Roderick’s Purpose: The Victorian Highlanders Book 4

by St. Clair, Ellie

  Her exhilaration quickly faded, however, when she heard the pounding of hooves behind her. She stole a glance over her shoulder, cursing when she saw the horse closing the distance between them. How was it possible? She had one of the fastest horses in the area, thanks to the light fingers of her father, and she was an expert horsewoman. How could this man possibly best her? She urged her mount even faster, but while she had tracked the getaway path earlier, she wasn’t completely certain of which way she was going, nor did the horse appear to know. Perhaps this man was more familiar with the path. Perhaps his horse was equally as fast. Perhaps — no, not possible. He could not be better on a horse than she was. She had never met a man who was.

  Yet, he was keeping up with her. She risked taking a quick left turn when the path forked, though she had no idea where it led. She hoped he would be thrown off by her abrupt change in direction, but when she looked back, he was still with her, though she had gained a bit of ground. She caught a glimpse of him and realized it was the man who had been sitting on the bench outside the bank. Blast it all! He must have been waiting, she thought, shocked at herself and her inability to see him for who he was. Typically, her instincts were much more reliable. She had been distracted.

  She returned her focus to the path ahead, realizing with a start that there didn’t seem to be anywhere to go — in just a hundred yards or so she would be surrounded by a copse of trees and would have to lead her horse through the woodland. It would be completely fine in normal circumstances, but not when being chased. Tightening the reins slightly, she slowed to find a way out. Then all the breath suddenly left her with a whoosh as a solid weight slammed into her side with such force she was knocked off her horse and taken to the ground. She grunted when her body hit the dirt, and her assailant tried to catch her hands behind her back, likely to tie her up.

  Gwen strongly resolved to ensure that would never happen, and she quickly rolled out of the man’s grip, clambering to her feet and running back toward her horse, who had thankfully stopped when he lost his rider. Before she could get very far, however, the man grabbed her ankle and dragged her back, and she realized she wouldn’t be able to outrun him. Instead, she remembered everything Doc had taught her and swung with a right hook he would be proud of, connecting with the man’s jaw. His head snapped back, and he bellowed with anger. A sense of satisfaction settled over her despite the pain that radiated through her knuckles and up her arm.

  The man was strong, however, and grabbed onto her right upper arm with such force she couldn’t move it. She brought her left arm up, scratching at his face until he reached out to stop her, letting her go in the process. She scrambled out of his grasp once more, and when he went to reach for her, she brought her knee up, hard, into his groin. As he cried out again, Gwen brought her feet up and onto his shoulder before she used them to propel herself away in a somersault.

  She picked up the bag that had fallen off her shoulder, and began creeping backward, away from him. She had to get free. Her father’s life depended upon it.

  “Listen,” he said slowly, holding out a hand as though he could keep her from running. She could hear the rising frustration in his voice, that deep, warm voice with the Scottish lilt and charming vibration that she was sure had charmed many a lady. “I willna hurt you if you simply come with me. We’ll return what you stole, you give me the names of who you work with, and you can maybe even go free. All right?”

  She would never agree to his terms, and apparently, he saw it in her face, for he launched himself at her again, coming over top of her, pinning her arms with his hands, his weight on her legs so that she couldn’t move them. Damn it, she thought. She was well and truly trapped.

  * * *

  Roderick cursed as the man moved underneath him. How had he not seen him enter the building? Had he fallen asleep for a moment and let him get through? Callum would never let that go, and he wasn’t sure Angus McLaren would forgive him for it either. Would he still have a job? His attention returned to the thief as the man tried to bite his hand. What sort of man bit—

  “Oh dear God,” he said, his mind suddenly processing what — or rather, who — lay underneath him. Big green eyes filled with contempt stared up at him, and he looked down the soft contours of the face, the high cheekbones, the rosy lips overtop teeth that were not quite perfect, but a bit crooked… he swallowed hard, for it was not a man he straddled but a woman. And not just any woman, but the woman he had been so attracted to when she walked up the stairs.

  “Something surprise you?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow, the rest of her face a mask of innocence.

  “Not at all,” he said, pulling her into a sitting position and tying her hands behind her, although with a little less force than he would were she a man. His mind worked furiously. She was as strong as she was tall, but now that he took a closer look, he saw the swells of her curves, the delicate lines of her face — and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. Were she male, that would be an easy decision. He might rough him up some to convince him to not try to escape, then he would put him on the horse — hands tied — and lead them back to the station. But a woman, now, that was something else entirely.

  He realized he was still straddling her lap, and his loins stirred. She might be a thief, true, but that didn’t make her any less alluring. He looked up and found her staring at him, and a flare of recognition at his desire came into her wide eyes, which reminded him of the color of the grassy stretches of his Highland hills on a beautiful summer day, and made him unexpectedly long for home.

  She smiled coyly at him. “Yer a Scot, are ye not?” she asked, her Scottish lilt suddenly much more pronounced, nearly as much as his own.

  “Aye,” he said warily.

  “I made a mistake, true,” she said, looking up at him from underneath long lashes. “Do ye think perhaps you could make an exception — let me go, just this once? You can tell whoever yer working for that I escaped. No one would be the wiser.”

  He snorted. “I’m an officer of the North-West Mounted Police. We’ve been looking for you for some time. And I’ll not let any think a woman bested me.”

  “No one needs to know I’m a woman. You nearly didn’t.”

  He shook his head. “Anyone who sees you up close would know.”

  There was truth to his words, for despite her build, she was striking. Her nose had a slight curve to it and a bit of a bump, making him think perhaps it had been broken at some point — his cousin Gregor had the same happen to him as a child. She had freckles covering her face, clearly from spending a great deal of time in the sun, and her full bottom lip was a rosy pink that drew him. He had never been so attracted to a woman at first sight before — and clearly, she recognized it.

  Strong, lean legs came up around him where he sat in front of her, and she bit that lower lip as she looked at him. “What will it take to get you to release me?”

  He pushed back in disgust at how easily she had ascertained his feeling toward her, and stood abruptly, pulling her with him, her hands now firmly tied in front of her.

  “There’s nothing ye can do but come with me,” he said, and she pouted, tilting her head to the side. “Perhaps you can make a deal with the sergeant if you give up the rest of your gang.”

  “Never,” she said fiercely, her head held high as he led her to her horse.

  “You’ll have to help me up,” she said, holding up her tied hands, and he sighed but did as she asked, cupping his hands together as a step. She put her foot into them, resting her hands on his shoulder, and warmth flooded through him where they touched. She gave a bit of a hop and swung her leg around the horse. He reached to gather the horse’s reins to place them in her hands, but as he did so, the woman gave a “hi-ya!” and squeezed her legs around the horse, who shot forward. The leather reins burned his hands as they slid through and dragged behind her.

  “Bloody hell!” he shouted as he ran to his own horse to chase after her.

  Chapter 3
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br />   Gwen laughed with glee as her horse raced through the wood while the Scot’s curses rang out behind her. She had never been a graceful woman who garnered the attention of respectable gentlemen, but when the man’s attraction to her became obvious, she had used it to secure her release.

  If she were being honest with herself, she wasn’t exactly immune to him either. Never in her life had she seen such a handsome man, and a thrill had surged through her body when she lay underneath him. He was powerful, with broad shoulders and thighs of steel that had trapped her in their vise. He was a Highland warrior of old, she mused, reminding her of home, and for a moment, she allowed herself the simple pleasure of appreciating his physique. She quickly snapped back to the reality of the situation, however, for he had been her captor — would be again if he had his way — and she vowed that she would never be under the will of a man.

  His own willpower was fairly strong, though; she had to give him credit for that. He had resisted her with an apparent ease, though he had made the mistake of underestimating her and giving her a window of opportunity.

  For the past twelve years, she had been following her father and his gang around the countryside of the Northwest Territory, living a nomadic life on the run from the authorities, the blasted police force this man said he was a part of. He didn’t exactly fit the image she had become used to, but why would someone lie about being a member?

  He wasn’t, however, the first man she had run from, and her father had taught her well. She sighed as she thought of Doc. He would be so disappointed were she to be captured. He was what spurred her forward, what had caused her to attempt the robbery in the first place. If she was being honest with herself, the only part of thieving she actually enjoyed was the thrill of getting away with it. Actually taking money or valuables from other people — well, that part she had always had difficulties with, yet she had no other way to survive.

  She currently hadn’t any other choice but to rob this one last time, and her father was counting on her. She had to make sure she escaped. Gwen heard the thrash of a horse breaking through the brush behind her, and she cursed at the fact her hands were tied and she couldn’t lead her mare as well as she was typically capable of. She urged her on as best she could with her thighs, well-muscled from years of riding from one camp to another, town after town, following her father and the men he had cobbled together over the years. The men he had arrived with originally had been loyal, like family. In time, however, some had been captured, others killed, and some left for other places or prospects. Doc had replaced them with younger men, but men who were fueled by greed and not by loyalty. She pushed the final incident from her mind, the one that had finally torn the gang in two, causing her and her father to leave, alone. He had protected her and now she alone was responsible for him. She would not — could not — let him down.

  “Give up, already, lass!” came the shout from behind her. “It will only be the worse for you should you not cooperate.”

  “Never!” she shouted, trying desperately to turn her horse, looking behind her as the man came closer. She turned to the front and shouted with surprise as a fallen tree loomed in front of her. She squeezed her horse tightly as she tried to hold on, but as her majestic mount cleared the branch and landed on the other side, Gwen lost her grip and went flying over the horse’s head, tucking and rolling instinctively so as not to be trampled, although she gasped as she struggled to breathe, while her ankle cried out with enough pain to worry her.

  Her first instinct was to jump up and run, but as she tried to stand, her ankle gave out and she came back down hard on the ground as she realized how winded the fall had left her.

  The man was at her side in moments, and she gave a final sigh of defeat as she closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Roderick’s heart had nearly stopped as he saw the woman fly over the horse and into the brush. He dismounted before his horse — Donahue, he had named him — even came to a stop, and ran for her side. Please let her be all right, he prayed, though why he was so concerned, he wasn’t sure. At the very least, he could take her horse and would be able to recover whatever it was she had stolen. He saw her try to stand and then crumple to the ground, and he reached her in seconds.

  She gave a groan as he gently rolled her from her side onto her back, and when she finally opened her eyes revealing the look of defeat, he knew she would be fine.

  “Have ye had your fun?” he ground out, angrier at the panic she had made him feel rather than the fact she had tried to escape. It had been his own fault for giving her even an inch of opportunity. There were enough strong-willed females in his life that he should have known better than to think she wouldn’t be as capable at escape just because she was a woman.

  She grunted in response, and he eased a hand under her back. “What hurts you, lass?” He asked. “Do ye think you can sit?”

  She nodded and sat up nearly on her own, but when he tried to help her stand, she stumbled into him.

  “It’s my ankle,” she said, and by the strain in her voice, he could tell she was trying to mask the pain. He reached down, feeling it. It was swollen and likely strained, but when he moved it around and felt the bone, he didn’t think anything was broken. She attempted to put some weight on it, but when she did, she lifted her foot suddenly, wincing. He didn’t see any other option and bent to lift her.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she asked, hopping on one foot away from him.

  “Come now,” he said. “You cannot walk, so how do you think you’re going to get away from here? Don’t be daft, now, I’ll just take you to the horse.”

  She shook her head vigorously, but despite her desperate wriggling away from him, she had lost most of her fight, and within moments, she was reluctantly in his arms. He clicked his tongue at her horse, which began to follow him, and he tried not to smile at the look of consternation that came over the woman when her horse so willingly listened to him. He had always had a way with horses. All in his family did, with the exception of his sister, Peggy. The only person he had ever seen with even more affinity with them was Finlay’s bride, Kyla, though it seemed this woman had ample experience herself.

  As he neared his horse, she began to balk in his arms, realizing what he had in mind.

  “I’m not riding with you,” she said.

  “You have no choice,” he responded, impressed with her continued determination, though he tried not to let his amusement show. “You’re my prisoner, lass, not my companion, ye hear? Not to worry, Donahue won’t mind the extra weight.”

  She sniffed in disagreement and outrage at his words as he laughed.

  “It won’t work,” she insisted. “Your horse won’t be used to two riders, and it won’t be comfortable for either of us.”

  “You can sit behind me.” He smiled roguishly. “Hold on tight.”

  She let out an “oomph” when he deposited her on top of the horse. He swung up in front her, telling her to hold on. He could tell she was trying to leave as much space as possible between them, for he knew soon enough she would slide right against him.

  “You’ll find yourself falling off the horse again should you stay so far back,” he said, urging the horse into a walk and leading hers behind them. The bag she had slung over her shoulder hung off the pommel, and he kept a close eye on it, knowing it held valuable cargo.

  “I heard tell of a woman who was part of the Doc Malone gang,” he said, contemplatively. He had never been one for silence. “What would possess one such as you to be part of a gang of thieves, robbing people and coaches around the country? Do you not know who ye are stealing from? These people, they’re good people around here — well, for the most part, anyway. They work hard for their money and any valuables they have. Many have been saving their entire lives. And you would take it all from them — for what? Do you not have the means to make an honest living?”

  She said nothing in response. As the horse moved, she had, likely against her will, slid bac
k against him, and she clearly wasn’t happy about it. She held her head high, staring ahead of them as he led them toward the barracks.

  “Fine, then,” he said. “Be silent, it does not bother me. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me your name?”

  When she remained silent, as he suspected, he continued. “All right, then. I’ll call you Susan. Nay, ye dinna look like a Susan. Perhaps… Tristana? You know it means sorrowful, and ye haven’t exactly been much fun, have you? But no. It looks like you could be fun if ye tried. Molly? It means bitter, did ye know that? I know a Molly, however, and she’s nothing of the sort. How about—”

  “How in the hell do you know so much about names?” she burst out, clearly unable to hold her tongue any longer.

  “My mother,” he said. “She has always loved language and the meaning behind things. She’s a wonderful woman. Jane, her name is. Jane means ‘God is gracious’, which is very fitting for my mother. Now, back to your name. Have you heard the name Jezebel? Perhaps that would be fitting. It means—”

  “Gwen,” she finally ground out. “Gwendolyn, actually.”

  He burst out laughing, and he could practically feel the anger radiating off of her.

  “I fail to see the humor in my name,” she said, a bite to her tone. “I rather like it, actually.”

  “Aye, it’s a lovely enough name, lass, but you know it means—”

  “I know what it means.”

  He continued on despite her apparent ill will toward him. “It means something along the lines of purity. White, holy, that sort of thing.”

  “I realize that.”

  “And you are not—”

  She could no longer control her words as her emotions boiled over. “Can you not be silent, even for one moment?”

  “Not really,” he said with a shrug, despite the fact she couldn’t actually see his face. “I’m sure my brothers have a similar feeling to you, however. There’s something about silence, though, that is typically awkward, is it not? There is so much to talk about, really, so why not take the opportunity to discuss what you’re feeling?”