The Outlaw's Bride (The Brides 0f Skye Book 2)

by Jayne Castel

  “No time for that.” Lachlann cast a glance over his shoulder. “Yer father will be hunting us now.”

  Adaira frowned. She knew that—she didn’t need reminding of it.

  “I know ye are tired,” he continued, turning his attention away from her once more. “And as soon as we find a place to hide, we can rest. It’s safer traveling at night anyway.”

  That made sense. They’d been fortunate so far and hadn’t seen any other travelers, hunters, or farmers. Yet, as they approached the east coast, that would change.

  Adaira plowed on behind him. Her wet boots started to chafe her feet. Lachlann had relieved her of her cumbersome mantle and now carried both that and her satchel. All she had to do was follow—yet she could feel herself flagging.

  I’m slowing him down, she thought dully. If we get caught, it’ll be all my fault.

  The realization sent a jolt of panic through her. She couldn’t let that happen. Capture was unthinkable. She couldn’t let Budge get his hands on her.

  And so she struggled on, closing her mind off to the exhaustion that pulled down at her with each step.

  How far were they from the coast now? She’d long since lost any sense of direction. Lachlann had assured her they were journeying east, toward the port village of Kiltaraglen.

  The village lay directly across the water from the Isle of Raasay. Once they found a boat, they would have to travel south, around the island, before turning east to the mainland.

  Kiltaraglen was also the closest port to Dunvegan. Nervousness fluttered under Adaira’s ribcage. She hoped Kiltaraglen was a wise choice. Perhaps she should have gone to Duntulm instead—to Caitrin.

  Adaira’s throat constricted. How she wished to see Caitrin. But such wishes were foolish. Malcolm MacLeod would search for her at Duntulm.

  No, Adaira wouldn’t involve her sister. She’d already risked Rhona and Taran’s necks. Best to stick with the original plan: go to her kin on the mainland. Her mother had spoken often of Gylen Castle, where she’d grown up. It sounded a welcoming place.

  They would take her in; they would protect her.

  On and on they trudged as the sun rose high into the sky. And, just when Adaira’s step was beginning to falter, when she was considering calling out to Lachlann and begging for him to stop awhile, he did just that.

  Breathing hard, Lachlann drew up. Standing at the bottom of a rocky gully, he turned to Adaira. His cheeks were flushed with exertion, and his handsome face was haggard and tired. However, his eyes were sharp.

  “I’ve found a hiding place,” he announced, pointing above them. Pines loomed high overhead, and the sides of the ravine rose nearly perpendicular. A few yards above them, upon the eastern side, Adaira spotted a gap. It was wide, although barely high enough for a person to squeeze into, even on their belly.

  “We’re going to hide in there?” she asked, horrified.

  “Aye.” Lachlann adjusted the satchel, slinging it and the cloak across his back. Then he began to climb. “Come on, Aingeal. Yer bower awaits.”

  Peering up at the gap above, Adaira frowned. She wasn’t sure she had the strength in her arms to climb, but she’d try. Reluctantly, she followed him up the rocky incline. There were plenty of holds for her fingers and toes. Even so, she’d only gone a couple of yards when she started to falter.

  Halting, clinging to the rock like a spider, she glanced up. Lachlann had already reached their destination. He threw the satchel and cloak inside before pulling himself under the ledge on his belly.

  “Just a few more feet,” he called. He reached down, his hand stretching toward her. “Ye can manage it.”

  Gritting her teeth, she forced her uncooperative limbs to move. Her legs trembled under her, and the muscles in her upper arms and shoulders burned. Not only that, but her skirts were hampering her movement.

  “Grab my hand.”

  Adaira pushed herself up another foot before lunging toward Lachlann. His hand clasped hers, and her breath gusted out of her. A heartbeat later he yanked her up the cliff-face and under the ledge where he sprawled.

  Adaira found herself face-to-face with him, their bodies pressed close. His heat and nearness overwhelmed her. It was dark in the gap, but she could see the gleam of his eyes.

  A moment later the ripe smell of his unwashed body assaulted her.

  “God’s bones,” she muttered, edging away from him. “Ye stink.”

  Lachlann gave a soft laugh. “So would ye, if ye had spent a week in yer father’s dungeon.”

  Adaira gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to be uncharitable, but the thought of being jammed in this crevice next to a man who was in dire need of a bath revolted her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  “Worry not,” he continued, a sardonic edge to his voice. “As soon as we reach the coast I shall scrub myself with lye and rid myself of these rags.”

  Silence fell for a few moments, before Adaira broke it. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, chastised. “It must have been terrible being locked up in the dark, not being able to use a privy or bathe.”

  Lachlann’s mouth quirked. “It wasn’t so bad.”

  “But didn’t ye despair?”

  “I was too busy trying to think of a way to escape.”

  Adaira’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Aye,” he replied without hesitation. “Two of the guards in particular liked to bait me … I was going to use it to my advantage.”

  Adaira watched him, impressed. “Ye are resourceful.”

  “I’ve always had to be.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ve got three younger brothers chafing at the bit to advance themselves,” he said with a wry smile. “Plus, I’m Captain of Talasgair Guard … and in charge of patrolling the Fraser borders. I always have to think one step ahead.”

  Adaira propped herself up on one elbow, trying to get comfortable on the hard stone ledge. “Ye will be anxious to return home.”

  Lachlann didn’t reply, and she searched his face, noting that his smile had faded. She wondered if he worried about his father’s fate. She’d heard her own father bragging about how no mortal man could recover from the injury he’d dealt Morgan Fraser.

  “I’m grateful to ye, Lachlann,” she said softly. “I couldn’t make it to Argyle without yer help.”

  He inclined his head. “It was a brave decision,” he noted, “to free me and flee from Dunvegan. Most lasses, even faced with the prospect of wedding Aonghous Budge, wouldn’t do it.”

  Adaira loosed a long breath. “As ye saw … I didn’t do it alone.” She hesitated, wondering whether to confide in him. What did it matter? They were far from Dunvegan now. He could know the truth. “The man who helped me is named Taran. He’s wed to my sister, Rhona. They planned my escape.”

  Lachlann’s dark-auburn eyebrows raised. “That’s quite a risk they took.”

  “I know … my father can never learn of it.”

  Lachlann rolled away from her, stretching out onto his back and cupping his hands behind his head. “Well … no one will hear a word of it from me, Aingeal.”

  Chapter Seven

  Decisions

  THEY REACHED THE coast and the village of Kiltaraglen in the middle of the night.

  Moonlight frosted the outlines of great mountains and lit their way. Adaira’s belly growled as she walked, so loudly that Lachlann eventually turned to her.

  “Here.” He dug the last bun out of the satchel and held it to her. “Eat this.”

  Adaira stopped, her gaze dropping to the bun. “Don’t ye want it?”

  “Aye, but if yer belly growls any louder, it’ll alert half the village to our presence.”

  Adaira favored him with a soft snort. Her stomach wasn’t that loud. Even so, she took the bun, sighing with pleasure as her teeth sank into it. Her appetite had returned with a vengeance now. Maybe it was because she’d managed to rest. She hadn’t thought she’d sleep during the day, squeezed into that crevice with Lachlann—but s
he had. She’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep, and had only awoken after dark when he’d gently shaken her.

  They’d left the creek behind shortly after starting this stretch of the journey, traveling across bare hills. The open landscape made Adaira nervous. Her ears kept straining for the thunder of hoofbeats in the distance. Her father would no doubt send men in this direction, for Kiltaraglen was the nearest port to Dunvegan.

  They would need to leave first thing in the morning to stay ahead of him.

  Boots crunching on the gravel-strewn road, they crested the brow of a hill, woodland rising up either side. Below them stretched the tiny port of Kiltaraglen.

  The village, a collection of thatched roofs lining the edge of the water, slumbered. It was a still, mild night. The water glistened, reflecting the glow of the moon. If Adaira hadn't been so nervous, she’d have found the sight a lovely one.

  She’d been to Kiltaraglen once years earlier, for there had been a special market here, and her father had allowed her, Rhona, and Caitrin to visit it. She remembered the village with fondness: the tightly-packed white-washed homes and the long waterfront, where a collection of rickety wooden boats bobbed in the tide.

  Adaira swallowed her last mouthful of bun. “There’s an inn on the waterfront,” she said. “Hopefully it’s not too late, and they’ll open their doors to us.”

  Lachlann didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze remained on the village below them. He studied it intently. “I don’t think it's wise to linger here,” he said finally. “We should move on … tonight.”

  Adaira tensed. “But surely it’s safe to stay here till dawn?”

  Lachlann shook his head. “It isn't. The fewer folk who see us the better. Yer father’s men will likely arrive here tomorrow, and the inn will be the first place they'll look. The innkeeper will tell them that a couple matching our description lodged there, and then it won't take much digging for them to discover we left by water.” Lachlann cast her a fierce, determined look. “It's best we leave no sign of our passing. We should go now.”

  Adaira drew a shaky breath. This wasn’t the news she wanted. Despite that the bun had taken the edge off her hunger, she longed for a decent meal and a bed for the night. She also longed to bathe. At Dunvegan she’d have added a few drops of lavender oil to the water, for the scent calmed her. She ached for a short reprieve, before they set out on the next leg of their journey. Yet she had to admit, his words made sense. She would have to wait till the mainland for a decent meal and a soft mattress.

  “But how can we find a boatman to give us passage?” she asked. “No one will be awake at this hour.”

  A pause followed. Lachlann slowed his pace before drawing to a halt and turning to face her. “We don’t have time for that … we’ll have to steal a boat.”

  Adaira stifled a gasp. “But we're not thieves.”

  Lachlann’s mouth curved into a slow smile, and despite her shock at his pronouncement, Adaira’s belly fluttered. Lachlann Fraser’s smile was as alluring as it was dangerous. Like the touch of his hand when he’d helped her out of the tunnel, it turned her mind to porridge.

  “Now isn’t the time for scruples, Aingeal,” he replied softly. “Just how desperate are ye to escape Aonghus Budge?”

  I can't believe I agreed to this.

  Adaira padded along behind Lachlann as they made their way down to the waterfront, hugging the shadows as they went. It seemed an unnecessary precaution, for there appeared to be no one about, but Adaira was glad her protector was being careful. Someone might be lurking nearby. Perhaps the dock was watched at night—or maybe her father’s men were here already, looking for her.

  Adaira swallowed hard—she hoped not.

  They walked down to where a row of small wooden boats bobbed in the water. Unfortunately, the craft were moored right before the inn. The white-washed building, which rose high above all the others in the village, lay in darkness. No light peeked out from behind the closed shutters. Perhaps it was later than Adaira realized. Even the inn-keeper would be abed.

  She followed Lachlann down the grassy slope to the water. There, he went to the first boat in the line and hunkered down before the wharf. Working by feel, for the shadows were long here, he started to untie the oiled rope that moored the boat.

  “Climb in,” he whispered.

  Heart hammering, Adaira complied. She lifted her skirts and stepped into the boat. It rocked under her, and she stifled a gasp, lowering herself to the deck. She then shuffled forward and perched upon a plank of wood. Lachlann passed her the satchel and cloak—and then he pushed the boat out into the water.

  Adaira clung on to the sides. Her eyes strained in the darkness for any sign of movement around them. Lachlann moved slowly, but even so, every splash, every ripple, seemed obscenely loud.

  As he crept out of the shadow of the docks, Adaira caught sight of Lachlann’s face illuminated in the moonlight. It was set in grim, determined lines. It seemed Rhona had made the right choice in making him her protector; Morgan Fraser’s first-born was practical, a survivor.

  When the water had reached thigh-height, Lachlann climbed in and set himself down opposite Adaira. He picked up the oars and maneuvered the boat around so that he was facing shore. Then he started to row.

  The pair of them did not speak. Adaira hardly dared breathe. She kept glancing back over her shoulder at Kiltaraglen, expecting to hear shouts echo out across the water as someone spied them.

  Guilt assailed her then. At dawn, a fisherman would wander down to the water to find his boat gone. They were stealing a man’s livelihood. How would he feed his family without his boat?

  Adaira shoved the thought away. It was too late now to torture herself. She had to put her trust in Lachlann. She realized now that it was too risky to wait till daylight, yet resorting to thievery upset her.

  She turned from the village, her gaze traveling east. In daylight the isle of Raasay rose out of the sound, but tonight she saw only darkness. However, the island would still be there, and they would need to turn south soon.

  “Lie down and rest awhile, Adaira.” Lachlann broke the silence between them, his voice terse.

  Adaira stared back at him, studying the lines of his face. Her heart had settled to its usual rhythm, and now that they were out of danger, she felt weak, wrung out. She was bone-weary.

  Still she resisted. “What about ye?”

  He huffed. “Someone’s got to row. There is nothing to be gained by both of us having a sleepless night. When dawn breaks, I’ll bring the boat ashore so I can rest.”

  Adaira nodded, stifling a yawn. Despite that she’d slept the day before, she was desperately weary now. Using her cloak as a pillow, she stretched out, curling her torso around the satchel. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in, but it was wonderful just to lie flat—not to be on her aching feet.

  I’ll only close my eyes for a short while, she promised herself. I’ll just take a nap. But the gentle splash of the oars and the subtle roll of the boat had a lulling effect on her. Before she knew it, sleep caught her up in its embrace and carried her away.

  Lachlann Fraser stopped rowing and studied the young woman before him. Adaira was curled into a ball, her hands clasped under her cheek. He’d taken to calling her an ‘angel’, but now she truly looked like one. Her face appeared pale and very young in the hoary light of the moon.

  Is she asleep?

  It was a breathlessly still night, and even the slightest sound carried. Without the splash of the oars, he heard the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

  Yes, she is.

  Lachlann's fingers flexed around the oars, and yet he hesitated.

  He’d made a pledge to take her to Argyle, but tonight he’d decided that he wouldn’t. Gylen Castle was at least three days’ travel from here in this tiny row boat; it would be many days before he saw his home again. In the meantime, Lucas might use Lachlann’s absence as an excuse to take his place as chieftain of the
Frasers of Talasgair.

  Lachlann didn’t trust his brother one bit—and he couldn’t let him get his hands on the Fraser lands. He had to return home. He didn’t have time for this detour.

  Once again, his grip on the oars tightened, but he still didn’t move.

  His conscience was needling him.

  Lady Adaira captivated him. She was sheltered—although that was usual with most high-born ladies—and had a beguiling innocence about her. She was also trusting and gentle-hearted.

  She’d be upset that he’d broken his promise.

  Lachlann loosed a long breath. Adaira would get over it in time. He wouldn’t send her back to Dunvegan. He’d arrange for a boat to take her to the mainland from Talasgair, or she could make a new life for herself at the Fraser stronghold if she wished. Either way, her father would never know she remained upon the Isle of Skye.

  Adaira would still get what she wanted, to be free of her union with Chieftain Budge.

  But right now he needed to think of himself, his own future.

  Lachlann turned the boat north and started to row.

  Chapter Eight

  By Water

  ADAIRA AWOKE TO the warmth of the sun bathing her face.

  For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, or why there was a hard plank digging into her back—but then a familiar male voice intruded, and it all came back.

  “The aingeal awakes.”

  Lachlann Fraser.

  Adaira pushed herself upright in the boat, rubbed her eyes, and looked around her. They were no longer on the water. The boat sat upon a pebbly beach, beneath sculpted cliffs and a wild sky, where seabirds wheeled overhead. Lachlann was sitting nearby, long legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankle.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “I'm not quite sure. I brought the boat ashore a short while ago.”