Love with a Scottish Outlaw

by Gayle Callen

  “Finn—is that short for Fiona?”

  “Finola,” Finn said glumly.

  “And what is your surname?”

  “Hume.”

  “Finn, I hope that someday ye’re proud of your name and can use it freely. I won’t make ye do so here. And I won’t tell your secret until ye’re ready.”

  “Thank ye, sir.”

  “But I’m glad ye told me the truth, that ye trusted me. Now trust me with your future, and know that I will do my best for ye.”

  Finn nodded, but didn’t meet Duncan’s eyes. After she left, Duncan regretted that she looked so dispirited. He vowed not to disappoint her.

  Cat spent an awkward evening considering everything she’d done. Once again, she’d rushed heedlessly into a decision, chasing after Duncan, without giving thought to the consequences—one of which was losing her virginity, she thought wryly. She’d made the decision herself, but still . . . did that mean she trusted him? No, she refused to consider that. She’d shared an intimacy with him, but it had ended. She wasn’t entrusting him with her life.

  The other consequence of her choice to be with Duncan was that everyone knew they’d gone off for hours alone. She felt like they all knew that she’d given herself to their chief.

  Sheena knew. Cat had never seen a woman mope around so much, dispiritedly helping clean up the last of the dishes, slinking off to sit by herself with her father, Melville, who patted her shoulder and glared at Cat.

  Cat knew she was hot with a blush, and leaned closer to the cauldron of hot water, hoping everyone would think that was the reason.

  And then there was Finn, who seemed just as depressed. When Cat finally confronted the girl, she only said that she’d told Duncan the truth, and though he’d been kind, he hadn’t changed his mind about finding her a home. Finn pulled a blanket over her head on her pallet and fell asleep early. If she actually slept, Cat couldn’t be certain.

  Cat herself found her pallet soon after, and almost wished she could hide under a blanket, too. She imagined people staring at her back, thinking her a harlot—or a “fancy lass,” she remembered with faint amusement.

  And she was, in truth, Duncan’s fancy lass, and had been quite willing about it, too. As she lay dozing, images came to her of the afternoon lying beneath him. Her breasts were still sensitive, and between her legs—oh, she still blushed to remember what he’d done to her, how he’d pleasured her. She was no longer a virgin, had nothing to offer her husband on her wedding night.

  Any man who cared about that wasn’t worth marrying, she told herself sternly.

  But beneath her bluster was a creeping undertone of doubt. Never before had she met a man she’d even wanted to risk her reputation on. Oh, she’d snuck away for an occasional moment alone at a ball, had even been kissed before—and liked it.

  But only Duncan, a Scottish outlaw who’d betrayed her and held her captive, had made her pull off her own garments in her haste to be with him.

  And it had been worth it.

  What was she supposed to make of that?

  At last she fell asleep, and it seemed little time had passed at all before she was awakened by an odd sound. She rolled over onto her back and heard the snores of a handful of men—all the others were on patrol looking for the kidnappers. A few torches still burned on the walls, but the peat fires were nothing but embers. She lifted her head, listening, and at the narrow opening between two screens, saw movement at the entrance to the cave—a person sneaking past a dozing Melville. A small person.

  Finn.

  Cat quietly put on her shoes, pulled the laces of her gown tighter, and followed the young girl. Most likely she was going out to tend the horses. Now that she’d been taught to work with them, Finn seemed to have found a measure of peace with the animals.

  Melville made a snorting noise as Cat passed by. She lifted a torch from the wall, said quietly, “I’ll be with the horses,” and he nodded and lowered his chin to his chest again.

  But Finn wasn’t with the horses, who crowded toward her eagerly for treats. She patted noses and necks as she looked around, but there wasn’t a sound. Apparently Finn did not want to be found, and Cat had a prickly, uneasy sensation spread across her skin. Dawn was beginning, a gray smudge in the eastern sky. After one of the guards gave a nod as he went past, Cat put the torch out in a bucket and began to roam the area outside the cave, from the woods to the paddock, to the burn Duncan used for his bath. At last she looked straight up, at the towering turret of the Carlyle castle on the cliff. Would Finn really have gone up there, when she’d expressly been forbidden?

  Letting out a sigh, Cat picked her way up the path in the gloom, glad that each passing moment brought more and more light. Her skirts caught on bushes, she tripped once over a rock that blended in to the dirt, but with every step climbed, she felt more confident. She came up at last to the open area in front of the gatehouse, lifting her skirts, ready to march in there and drag Finn back by the ear if necessary—

  And then she saw Finn running straight toward the path, toward her. The terror on the girl’s white face made Cat’s lungs seize, her heart kick in to a wild beat. She only had a moment to realize she would protect brave, wonderful Finn until the day Cat died. Then the true danger revealed itself. A stranger on horseback galloped behind Finn, his cloak swirling in the wind, his head lowered over the horse’s neck, one arm reaching for the girl.

  Chapter 21

  Cat wasn’t in the cave when Duncan appeared for breakfast. It was Melville who told him that Cat had followed Finn to the horses some time ago.

  “It’s barely light out,” Duncan said, frowning. “How long is some time ago?”

  Melville swallowed hard. “’Twas dark outside, sir. And I might have . . . closed me eyes a bit.”

  Or perhaps not cared much, since in the older man’s mind, Cat was competition for the foolish dreams he was encouraging in his daughter.

  Duncan gritted his teeth. “Do not allow such a thing to happen again.”

  The man gave several bobs of the head as Duncan strode past him outside. The night guard confirmed that Cat had gone to the paddock, but Duncan couldn’t find her there, and her favorite horse—all the horses—were accounted for. Had she gone for a stroll in such dangerous times? He searched the entire outdoor encampment and found nothing. He had to have missed something. Back inside, he tried the pool cave, where he surprised Torcall floating contentedly on his back, naked. Upon seeing Duncan, Torcall flailed and sank beneath the surface.

  But no Cat. Maeve was waiting in the great hall when he returned.

  “I cannot find Finn, either,” Maeve said in a low voice, twisting her hands in her apron. “Mistress Catherine has disappeared before, Laird Carlyle.”

  “Aye, but usually with me or the men. There are no missing horses,” Duncan added with frustration. “I cannot believe they would just start walking to the village.” And then he stiffened. “The castle.”

  Outside, he hurried up the steep jagged path, then jogged across the open grounds and through the gatehouse.

  “Catherine?” He wanted to call her by her real name, as if that would make her appear faster. “Finn?”

  There was no answer but the wail of the wind through the reeds. Cat and Finn were gone.

  He went back through the gatehouse and, to his surprise, saw fresh hoofprints. He didn’t know when the last time he’d ridden here had been, and no one else came this way. The hoofprints seemed to head right for the path, which no horse would have an easy time of—and then he saw a woman’s shoe lying in the mud.

  The shot of fear was almost shocking, paralyzing. Cat’s shoe. Or was it? He picked it up and began to run down the path, jumping over bushes, climbing through rocks, sliding through scree near the bottom, anything for a more direct trail straight down. He ran into the cave, holding the shoe high.

  “Maeve!” he barked.

  Everyone jumped and froze.

  “Is this the shoe ye gave Catherine?” he de
manded.

  Maeve began to nod before he even reached her. “Where did ye find it?”

  “Up at the castle. She and Finn are gone.” He looked at Torcall and Angus. “Pack provisions for a several-day journey. I’ll ready the horses.”

  He turned.

  “Laird Carlyle,” Maeve called.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Do ye think someone took ’em?”

  “Aye, I do.”

  Her look of fear only echoed his thoughts. Had someone realized who Cat was and took her for ransom? He told himself that since they hadn’t killed her, they surely had no plans to. But since Finn was also gone, he had to consider that Sheriff Welcker and his men might have succeeded in stealing another child right out from under his nose.

  He and his two men rode off, knowing there was only one road up to the castle—only one way down for horses. The kidnappers couldn’t have much of a start, and they had two very unwilling prisoners.

  Cat never would have been exposed to such danger if he’d just taken her home right from the beginning. His selfish need for vengeance might have put her in the path of a man so bloodthirsty he didn’t care what happened to children, as long as his pockets grew heavier with gold.

  And Finn—the little girl so afraid of the world she’d had to pretend to be a boy. Duncan hadn’t kept her safe, had let her be plunged back into her worst fears.

  Duncan knew the sheriff’s men made occasional forays to the castle ruins to look for him, and he’d always been well-prepared. But this night raid had been a new tactic, and it had caught a helpless woman and child, instead of him. But at least he knew the sheriff never bothered to disguise his tracks, had always felt superior to the “savages” of the Highlands. Duncan reached a main horse trail, where tracks were obscured by others, and then he had to make a choice. The sheriff wouldn’t head deeper into the Highlands, nor would he go to Glasgow. If the rumors were true, he had three children now, at least—and a woman—and it would be the coast he’d aim for. There were two paths to Loch Lomond, while Duncan had only two men. The extra man would have to serve as the go-between. It was only a several-hour journey to the loch, but where along its coast would the men await the next stage of their journey?

  And what would happen to Cat while they passed the time?

  His stomach tightened, and he fought back his fear. It wouldn’t do her any good, and would only impede him. He’d spent a lot of years mastering his emotions, and he fell back on that experience now.

  In the end, the two clansmen saw signs of them first, and one doubled back to find Duncan. By the time the three of them trailed the group to a hidden bay of Loch Lomond, where barren mountains rose above the tree-lined coast, it was obvious a rescue attempt couldn’t easily be made. Duncan and his men worked their way through trees at a crouch, and then on their bellies until they overlooked the rocky coast. Duncan took no satisfaction that at last Sheriff Welcker himself was there, since there were five other men with him. It was obvious by the weapons on their belts, and the way they carried themselves, that these were no mere clansmen but mercenaries. Duncan and his two men might attack six, but the odds were they’d lose, or some of the captives might die. He couldn’t take such a risk.

  When he saw Cat, alive and unharmed, he thought he’d feel a measure of relief. And he did. But he hadn’t imagined how his gut would clench, his fear would threaten. She sat with three children gathered around her skirts, a young one literally clinging to her, though Cat’s hands were tied together in her lap. Finn sat nearby, stiff with trying to look brave, though she, like the other children, was bound. Cat herself, though white-faced, exuded calm.

  Duncan signaled his men, and they all crawled backward, away from the sheriff’s encampment on the beach, until it felt safe enough to speak in low tones.

  “Angus, you gather our patrols and bring them here.”

  Angus grimaced. “I know the paths, aye, but to track them all down could take through the night.”

  “I know, which is why I want Torcall”—he turned to the other man—“to go to Castle Kinlochard and tell the Earl of Aberfoyle that his sister, Lady Catriona, is in danger.”

  Both men gaped at Duncan.

  “Lady Catriona . . . ?” Angus began. “She’s Mistress Catherine?”

  “Aye. We’ll discuss it later. Tell the earl to bring all the men he can spare.” Duncan glanced grimly back through the trees toward the loch. “I’ll do my best to delay them until ye arrive.”

  “But how will ye—”

  “There’s no time for discussions. Go!”

  Crouching, the two men headed back toward the horses. Alone, Duncan crawled on his belly to take the measure of his enemies. He spent a long time estimating their strengths and weaknesses. The sheriff paced as if on edge, and the mercenaries calmly talked among themselves. The littlest child cried against Cat’s breast on and off.

  And then a small two-masted fishing lugger sailed into the bay just before dusk, and Duncan’s hopes sank. They would smuggle a human cargo at night, because once they reached the river, there’d be more traffic, more questions during the daylight hours. The darkest part of night was creeping on them, and the moon that rose was only a sliver, which would aid the kidnappers but delay his reinforcements.

  Duncan didn’t have much time to act. Slowly, he backed up through the brush, then came down to the shore of the loch beyond the bay itself. He stripped off his garments, hefted his dirk, waded into the freezing water, and began to swim around the point, only slowing when he knew his vigorous strokes might be seen. Head barely out of the water, arms moving beneath the surface, he swam to the back of the ship, where it loomed up out of the dark to protect him. He could hear the men on the shore now, saw the cook fire. Some of the sailors had rowed a small boat ashore, but there was probably still a man or two aboard.

  Very quietly, Duncan explored the hull, until he found a weak spot near the surface, where a hole had already been patched. Several times he took in a mouthful of water and fought not to cough. With his dirk, he pried a hole between the narrow boards and slowly widened it. Occasionally he had to take a break from bobbing by holding onto the anchor chain. But eventually, when he put his fingers into the carved slit, he could feel water seeping in. He slowly swam out of the bay and around the point. After drying himself off with his plaid, he dressed again and made his way back to his hidden overlook.

  Cat forced herself to eat some of the rabbit meat her kidnappers offered, though she didn’t feel at all hungry. They didn’t untie her, and though she could have fed herself, they took turns putting their fingers to her mouth and laughing with each other. She shuddered.

  It had been a long, terrifying day, starting with the horror of watching a stranger lean over and grab a running Finn around the waist and swing her over the front of his saddle. Cat had chased after them, screaming, flailing her arms, but she needn’t have worried about being left behind as a witness. A second man had done the same thing to her, as if she weighed no more than Finn. It seemed like hours passed as she’d lain on her stomach across the horse, every pounding hoofbeat jarring her, bruising her ribs. Her kidnapper seemed quite happy to keep a hand on her backside, giving an occasional squeeze. She couldn’t see where they were going, because she couldn’t keep her head arched up long enough to find out.

  When they’d at last stopped behind a copse of trees for a midday meal, Cat had fallen forward when the man pulled her off the horse, because her legs wouldn’t support her. She’d come up on her elbow, every gasp for breath making her ribs ache, and saw Finn. The girl had been cowering in a heap, arms covering her head as if to block out what had happened to her—again.

  Though one man had stood guard by Finn, the other two had looked Cat over and spoken with coarse English accents. For the hours leading up to the stop, she’d frantically debated: should she reveal her identity and attempt to negotiate their release, or pretend to be a simple Scottish housewife. In the end, the latter had won ou
t, and she figured she could always change her mind later. Luckily, they were more interested in getting back to their leader, who, she was told, would deal with her.

  But on the shores of Loch Lomond, their leader, Sheriff Welcker, a thin, nervous-looking man, seemed glad that she could talk calmly to the children and keep them under control. Finn was the oldest, the only girl. One child couldn’t have been more than three years, and spent the rest of the day clinging to Cat and crying in ragged outbursts that only subsided to whimpers when Cat comforted him. They didn’t bother to tie up the littlest one. The other boy, six or seven years old, sat stiff and wide-eyed, and didn’t even seem to notice the food she awkwardly tried to put into his fingers. She got the name Adam out of the littlest boy, but the other wouldn’t speak at all, poor thing.

  When Cat had seen the small ship sail into the bay, she’d begun to let go of the last tenuous hope that someone would find them. “Let me keep ’er,” one of the mercenaries said again.

  Cat shuddered. This debate had been going on all day. She thought being with the children protected her some, but now that they were encamped on the shores of the loch, she could be dragged off into the woods at any time.

  “Nay, she’ll fetch a pretty penny on a plantation,” the sheriff insisted.

  He seemed to be enamored of the fact that he might earn more with her, as if he was only now considering expanding his commerce into the sales of women. She shuddered. When several men had come from the ship to join them, she’d tried to keep her face averted.

  But then there’d come a shout from the ship itself, and the captain rowed his small boat back. Cat could hear the cursing from shore. The sheriff waited, practically on his toes as he craned to see what was going on at the ship, but the night was too dark.

  The boat returned, the captain got out and swore again. “There’s a leak in the hull. We’ll no be goin’ anywhere until it’s patched, and we cannot see to patch it. We’ll be spendin’ the night pumpin’ her out to stay afloat.”