drew closer she ran her hand over the tops of them.
They’re so soft! She thought and glanced back over her shoulder at Bhaltair.
“Why am I staying here, when my father is held prisoner in your dungeon?” Jane asked, her voice full of concern for her father, her eyes hard with determination to get answers. The room might be fine and he might be considerate of her, but she didn’t want special treatment if her father was being tortured.
“Yer stayin' here because I ken ye are no’ responsible fer tha actions o' yer elders. Ye are but a pawn which I intend tae use tae get me way. I believe yer uncle will pay handsomely fer tha return o' ye an' yer faither,” he said flatly and leaned against the doorway to her new room, staring at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“Wait!” Jane said, her voice trembling, “Can I see my father?”
“Nae,” Bhaltair said stiffly. “Ye will be confined tae this room until I deem ye trustworthy enough tae move ‘bout tha castle unsupervised. Until that time, if ye must leave this room, someone will be with ye constantly. Dana will be up soon with some food an’ proper clothes fer ye tae wear efter ye bathe.”
Jane turned away with her face twisted in pain, a move that sparked some compassion in the Laird.
“Ye should rest. It’s been a vera long night,” Bhaltair grumbled with a sigh and ran his fingers through the tangled disorder that was his beard.
It needed a good combing after the last few days he’d had. Maybe a bath would do him some good, too. “Remember, lassie. Dinnae leave this room,” he said firmly and turned away, grasping the handle of the door.
“Wait!” Jane cried out and took a step away from the bed where she had been standing, her hands clenched together against her stomach. “My name is Jane,” she managed to get out, watching his back as his shoulders rose and then fell in defeat.
Without even turning his head back in her direction, “Bhaltair,” he murmured gruffly, shutting the door soundlessly behind him.
Chapter 4
Jane stood silently in the lavish room after Bhaltair had left, with her eyes wide as saucers as she stared at the now closed door.
What am I supposed to do now? She pondered as she turned away from the door and studied her room more closely.
Not only was the bed large and covered in rare furs but the room itself was spacious. A writing desk sat against the wall next to the bed, with plenty of parchment stacked in a neat pile, a pot of ink, and a quill next to that.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 29
