If she’d had any doubt that he was bluffing, she wouldn’t have given in. With a broken arm she would be lucky to remain conscious across the back of a horse, though, much less able to think and plot her escape. Rowena stopped hitting at him, but she wasn’t about to relax.
“Don’t move,” Calder ordered, and grabbed her free hand, pulling it back with the other one. “Some men might prefer a lass with spirit,” he went on, binding her wrists again. “I don’t. I like her to lie quietly and whimper while she spreads her legs for me.” He yanked the knots tighter. “Maybe I’ll let Dermid have ye first. That should take the fight out of ye.”
The idea of either man touching her so intimately frightened and disgusted her, but that was precisely what he’d meant to do, she was certain. Keep her quiet and cowed so they could hurry on their way, and then do whatever awful thing they thought of, later. Paralyze her with fear so she couldn’t think, and therefore let her be the instrument of her own doom. Devil take all of them.
She wasn’t some soft English lady. She was a Highlands lass. More than that, she was a MacLawry. And no MacLawry, man or woman, surrendered without a fight.
Even with no easy way to judge the time, by her best estimate at least half an hour passed before the other two men trotted up, the third horse in tow. “The damned things crossed the road and were halfway to Loch Garry,” Arnold Haws said, jumping to the ground.
They were all the way to Loch Garry already? Good heavens, they’d made better time than she’d expected. Either that, or she’d been unconscious for longer than she’d realized. Either way, they were definitely headed for Fort William. And far away from Glengask.
The two men stood her upright, and slipped the damned sack over her head again. She knew who they were, and she knew roughly in which direction they were riding, so she didn’t know why they bothered—unless it was to further frighten her.
Rather than being afraid, though, the moment they’d hidden her face she began chewing on the gag pulled tight through her mouth. They had their plans, but so did she. And whatever they tried to convince her, she wasn’t alone.
She knew that, as well as she knew the color of her own hair. Lachlan MacTier was coming. And the MacLawrys were riding with him.
Chapter Sixteen
Lachlan reined in. “Did ye hear that?”
Beside him, Bear’s face was as angry and worried as he’d ever seen it. “I heard someaught.”
“It was Rowena,” Lachlan said, certain down to his bones. Was she trying to let any pursuers know where she was? Or was she crying out in fear or pain?
Clenching his jaw, he kicked Beowulf again. The last words he and Rowena had said to each other would not be the last words they spoke. Ranulf would not keep them apart. Dermid Gerdens and whoever rode with him would not keep them apart. He’d been swearing that to himself, repeating it over and over, for the past eight hours.
“Slow doon, Lach,” Munro called from behind him. “We dunnae want to overrun them in the dark.”
“That scream was well ahead of us,” he countered. “And I’ll nae lose ground to them because ye want to be cautious.”
“I’m nae being cautious. They’ll nae be directly on the road, and ye know it. I ken ye want her back. So do I.”
“I want to be close enough to keep them moving. Because if they’re running, they cannae be hurting her.”
Fresh anger jolted through him, as it did every time he imagined what she must be going through. She’d tried so hard to convince herself—and everyone else—that she was a proper, sophisticated English lady. He’d tried to remind her that she should be proud to be a Highlander, and she’d been listening. He knew that.
And now a Highlander had taken her. Who could blame her if she never wanted to see Scotland again after this? Or if she wanted nothing further to do with him? Lachlan cursed again.
By coming back to Glengask from London, she’d lost everything. If Ranulf had his way she would leave Glengask and clan MacLawry altogether to become a Buchanan. If he had his way she would remain a MacLawry, but only until the chief banished him from the clan. In addition, she would lose her dream of residing in London with a husband who enjoyed poetry and the theater and sitting about doing nothing. If Gerdens had his way—devil take it, he didn’t know what Gerdens wanted of her, but it wouldn’t be anything she would choose.
Was he the least of three or four evils for her, or was he not even that? She’d said she loved him—finally, the words still tearing through his heart—but whatever he told himself, he knew she’d been about to concede to Ranulf’s demands.
That would all matter later. Now, he just needed to find her. And make certain the men who’d taken her would never attempt such a thing again. Ever.
Lachlan wanted to shout back, to answer her and let her know that someone was coming. That he was coming. While he wanted her captors to keep moving, though, it would be foolish to let them know just how close he was. And he couldn’t afford to be foolish.
He shook himself. However far behind Rowena they were, he needed to pay attention to what was around them. Bear kept pace beside him, and he could practically feel the big man’s sideways glances. If Rowena’s brother didn’t like the way the pursuit was proceeding, he was welcome to conduct his own chase. Lachlan had no intention of stopping.
“Peter!” Munro finally called. “Ye and Aulay move oot to the left and keep pace with us. Eòin, head to the right with me. Spread oot. That’ll give us a better chance of seeing any sign of riders.”
It made sense. The road was the most likely route from Glengask to Fort William but that didn’t mean Rowena was actually on it. They could be flanking it on either side, or paralleling it from the hills to the east. But they were headed this way. He supposed he owed the Campbell thanks for that. Without the duke’s help, he might still be trying to figure out who’d taken Rowena, much less riding to rescue her.
He tried to ease the strain on his shoulder as best he could, but the ache and warm wet slowly staining his shirt told him he likely shouldn’t be riding anywhere. Lachlan ignored the warnings, though; he could get himself patched up again later.
As his companions fanned out on either side of the road, it almost felt like he was riding alone in the predawn dark. Beyond the sound of hoofbeats and Beowulf’s breathing and the creak of leather, he kept listening. The scream didn’t repeat, and he could only hope it wasn’t because she was unable to make a sound.
Just after sunrise they rode up to a roadside inn brandishing a wooden sign with THE BRUCE INN carved into it in large, ornate letters. Half the inns and taverns in the Highlands carried that name, so it wasn’t much help in telling him how far south they’d come. The green and blue and white plaid painted on the door, though, did give him more information.
“Gerdens plaid,” he muttered, as they trotted into the stable yard.
“Aye,” Bear seconded. “We stay just long enough to water the horses and get a quick bite of breakfast.”
“I’m nae—”
“Ye’ve lost blood, and ye’ve nae had anything in yer gullet fer better than twelve hours.” Munro swung down from Saturn and stalked over to catch Beowulf’s bridle. “And neither have any of us.”
“I dunnae like it.” Frowning, unwilling to ride down his friend, Lachlan dismounted—and staggered as his boots touched the ground.
Bear caught him with an arm under his good shoulder. “I dunnae like it, either,” he muttered. “Ye’re nae the only man who’d give his life fer Winnie. Get someaught to eat. I’ll nae have ye slowing us doon.”
Lachlan took a breath. “I ken that, Bear. I’ve nae intention of holding ye back. But this—I—I should’ve protected her. However I feel aboot her, I shouldnae have forgotten the first rule at Glengask: always protect Rowena.”
Peter Gilling took charge of the horses and instructed that they be watered and wiped down, and ready to travel in twenty minutes. The rest of them walked into the inn, to find it already crowded with drovers and farmers and
travelers. A few months ago a group of MacLawry men in MacLawry plaid setting foot in a Gerdens tavern would have been enough to begin bloodshed. Today, except for a handful of baleful looks, they were left to themselves.
“I suppose we owe Arran thanks fer marrying a Campbell,” Bear commented under his breath, as they took seats at a rough-hewn table and benches close by the door.
“I’m nae so certain of that,” Lachlan returned. “Withoot peace, no Campbell or Gerdens would’ve been able to get within a mile of Rowena.”
“Aye. But if they had managed to get to her, they might’ve killed her instead of dragging her off.”
That idea chilled Lachlan all over again. Bear made a good point. With no truce, the MacLawrys and Campbells and all their septs and allies had been killing each other for centuries. Both Rowena and he could well have been just another pair of casualties. “Ye terrify me sometimes, Bear.”
The youngest MacLawry brother gave their breakfast request to the innkeeper before he favored Lachlan with a grim smile. “Ye’re just saying that to be nice.”
Peter Gilling joined them, and set a well-worn map on the table. “I paid one of the grooms a shilling fer this,” he muttered.
Lachlan nodded his thanks. Peter Gilling had known Rowena for her entire life, too. As Bear had said, he wasn’t the only man here willing to lay down his life for her. He needed to remember that. However desperate he was to find her, he wasn’t alone.
“Where the devil are we, then?” Bear grunted, turning the map to face him.
“Ye know I cannae read those scratches,” Peter returned, frowning. “And neither could young Gilbert the groom.”
“Ye’re here.” A hand reached over Peter’s shoulder, and a long forefinger indicated a spot about thirty miles north of Fort William, just off the north road.
Following the finger back up to its owner, Lachlan shoved to his feet, swearing. Munro was even faster. The tall, lean man didn’t move, and instead stood regarding them with cool hazel eyes. Reddish-brown hair hung across the right side of his face, partly obscuring the faint scar that ran from just beneath his ear and down to the right side of his mouth, giving him a permanently cynical expression.
“George Gerdens-Daily.” Bear clenched his fists. “I should’ve known ye’d be a part of this. Ye’re a dead man.”
Gerdens-Daily lifted his right eyebrow, the motion pulling at his scar and lifting the corner of his mouth. “I’m nae certain what it is I’m in the middle of, but I’m pleased to see ye, Lord Munro MacLawry. How’s yer shoulder?”
With a roar Bear threw himself across the table.
Damnation. “Bear, nae!” Lachlan grabbed his friend by the coat and hauled backward. The movement jarred his shoulder again, but bloody hell, they couldn’t afford the time for a brawl. Not when they were so badly outnumbered, and not when their first—only—task was to rescue Rowena.
“He took Winnie! Do ye nae see that?”
“Do ye think he’d be here if he did?” Lachlan pressed.
On the far side of the table, Gerdens-Daily cocked his head. “What’s this?” He motioned at the men leaving their breakfasts and hurrying forward to join the fight. “Easy, lads. This is personal between me and the giant.”
“Ye ken what it is!” Bear straightened, but that didn’t stop him from pointing and bellowing.
“If I’d done someaught to a MacLawry, I’d nae be shy aboot admitting it,” the other man drawled. “Shooting ye, fer instance. That’s been what, four years ago now?”
“Aye,” Munro returned. “And I’ve been looking forward to returning the favor ever since.”
“Well. Here I am.” Gerdens-Daily spread his arms.
Lachlan wouldn’t have wagered a penny that the Campbell man was unarmed. Bear would know it, as well, but that didn’t stop him from making another lunge. This time Lachlan shoved him sideways, wincing as the motion tore loose some of his stitches. “Nae. There’s only one Gerdens we’re after now. And it’s nae him.”
Finally Bear subsided, sitting again. “Aye.”
Gerdens-Daily, though, glanced from one of them to the other. “Berling’s somewhere in Canada, if he’s who ye’re after. That, I’d nae blame ye fer. In fact, I might help ye bury him.”
“We dunnae want him. Nae today.” Bear continued glaring at the man across the table. “It’s his brother I mean to put under the ground.”
“Dermid?” To Lachlan’s surprise, George Gerdens-Daily took a seat at one end of the bench, just beyond Peter Gilling. Whatever his other faults the man wasn’t a coward, and that was for damned certain. “What did that big ox do to ye?”
Lachlan drew in a short breath, for a moment wishing Munro was elsewhere. They didn’t need a short-tempered brawler for this conversation. The tangled history between the MacLawrys and this Gerdens had begun with fathers being murdered, shootings, and fights. In the past few months, however, while no one would say the animosity was finished, tensions had … lessened. This was not the time to renew old grudges.
“Dermid came to Glengask with the Campbell,” he said, being as succinct as he could with Munro glowering at him. “Last afternoon I was stabbed and Rowena MacLawry was taken. And now Dermid’s nowhere to be found.”
Gerdens-Daily gazed at him for a moment. “Let’s see,” he finally said.
“See what? I dunnae have time fer riddles.”
“Ye said, ‘I was stabbed,’ nae ‘Dermid stabbed me.’ So either ye didnae see who did it, or ye’re lying. So let’s see it.”
Scowling, Lachlan pulled his coat away from his left shoulder. He didn’t bother looking himself, but from his companions’ expressions he knew he was bleeding again. “It looks the same in the back,” he said, releasing the coat again.
Rubbing his chin with one hand, Gerdens-Daily nodded. “Why dunnae ye join me at my table?” he suggested, and rose to walk away to a lone table at the back of the inn.
Lachlan started to his feet, but Bear didn’t budge. “I’m nae wasting time flapping my jaw with a Gerdens,” the big man muttered. “Especially that one.”
“Then stay here. Today I dunnae care aboot yer pride, Munro. I’d clean his boots if he can give us any information aboot Dermid.”
Bear grabbed his arm. “Ye ken ye cannae trust him.”
“Aye. But I can listen. Eat yer eggs. Ye gave me yer word we’d be gone from here in ten more minutes.”
Rowena’s brother cursed, then picked up his mug and stalked toward the back of the inn’s common room. Lachlan wasn’t certain whether Gerdens-Daily truly had something to tell them that required more privacy than their front table provided, or if he already knew what Dermid had done and he meant to delay the pursuit. At the moment he was willing to take the risk of the latter in exchange for a chance of the former.
He seated himself opposite Gerdens-Daily. His companions, though, remained standing, a solid wall of angry Highlanders. Dermid and his cronies had been fools to cross the MacLawrys. And if he had his way, by noon they would all be dead fools.
“Do ye have some insight fer us, or do ye mean to gloat? I’ve nae time fer one, and nae patience fer the other.”
The innkeeper brought their breakfast of eggs and mutton, and Gerdens-Daily remained silent until the old man left again. Then he took a swallow of what smelled like American coffee. “Dermid’s nae a wee man, but how did he manage to stick ye and carry off the lass and get away withoot being shot a dozen times?”
“I got hit from behind. A second man grabbed her.” Lachlan put his hands flat on the table. “What do ye care, anyway?”
“So ye didnae see him,” the man continued, ignoring Lachlan’s question. “The Campbell told ye he’d gone missing then, I’d wager.”
“Aye, he told us,” Munro grumbled, managing somehow to keep his voice down. “And he said he was damned tired of the Gerdeneses, and we could put Dermid’s head on a pike, fer all he cared.”
That wasn’t precisely the conversation. It wasn’t precisely a lie, eithe
r, so Lachlan decided not to correct his friend. Instead he gazed at Gerdens-Daily levelly. “If yer curiosity’s been satisfied, why don’t ye tell us something useful? Unless ye’re only to keep us here.”
“Ye’re MacLawrys on Gerdens land. How far do ye think ye’ll get? And what in the devil’s name makes ye think ye’ll be able to find one man here?”
Swallowing a last bite of egg and drowning it with ale, Lachlan pushed back the bench and stood again. “We’ve an idea or two. The Campbell wants to keep this peace.”
“I dunnae care aboot the damned peace,” Gerdens-Daily returned, emotion touching his voice for the first time. “Alkirk didnae lose his father to a MacLawry.” He shoved his own plate away. “The MacLawrys did lose their seannair to a Gerdens, though.”
“Ye h—”
“I’ll nae stand by and let ye lose yer only sister to a Gerdens, too.” Gerdens-Daily stood. “I’ve a notion he’ll head fer an old ruin of a hoose called Denune Castle. I’ll take ye there, if ye’ll let me.”
Lachlan stared at him, as surprised by the offer as he was at the fact that both the Campbell and Gerdens-Daily had named the same property. That boded well for them—and for Rowena. If neither of them had an ulterior motive, that was. “Dermid’s yer cousin,” he said aloud. “Ye’re nae doing him any favors by talking to us.”
“Aye. Hence me keeping my voice doon. I’ll help ye if I can, but I’ve nae wish to be murdered by my own clan fer it.”
Gerdens-Daily knew the land here much better than they did, and that was for damned certain. In addition, a few weeks ago he’d stopped his clan from dragging a Sassenach bride away from Duncan Lenox—and her husband was a MacLawry chieftain. Whatever Gerdens-Daily’s game, he seemed to have his own sense of morality. And at the moment that would have to be enough.
Lachlan nodded. If he could help, he was welcome to do so. If he meant trouble, he was dead. Rescuing Rowena came before clan rivalries and old grudges. Even old murders. “Let’s be off, then. To Denune Castle.”
* * *
The horses slowed to a trot, and Rowena tensed her muscles against the hard hammering. A trot meant they’d slowed their flight, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Either they were no longer worried about pursuit, or they were near their destination.
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