A Highlander's Captive

by Aileen Adams

  “Och, what takes ye so long?”

  Rufus. Impatient as always, marching over to where she knelt in the soft, wet earth near the stream.

  Davina rolled her eyes before fixing him with a cool, hard stare. “Ye men took all the time ye needed to answer the call of nature, yet I cannot take a proper drink to refresh myself.”

  “I care little for whether ye happen to be refreshed, lass.”

  She imagined the sheer pleasure of holding his head under the water until he ceased thrashing. She would be doing the world a favor, truly, relieving it of a hateful, spiteful beast such as he. Her goodness would surely be renowned. Songs would be written in her honor once word spread.

  Yet instead of giving in to her most fervent desire, she merely took another, slow drink. Painfully slow. His fury all but burned her skin from where he stood.

  It was a struggle not to laugh, like that foolish cousin of his was wont to do. She’d heard tell of Drew MacIntosh, scrapper of the family, eternally fighting and drinking.

  Though there was never a tale of a woman being the worse for knowing him. There weren’t many men she knew of who could say the same for themselves.

  Certainly none of her blood.

  Clyde left them alone—his heavy, plodding footfalls faded to silence behind her. Rufus had more than likely waved him away behind her back. The leader of the group wished to share a private moment.

  She gritted her teeth, staring across the stream to the line of pine trees which lined the opposite bank, standing tall like soldiers and watching them as silently as Clyde had done. “Have your friends more questions for me?” she asked in a sweet tone which barely hid her disdain. “As they did last night?”

  “If they did, they would ask ye themselves,” he growled. “I wished to speak privately with ye before we continue on to the village.”

  “Very well, then. As there is little I can do to avoid ye…” She looked to the bandaged ankle of her bent knee, reminding him of her inability to run or even walk on her own. “What is it ye wish to discuss?”

  He crouched by her side, bending to splash his face. Oh, it would be so simple to throw herself on top of him and hold him down until he drowned.

  “Yourself, of course. You’ve said nothing of who ye might be, or what the prospect of finding your way home would be if we left ye in Crieff.”

  She scoffed, a soft laugh escaping her pursed lips. “I find it difficult to believe that ye would care about any such thing.”

  “Ye dinna know me, lass. Though to be honest, it was Alec and Tyrone who raised the question of how ye would find a way home with no gold or silver or even a horse to your name. I for one could not care less. I have other things to consider.”

  “I would not know of that. I’m merely a woman,” she whispered, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

  “A miserable one, at that,” he snorted.

  “Women find a way,” she sighed. “I, too, shall find my way home. I doubt it will take me long to do so.” What she could not share was how little she cared for her home. It would make no difference if she never saw it again. In fact, she might be much happier if it were to come to that.

  She had no home. Not anymore. How could she return to a place of misery, full of bitter memories and the possibility of waking one morning to find a MacFarland man riding up to the gate in the fence which ran around the house and surrounding structures?

  The very thought made her shiver and clasp her elbows, holding her arms close to her body.

  Rufus grunted. “I canna say I much like the thought of it, and I can say with certainty that the others will not care much for the notion.”

  She eyed him warily. Once again, he would pretend to be kind. “It is no concern of yours. I might have starved or been food for the wolves by now. I believe ye have done enough, and I would not hold it against ye if I came to a bad end.”

  “I would hold it against myself.”

  “No concern of mine. I’m just a woman, and I know nothing of the important things of which men are aware.” She turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “It seems to me ye would have much more important things to worry yourself over than the fate of a lowly woman.”

  “Enough of your sharp-tongued devilishness,” he snarled. “I was a fool to speak of it. Now I know better than to show ye even the slightest bit of concern. I shall not make the same mistake again.” He stood with a decidedly sharp exhale and glared down at her.

  Oh, but he was even more handsome when he was angry. His eyes reminded her of new spring grass, so green it seemed unreal, blazing away in fury and threatening to steal her breath when she made the mistake of gazing into them.

  “Wait. Please.” She held up her hands as though to submit. “I was merely giving back to ye what ye gave to me. Belittling me for being a woman. Perhaps we can be done with it now.”

  He growled, his already sharp jaw tightening further still until she thought she could cut a pane of glass on its edge. “I came to ye in good faith, merely to ask whether there was anything else we might do for ye. ‘Tis all.”

  “Thank ye for that. Truly. Ye have offered me a greater kindness than any I’ve ever known. I do not just say this. I mean it.”

  This seemed to mollify him, his brow smoothing from its customary frown. When he calmed himself, he was exceedingly pleasant to gaze upon. She could imagine many a woman curling his long, red-streaked brown locks around her fingers.

  What was wrong with her?

  She tried to stand on her own, but it was quite an endeavor to do so. He sighed before taking her under the arms and hauling her up so quickly that she lost her balance, being on one foot as she was, and fell against him.

  “Steady, now,” he murmured, hands clasping her waist, allowing her to lean against his chest for a breathless moment. A single, heady, breathless moment. How she longed to rest there, his chest a pillow, his arms holding her upright. A longing she hadn’t been aware of until that very moment.

  She was so very tired.

  Then the tartan beneath her cheek reminded her of the man’s blood. His MacIntosh blood. That he wore the colors at all was a frightful risk to take, with the government already having passed an act forbidding the wearing of such garments. While she did not believe it was yet enforced, he might easily attract the attention of loyalists still preening over the defeat of the Jacobites.

  They were not of the same clan. He was her enemy, if only because of the actions her brother had taken. There was no resting against him.

  “Thank ye,” she murmured, putting her hands to his chest to push herself away before she was lost forever to his strength and warmth.

  He looked down at her, his eyes large and as green as the surrounding wood, searching her face as though they studied a half-drawn map and struggled to make sense of what they saw. “Who left ye behind? Who was craven enough to leave a woman on her own to die?”

  What would he say if she told him? Surely, he would not believe her to be untruthful. He would believe nearly anything blamed upon her brother, his hatred was so deep and well-deserved.

  If the rumors were to be believed, Ian had done much worse.

  Could she confess? No, because then he would wonder why she had not done so from the first. He might call her a spy, might refuse to take her along any further. And she did so wish to find somewhere to rest her head, somewhere that wasn’t wooded. Perhaps somewhere with a roof.

  So, she worked her way around his question instead of coming out with the truth. “Ye must know as well as I that this world is full of terrible men. Men who think nothing of using a woman, then leaving her behind once her value is no more.”

  His eyes hardened, darkened, no longer searching hers, but instead looking far away, seeing something else. Someone else, perhaps. His throat worked when he swallowed, the muscles jumping in his jaw. A great wave of emotion swept over him, she realized, and she thought she might know where that emotion started from.

  “Aye.” His lip curled in a
snarl. “I know of such men. I know there are men who would kill a man and his wife in their bed, the two of them all but defenseless. There are men who would beat and scourge the rightful owner of a parcel of land which had been in that owner’s family for centuries before turning him out, half-dead.”

  “He killed your family, this man?” Davina whispered, trembling.

  “Indeed, he did. I was away, fighting, when I got word. There was nothing to be done then, so the bastard got away with his evil deeds. I’ll have his head for it.”

  “I believe ye will.” And Ian deserved it. All of it. She’d been all but certain the tales were true, that he’d murdered the MacIntosh couple. That wasn’t the same as hearing it from their son’s own mouth.

  Good thing that she had not revealed herself. He hated her brother enough to take his hatred out on her. It was in his voice, in the way his hands tightened around her arms. The snarl twisting his features, turning his handsome face into something sinister.

  He cleared his throat, raising his chin as though he’d just come to his senses, and suddenly looked more like himself. “We had better be on our way, then, as I am now on my way to finding him and bringing him to justice.”

  “I see.” So that was the long and short of it. She’d been right from the start. He would likely scoff to find out she’d understood his mind so easily. Merely a woman.

  “Come, then.” He slid an arm around her waist and helped her back to the horse. She averted her eyes before any of the men could catch her gaze, her cheeks flushing suddenly.

  She had not flushed when Clyde held her this way.

  Then again, he had not held her this way, had he? And his hands had not lingered at her waist on lifting her into the saddle. She had not wished for them to, either.

  He nodded in response to her murmured thanks, their eyes locking for the briefest moment. At that moment, she was certain of just one thing, that she wanted this man and his friends to find Ian and slice the very flesh from his bones.

  For if there was nothing else this man had granted her, it was the knowledge that there were indeed men of his nature. Those who would truly care whether a woman lived or died, who would provide assistance when she was in dire need.

  He had not once asked if she had anything to offer him in return. None of them had.

  Yes, it would be for the best if she remained silent as to who she was. In fact, if he had not already known Ian was moving northwest, she would have found a way to tell Rufus so. She was that certain that he deserved his vengeance.

  If only she could be there to see it with her own eyes.

  6

  Crieff was more a town than a village, full of merchants, tradesmen, women walking the streets carrying baskets of flowers, vegetables, cakes and breads. Their shouting and singing, calling out to passerby and announcing their wares, was nearly enough to cause an ache in his head.

  Rufus was in a dark mood all around. Crieff meant the chance of hearing word of MacFarland, who had like as not, passed through only days earlier.

  It also meant leaving the lass behind, which was for the best but still gave him cause for concern. A wicked lass, yes, with a wicked tongue. But a lass nonetheless, one with no protection in a town rumored to be full of both tradesmen and Highlanders passing through.

  Not every Highlander believed in treating women fairly. There were many who earned the reputation given to those from the Highlands. Rough, lawless, unprincipled. Little more than animals.

  And they were about to leave the lass alone, like a sheep among the wolves.

  He had nothing to offer her. Not even a few pence for a horse to take her home. He did not much enjoy knowing she might be forced to perform the sort of work women did when they were otherwise without choices. She would either debase herself or starve.

  Just as she might have starved in the woods.

  Perhaps, if given a choice, she might wish she’d starved there after all. He’d done her no great favor by bringing her with him.

  The nearest tavern sat near the center of town, in the middle of everyone and everything. It would be a meeting place for everyone with news, business to transact, or gossip to spread. “As likely a place as any to hear of anything,” Rufus decided with a look around at the others.

  They nodded. Even Clyde.

  “And a likely place in which to leave me,” the lass muttered under her breath.

  He ignored this, for she seemed a reasonable person—even for a woman—and would know there was nothing else to be done. He did not expect her to enjoy the prospect.

  The tavern was clean, at any rate. Freshly whitewashed, the doorstep swept spotless, even the panes in the windows were clear of soot and dirt. Had it been a rough, stinking, vile place, he would not have found it in him to leave the lass behind.

  He knew this upon experiencing relief at finding it rather respectable. Who was the lass turning him into? Just one short day with her—most of it filled with bitter, nasty words, at that—and he was practically a woman, himself. Caring, concerned, all but fretting over what was to become of her. Pathetic.

  So long as the others were unaware, which it appeared as though they were. Alec and Tyrone murmured between themselves, comparing the lasses they passed and wagering on which of them would be willing to warm a man’s bed for the right price.

  “Aye,” Clyde muttered, jerking his head upward to where the lass sat in the saddle. Reminding them there was a woman present.

  They had the good sense to appear contrite, at least.

  “Forgive us,” Alec mumbled. “We aren’t accustomed to bein’ in the presence of a lass.”

  She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ve heard much worse, and that’s a fact. There isn’t much ye could say that would surprise or shock me.”

  “How is that, then?” Drew asked. “Did ye come up among many brothers?”

  She nodded. “With all manner of filthy thoughts and words and deeds. They never thought twice about giving voice to their thoughts while I was near, no matter how unseemly or improper for a young lass.”

  And yet she had spoken of none of them before this. And none of them had come to look for her. He cleared his throat before speaking. “What of them? Will none of these brothers think it strange for ye to be gone, without them, for so long? With no word of ye?”

  Her eyes betrayed her. They were sharp, doleful, both toward him and perhaps toward herself for having spoken freely without considering what it was she said. “They make their homes throughout the country—those who survived the war,” she added.

  A likely story. No way to prove whether she spoke the truth. What would she have to gain by lying? He was not certain, but there was no ridding himself of the certainty that she withheld a great deal.

  They tied off the horses at the post running alongside the tavern, and Rufus noted how clean even that area was. Someone had gone so far as to pick up the horse droppings. Rare, indeed, though he supposed the place would develop a terrible stench otherwise.

  Once buckets were filled at the well and used to water the beasts, they went inside.

  “I’ll help ye,” he offered, reaching for her waist, but she shrugged him off.

  “I might just as well get along on my own,” she explained. “I mean no offense.”

  “Ye could not offend me,” he lied, watching as she limped along, ready to catch her if she began to fall. Perhaps if she were ugly or stupid, he might not care as much. He told himself this in hopes that he had not gone entirely daft over her.

  The truth was, the lass was not a bad sort, and he did not much like the notion of her coming to a bad end. He could not help it.

  This was a far cry from old Brodric’s place in Perth, with its filthy floors and grimy tables, its mugs which looked sorely in need of a good scrubbing even after the old man finished washing them. Not that the conditions back there ever left him with an empty tavern or purse. Neither was the case, and not only because Drew’s antics kept the patrons coming back to see who h
e would lure into a fight on a particular day.

  A man in need of a great deal of ale rarely cared about the conditions in which he happened to be drinking it.

  “Drinks all around,” Drew announced. “I can afford a bit of generosity.” He strode down the length of the room, between two rows of long, wooden tables over which men bent with bowls of stew, hunks of bread, and always a mug.

  “He’d do better to spend his coin on stew,” the lass observed with a wry grin.

  “Aye, that would be Drew,” Rufus chuckled. “Not one for practical matters.” He watched his cousin hold a brief conversation with the man pouring from a large barrel, gesturing to the group of them across the room.

  “What shall ye do now?” Rufus was unable to keep from asking the woman. By the gods, he didn’t even know her name and thought it might be too late to ask.

  “I cannot say,” she admitted as she took a seat on the bench alongside their table. “I will find a way somehow. This is not the first time I’ve had no choice but to live.”

  “On your own?”

  “Aye.”

  “Without your brothers?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why are they of such interest to ye? Why am I? Do ye not know, of the hardships a woman faces when she is thought of last? Not a son, not of a wealthy family, so nothing to offer a family in a better position through marriage. She is nothing. Barely an afterthought. My brothers do not care for me, and I have no parents.”

  She shamed him with her admission. He forgot at times that not all men were like himself. If she were his sister, he’d have moved heaven and earth to protect her. “Forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive ye for,” she shrugged. He heard her meaning. Nothing he’d done. Her brothers, on the other hand, deserved her ire. He agreed with her.

  Drew caught his eye as he returned, and with a quick motion of his head signaled Rufus to step away. He joined his cousin near the door. “What did you hear? Anything about MacFarland?”

  “Nay, but I did hear that one, there, muttering something about a mistake.” He nodded toward a grizzled old man in threadbare clothing with a patch over one eye and a bald head covered in scars, as though someone had taken knives to him. He had seen quite a bit through that single eye of his, Rufus supposed.