She could tell that Nigel, the woodcutter’s son, was wary by the pinched look on his face as he beheld them and the way he stiffened in the saddle.
“Do not worry, Nigel,” she had whispered. “They are English soldiers. Part of King Edward’s forces. They are only doing their duty.”
Nigel had frowned. “I do not know, lady…”
The leader of the group – or what she assumed was the leader – led his horse closer to them, studying them carefully.
“Well, well, well,” he said, in a rough Northern English accent. “And what do we have here, then, lads?”
Roseann had frowned, feeling a twinge of unease for the first time. The man was filthy. At a closer range, she could see that all of them were. Their uniforms were mud smeared and torn. The man speaking smiled slowly, exposing a row of rotten, uneven teeth.
She took a deep breath, sitting higher in her saddle. “My name is Roseann Gibson. I am the daughter of the baron of Croilton, who owns Loughton Hall at Berwick-on-Tweed.” She paused. “May I have your name and rank, sir?”
The man’s foul smile widened. “Ye can ask, madam, but ye won’t get it from my lips.”
Slowly, he started laughing. The other six men all joined in. Confused, Roseann glanced at Nigel. The youth was pale, and she could see beads of sweat on his forehead.
“Off yer horse,” said the man abruptly, the laughter suddenly dying away. “Both of ye. Now.”
Roseann gasped. “Sir, there is no need for such rudeness…”
The man’s eyes darkened. He slipped down off his saddle and approached her. Frowning, Roseann had merely stared down at him. She was still confused. What was he doing?
The man suddenly grabbed her arm, roughly dragging her off the horse. He pushed her in the back, so that she staggered violently, losing her footing, and landing on the hard ground with a thud.
“Get the lad,” the man commanded, not taking his eyes off her. “Secure him. He can watch while we have our fun. I daresay he has had his private moments dreaming of this.”
“What?” stammered Roseann, staring up at him in confused horror. “What are you doing?”
The other men had slid off their horses. One of them dragged Nigel off his saddle, holding him tightly. The youth squirmed and cried out, but to no avail.
The man had a nasty laugh. “We are about to make a woman of ye, lady. All of us.” He sneered down at her menacingly. “But it will be my pleasure to be the first to take yer maidenhead…if ye are still a maiden, of course.”
Roseann’s eyes widened in horror. The man was mad. Pure, raving mad. These soldiers weren’t acting as representatives of the King. They were obviously renegades, army deserters who lived rough in the borderlands, accosting travelers and villages.
“I am the daughter of the baron of Croilton!” she shouted, scrambling backwards desperately on the ground. “You will hang for what you are doing to me!”
The man laughed again, grabbing her and hoisting her up. “Come on, lads. Follow me. We will take her under yonder tree. Ye can work out between yerselves what order ye all want to go in, but I be having the pleasure first.”
It had all passed in a blur after that—a single, horrifying blur.
She was taken to a spot beneath a tree. The other men all stood around, watching. The air had thickened with expectation. She had watched in horror as the man slowly unbuckled his belt, staring at her lasciviously.
“No,” she stammered, backing away. “No, you cannot do this! For the love of our Lord and your own eternal souls, do not do this terrible sin!”
The man grinned. “Ye are a pretty one. Very pretty. It won’t be a trial, at all, to give ye what ye need.” He was rubbing the front of his trousers as he spoke, his eyes gleaming with a wicked light.
Suddenly, he grabbed her, forcing her down onto the ground. Roseann screamed, writhing desperately to free herself, but his grip was like iron. He grunted, roughly pulling up the skirt of her gown so that her legs were exposed, forcing them open. She felt something alien and hard, pressing into her right leg.
“No,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “Please, do not do this, I beg of you! If you have one skerrick of goodness left in your soul, remember it now!”
“Shut yer mouth,” the man grunted, placing a hand over her face. His breath stank foully of rot and pickled onions. “Lay back and take it, like a good girl. Ye might find ye even enjoy it…”
Suddenly, she felt the beast flung off her. At that moment, she couldn’t grasp the significance of what was happening. She watched as a mountain of a man raised his sword and plunged it freely into her attacker. She heard the sickening gurgle, and the soldier was still.
Roseann sat up, gasping. The remaining attackers lay dead or dying on the ground. She heard the triumphant bellowing of a powerhouse of men with wild hair and beards, all brandishing their weapons. She was too stunned to react.
Her savior – who she later learned was Fearghas – leaned over her, studying her keenly.
“Get up, lassie,” he said slowly. “It is yer lucky day that we happened this way. A very lucky day, ye ken.”
Now, Roseann was curling tighter into a ball on the floor of the carriage, shuddering with aftershocks from the attack. What if it was another group of renegade soldiers attacking this carriage? What if the same thing was to happen again to her and no one was nearby to guard her?
Desperately, she felt for the dagger secured in her garter. She withdrew it with shaking hands, gripping it tightly. No, it wasn’t going to happen again. She was ready now. If one man laid even a finger upon her, she would not hesitate to use it.
She would kill if she must. She would not shrink.
She strained to hear what was going on outside the carriage. The shouting had ceased. An eerie stillness seemed to have descended outside. Dear Lord, were the Laird’s men all dead? Was she all alone, now forced to deal by herself with whatever situation was occurring?
She gripped the dagger tighter and tried to not even breathe.
Domhnall, she thought, desperately. A wave of longing for the Laird of Greum Dubh overcame her so strongly that she had to squeeze her eyes shut to blot out the image. If he alone had been accompanying her, he would have fought off a hundred men before anyone lay a hand on her.
The memory of their stolen kiss last night assailed her again. She never knew that a kiss could crack open something inside of her, something so raw and deep and unfathomable.
She had thought it a sin. She had not understood. She had run away, like a child.
She trembled, gripping the dagger in one hand, the other on her stomach. If she were to die on this lonely windswept moor, she would never see him again. She would go to her grave, never having known what it was like to fulfill the passion between them.
All because she was overwhelmed by a man’s desire for her. The Laird of Greum Dubh’s desire.
If only she could go back in time…
She could press herself into him and let that kiss deepen still further. She could let him sweep her up into his arms and carry her to his chambers, where they could kiss more in private.
He would lead her to his bed, slowly shedding her garments, one by one, dropping them to the floor. With his large, rough hands against her bare skin, he would push her back onto the bed and kiss her again in the same way but deeper still. So deep…
Roseann gasped, feeling an unfamiliar warm wetness seep out of her, just by the very thought.
She came out of the fantasy with a sudden jolt. Appalled, she shook her head. What was she doing, thinking of this, when she was about to be attacked? What was wrong with her? Had she lost her mind entirely?
Trembling with desire—or was it fear—she slowly sat up. Enough! She would not be a hunted deer, awaiting its tragic fate. She would confront whatever was happening. She raised the dagger higher in her hand, quietly sliding towards the carriage door.
She now felt convinced that at the first opportunity, she would ru
n, as fast as she could, over the moor and kill whoever stood in her way, if she must. No one would get the chance to do to her what that renegade soldier had done.
There were horses’ hooves approaching. She heard the familiar sharp clomping sound in the near distance. Were there more men coming? What in the name of the Lord was happening out there?
Her hand shook on the door handle. Her heart was beating so fast; she felt the pounding of a drum in her ears. She lifted her arm higher, clutching the dagger.
She kicked open the door, her eyes blazing, ready to attack.
7
Roseann gaped at the man standing before her and slowly lowered the dagger.
“I…I don’t understand,” she stammered.
Domhnall MacBeathag, the Laird of Greum Dubh, looked as shocked as she felt.
His fiery red hair was streaming from his head, in the strong wind. His dark cape, thrown haphazardly over his shoulders, was secured on his left shoulder by a large, gleaming brooch. One hand was resting on the top of his scabbard, ready at any moment to draw his sword.
His intense green eyes took in her wild demeanor. She was still panting with the aftereffects of her panic and knew that she probably looked like a crazed woman.
His eyes traveled to the dagger, still clutched tightly in her hand. “What are ye doin’, lassie?” he said slowly, “Ye look like ye are ready to slaughter a whole village.”
Roseann took a deep breath. “I…I thought that we had been stopped by blaggards,” she said slowly. “I was ready to defend myself if it came to it…”
The Laird shook his head slowly. “Nay, lassie. No one would dare to attack this carriage, not with my men guarding it. All the gangs who roam this border ken us, and our reputation is fierce in these parts.” He gazed at her steadily. “Ye can put the dagger down.”
Roseann gasped, dropping the dagger to the ground with a clatter. “I…” she looked at him sharply. “What are you doing here? Why have you stopped the carriage? I thought you had headed out on other business, in another direction entirely!”
Domhnall sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was,” he said slowly. “I did set out, intending to go there…” He paused, gazing at her. “but I could not do it. I had to speak to ye, before ye got to yer home…”
Roseann blushed to the roots of her hair.
“There is no need,” she said quickly. “No need at all…”
“Aye, there is.” His voice hardened. “Ye ran away from me last night. Ye ran away from me as if I was about to ravish ye, against yer will. As if I was a man that ye cannae trust.” He paused. “I am not like that, lady. If my kisses are not welcome, I will not pressure ye. But yer body was saying somethin’ different, lass.”
Roseann chewed her bottom lip, glancing around. Could anyone hear what he was saying?
But MacCain and the other men were standing at a safe distance, huddled together against the wind, casting amused glances their way. She had no doubt they were wondering why their Laird had waylaid the carriage when he was supposed to be in another part of Scotland entirely.
He stood there patiently, his face impassive, awaiting her reply. But she saw a single muscle twitching in his cheek, telling he wasn’t as emotionless as he appeared to be.
“I…” she stammered. She cleared her throat, lowering her voice. “Your kiss was not unwelcome, My Laird. But I do not want to be treated like some kind of common whore.”
He spread his fingers and placed a hand across his chest. “I ken that ye are a lady…”
Roseann’s color deepened. “If I lay with a man outside the bonds of matrimony, will I be condemned to hell? Even a kiss can lead me down the road of temptation and to eternal damnation…”
Domhnall laughed. It was short and sharp, almost like a bark. He walked closer to her, staring down at her with an amused glint in his green eyes.
“The Holy Church doesnae ken anything about it,” he said slowly. “They have their reasons to meddle between a man and a woman. It is all twaddle, lassie. Ye will nae go to hell, for doin’ what comes naturally. I think that place is for folk far wickeder than ye.”
Roseann stared down at her feet and began to fidget. Even here, on this road in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t seem to stop the effect he had on her. It was as if it had a will of its own, entirely.
He reached out slowly, tilting her chin so that she had no choice but to stare into those disconcerting green eyes.
“I want ye,” he growled, his eyes narrowing into slits. “I want ye more than I’ve wanted any woman afore. I will nae treat ye like a whore. If ye tell me now that ye daenae want it to go any further, than I shall leave ye alone, and bother ye no more.”
Roseann gasped. What did she want to do?
She was drowning in his green eyes. His power over her to make her body feel such amazing things were real. She felt powerless to resist. Did she want to resist it?
But then, there was the feeling of curling up in a ball on the carriage floor, certain that she would die. She remembered the vision of him leading her to his bed, being so real. She remembered being distraught, thinking that she may never get the chance to be in his arms again.
She took a deep breath. “I do not want you to leave me alone, My Laird.” She waited for a bolt of lightning to strike her from the heavens, for being such a wanton woman.
He couldn’t suppress a triumphant grin.
He gripped her chin tighter. “Let us wander over yonder hill, just for a moment. I think ye need to stretch yer legs before ye set off on the final leg of yer journey.”
They walked beyond the road to the carriage pulled over to the side. The carriage driver was hunched over in his seat, drinking from a flask of water. His other men were sitting further along, near the embankment, passing the time with a quick game of knucklebones. Domhnall could dimly hear their shouts and knew that there was sure to be a wager on hand.
Roseann was very quiet. He had put her on the spot, well and truly. It hadn’t been his intention. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly changed course, pursuing her, when he was meant to be attending to other business. He simply acted upon the urge.
It was that simple, yet it was that complex. He couldn’t let her go without professing his attraction.
He could not imagine she would emerge from the carriage, dagger aloft, looking like a warrior woman ready to slice out his heart and feed it to her wolves.
He couldn’t wait for a second longer.
“Come here,” he muttered, pulling her towards him.
For a moment, she resisted frowning. “My Laird. Any of your men might see us…”
He grinned down at her. “They are intent on their own amusements. And they know to leave their Laird alone when the situation demands it.” He bent his head down. “Let me taste yer lips again, lady.”
She stilled in his arms. He looked into her large amber eyes and saw pools of gold. If he wasn’t careful, he could lose himself completely in those eyes.
His lips touched hers tenderly, yet with the heat of male possession. It had happened the previous night, as well. The minute that his lips found hers.
He had experienced many women over the years. Only a few had touched him, somewhere deep inside. Only a few had he felt this instant, flaming connection with, that he was feeling with her. Only a few had made him feel as if he was aflame with desire.
He deepened the kiss, clutching her to him, pressing the whole outline of her figure against him. He could tip her over here, on the hillside, right this very minute. He could do it now… and finally satisfy his desire for her.
She moaned deep in her throat. The sound enflamed him more. He wanted to hear her, groaning in pleasure, beneath his hands. He wanted to bring her to pleasure, which left her molten in his arms.
He tore at the top of the bodice of her gown, pushing his hand into it, feeling for the first time the firmness of her rounded breasts. He softly kneaded her left breast pinching the erect nipple, until she made
a begging sound. He trailed his mouth down her neck, biting gently.
He glanced up at her quickly. Her eyes were half-closed, and her pale skin was flushed. Slowly, steadily, he exposed her breasts to the air, bending to take one nipple in his mouth. He suckled, long and hard, drawing it further into his mouth.
She gasped as if a sword had pierced her suddenly, her flesh quivering and her back arching. He was so hard he felt he could burst. The desire to be in her, fully, was overwhelming him.
He stiffened slightly, pressing himself harder against her so that she could feel what she was doing to him. Her eyes shot open in sudden alarm. She didn’t know what to do, and this wasn’t the time or the place, to show her.
A Pledge of Passion to the Highlander Page 6