The Englishman glared at him. ‘I’m aware of that, sir. Very well, I’d best report back to the captain. In the meantime, if you see the prisoner, kindly apprehend him and send word.’
‘Aye, that I will,’ Seton promised.
But he knew he’d lost this game as well. It was time for desperate measures. He needed the MacGregors.
When Brice woke up he was so stiff that at first he wasn’t sure he could move at all. He groaned and tried to lever himself into a sitting position, but his bruised ribs screamed in protest and he had to make a supreme effort just to perform this simple manoeuvre. Marsaili stirred and blinked up at him, her green eyes full of concern yet again.
‘Brice? Are you all right?’ she asked, smoothing back a long red-gold tress which had fallen across her face. Her thick braid had come loose and the glorious mass of curls was spread out around her. Brice wanted to reach out and twine his fingers round the softness of it, but couldn’t manage even that at present.
Instead he drank in the sight of her, all tousled and flushed from sleep. She’d looked even lovelier early that morning when he made love to her, twice, before they both fell into exhausted slumber. A certain part of his anatomy remembered this as well, but he was in no state to carry on where he’d left off, much as he would wish to.
He shook his head, even this small motion hurting like hell. ‘No, I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of bullocks.’
She smiled slightly and sat up, reaching out a hand to touch his bare chest which was none too pretty in the light of day. He glanced at it and took in the bruises and contusions which mottled his normally golden skin. ‘It will heal,’ she said, ‘but we need to get you home. I have salves that will help and perhaps a hot bath with certain herbs … but there’s nothing I can do for you here.’
He arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Nothing?’ he queried softly, raising his own hand to caress her smooth cheek. His muscles protested, but he ignored them. He couldn’t resist touching her a moment longer. She was too beautiful for words.
She blushed crimson and turned away. ‘For shame, you can barely move. How can you think about … about that at a time like this?’
‘With you around, I think of nothing else,’ he answered truthfully, but she seemed to think he was joking for she just shook her head and scrambled off the sleeping platform.
‘I’ll go and get the garrons,’ she told him. ‘Try and get yourself dressed and I’ll help you mount. We really shouldn’t tarry here any longer.’
When she’d ducked out of the hut, he sighed, but he knew she was right. This was neither the time nor the place to pursue what had happened between them. It would have to wait until he’d sorted out his other problems.
Trying to take only shallow breaths, he reached for his shirt.
They made their way along the narrow mountain tracks slowly, trusting Liath to alert them to any dangers. The ponies were sure-footed and nimble and Marsaili’s mount seemed to have recovered enough for her to ride him. Even so, they got off to walk whenever they came to any dangerous parts, despite Brice’s injured foot. Marsaili heard the little grunts of discomfort he made every so often and wished there was something she could do for him. But the best thing would be if they could reach Rosyth as quickly as possible.
Truth to tell, she was a little sore herself, although obviously it was as nothing compared to what he was suffering. She shifted her position so the saddle wouldn’t chafe her nether regions. She could hardly believe the things she’d allowed Brice to do to her, but at the time, she’d been unable to help herself. He had completely enthralled her with his love-making and she’d forgotten all her promises to herself.
Fool! she thought. How could she have given in so easily?
As if he was thinking along the same lines, Brice glanced over his shoulder at her and said, ‘Marsaili, about what happened …’
She looked away. ‘It’s fine. Let’s not discuss it now,’ she said, trying to keep her voice flat and emotionless. She couldn’t bear for him to tell her he’d only taken what she offered so freely. That in the cold light of day he regretted it and as laird he needed to look higher for a wife. There was no need to have it spelled out.
‘But what if …?’
‘I’ll inform you if there is to be a child,’ she snapped. ‘Please, I don’t want to talk about it now. I’m bone weary and so are you.’
He frowned at her, searching her eyes with his, then he nodded. ‘Very well, but we will discuss it when we’re both rested.’
‘Fine,’ she agreed, but she had no intention of letting him bring the subject up ever again. He’d had his sport and that was all he’d get from her. If there was a child, she would make sure he paid for its upkeep, but otherwise, she’d forget anything had ever happened between them.
Remembering would be too painful.
They decided to approach Rosyth House from the opposite direction to that normally taken in order to make sure the Redcoats weren’t lying in wait for them. They left the ponies in the small forest by the loch while they crept up towards the house and made their way to the secret door Marsaili had used to escape from the bedroom. It was almost pitch dark by the time they arrived and they neither saw nor heard anyone.
Brice’s bedchamber was exactly as Marsaili had told him she’d left it, with the chest still wedged against the door. ‘No one’s been in here,’ she whispered.
‘Doesn’t look like it, no.’ Brice threw a look of longing at his bed, but knew he couldn’t relax yet. They had to find out what was happening in the rest of the house.
With Marsaili’s help, he silently moved the chest out of the way and tried the door. To his surprise, it opened and on the outside he found the key in the lock. He removed it and closed the door once more, locking it from the inside.
‘What are you doing?’ Marsaili breathed.
‘I want you to stay here while I go and find out what’s going on downstairs.’
‘But …’
‘You’ll be safe in here and I won’t be using the normal routes.’ He gestured towards the secret entrance.
‘Oh, I see.’
He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Promise me you won’t venture out until I come back? I’m sorry I have to leave you in darkness, but it’s better not to announce our presence just yet.’
‘Very well, but please hurry.’
He headed back into the secret passageway, but instead of going down the stairs the way they’d come, he opened another door to the right, just inside the panelling. It too had been cleverly hidden and he doubted Marsaili had noticed it when she used the staircase the first time. Once through this door, he had access to the warren of passages which criss-crossed the house, and he made good use of them now, albeit walking slowly. It’s a good thing Father made me memorise all these routes, he thought, since I can’t see a thing. His body felt as if every part of him was on fire, the strain of riding for so long having taken its toll.
He was amazed to see no sign of either the Redcoats or Seton anywhere. Instead he spied Ramsay and Alex in the great hall, pacing back and forth, discussing what they should do. It was a relief to see that they, at least, had been left alone.
‘We can’t ride after them now, it’s too dark,’ Ramsay was saying. ‘We’ll have to wait until morning, else we’ll just get lost. Then what use will we be?’
‘But we can’t sit around doing nothing,’ Alex protested. ‘The Lord only knows what they’re doing to him!’
‘I know, I know, but we can’t risk leaving now. It wouldn’t be any use without a guide.’
‘Then let’s find one! What about that Iain fellow?’
Ramsay snorted. ‘He didn’t look like he’d be much help. He didn’t even believe Brice had been taken until the cook told him what was what.’
Brice didn’t stay to hear any more. It was clear to him there were no enemies in the house at present and should they arrive, he could always hide in the passages again. He went back upstairs to collect
Marsaili and told her what he’d heard. Together, they made their way to the great hall.
‘Brice! And Miss Buchanan? What in the name of all that’s holy …?’ Ramsay was the first to catch sight of them. ‘Dear God, but what’s happened to you, man?’ His eyes opened wide as he took in Brice’s black eye and other cuts and bruises.
‘I’ll tell you in a moment, but first – have you seen Seton? Or any English soldiers?’
‘No, none, and as for that factor of yours, he’s gone off somewhere with part of his gold.’
‘Part of his … how do you know?’
Alex looked slightly sheepish and lifted up a small casket from a nearby table. ‘I checked,’ he said. ‘Most of it is still here, but he’s definitely taken at least a pouch full.’
Brice smiled at the youth and shook his head. ‘Thank you. I suppose you’d better give me that so I can hide it somewhere. I take it you’ve helped yourself to a “percentage”?’
Alex grinned. ‘Only a very small one. You did say I could.’
Brice nodded, but held out his hand for the casket. He didn’t want Alex to be tempted to take any more.
‘Can we discuss all this at a later time?’ Marsaili put in. ‘Br … that is, the laird needs a hot bath and some bandages.’
‘That bad, eh?’ Ramsay frowned at him.
‘I’ve felt better,’ Brice admitted ruefully. ‘But I need to be sure we’re safe first. I can’t risk those Redcoats surprising us again.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll fight them off. Go and have your bath.’ Ramsay extracted a couple of pistols from his capacious pockets and laid them on a table next to a chair, before sitting down. ‘You might want to leave the hound here too.’
Brice looked around and was surprised to find Liath sitting behind them, tongue lolling after his long run earlier. They’d left him outside so he must have found his own way in. A moment later Archie came running into the room and cannoned into Brice, throwing his arms around his legs. ‘You’re back! I saw Liath in the courtyard and hardly dared hope it was true.’
‘Ouch!’ Brice tried to loosen the boy’s grip, but Archie had obviously been very worried and it was like trying to prise open a stubborn oyster. In the end, he picked the boy up and gave him a fierce hug. ‘Yes, I’m here, but I’m none too clean so would you mind if I had a bath before I tell you about my adventures?’
Archie nodded and let go at last. ‘Sure.’
‘You can stay here and help my uncle and Alex to keep guard, agreed?’
‘Aye, I will.’ Archie took a seat next to Alex, trying his best to look fierce.
Brice winked at his friend. ‘I’ll see you all later then.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Will you stay and help me? Please?’
Marsaili hesitated by the door of Brice’s chamber. She’d been about to follow the men who brought hot water, but she found herself unable to resist the pleading note in Brice’s voice.
‘I need to fetch the salve and some bandages,’ she murmured.
‘You can do that afterwards.’ He was sitting on the edge of his bed and she saw the strain etched on his face. He’d been through quite an ordeal and she guessed he wasn’t in the habit of asking for help. Beneath the tan he was almost ashen-hued with fatigue and although she was very tired herself, it was probably as nothing compared to how he was feeling. His feet were bare, but taking off the boots and stockings seemed to have finished his reserves of strength. Especially since he’d had to cut one boot to pieces with his dirk. She made up her mind.
‘Very well.’
Closing the door, she walked over to him and began to tug his shirt over his head. She heard him draw in a harsh breath as he raised his arms to aid her, but knew there was nothing she could do about it. He’d feel better once he was in the hot water.
‘Can you manage …?’ she said, nodding towards his breeches.
He closed his eyes as if it was all too much for him, but then nodded. ‘Yes.’ Slowly, he undid the buttons and pulled the breeches down. Marsaili averted her gaze, so as not to look at the part of him which had fascinated her so that morning, although she couldn’t help a glance or two. Not that she had anything to compare him with, but she thought him incredibly well made. All of him. She gritted her teeth and turned away. She’d do best to forget about how he looked without his clothes on.
‘Right, into the water with you.’ She half pulled him off the bed and propelled him towards the large wooden tub where the water steamed gently. With a hand on his arm, she steadied him as he clambered in and sank down. He leaned his head back on the rim, closed his eyes and let out a sigh of pleasure.
‘Aah, that feels good. Almost as good as …’
‘Here, have a wash cloth,’ she interrupted him, afraid of what he might have been about to say.
He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘I thought you were going to help me. Could you at least do my back, please? There’s no way I’d be able to reach around at the moment.’
She detected a mischievous glint in his eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Are you really that sore or is this another of your little tricks?’
His expression turned innocent, blue eyes wide and sincere. ‘Tricks? I don’t recall using any of those on you. And I truly do ache, I swear.’
‘Hmph.’ Marsaili wasn’t sure she believed him, but she took the cloth out of his hands nonetheless and lathered it with soap. ‘Lean forward then, if you can.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Yes, madam.’ He obeyed and presented her with another fine view – broad shoulders with muscles rippling under smooth golden skin in between the bruises and cuts. Marsaili stifled a sigh. Who was she fooling? She’d never forget the sight of any part of him, no matter how hard she tried. She swore softly.
‘Do I look that bad?’ She heard the amusement in his voice and had to resist the urge to pummel him instead of rinsing off soap.
‘No, you look fine, as I’m sure you know.’ She knew she sounded curt, but she couldn’t help it.
‘Then it must be the soap that’s vexing you,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder with laughing eyes. ‘Damned slippery things, soap.’
‘Brice …’ She gave him her sternest look. ‘I agreed to help you because I thought you truly needed me, but if you’re going to play games, I’m leaving.’
He held up his hands in surrender. ‘I’ll behave, I promise. Anyway, I was only making a comment.’
‘Yes, that’s what you said this morning. The next thing I know, you’ll do something else,’ she muttered. ‘You’re the one who’s as slippery as an eel.’
‘That’s not what you said then.’
She threw the wash cloth into the water in front of him. ‘I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. What happened … shouldn’t have happened, but it’s done now and I’d thank you not to refer to it again.’
To her consternation, he stood up abruptly, the water sluicing off him the way it had done when she’d seen him down by the loch. Only this time, he wasn’t wearing breeches and before she could do more than stare at him with eyes wide, he’d grabbed her arms and pulled her close.
‘Why shouldn’t it have happened?’ he demanded, scowling at her. ‘You wanted it as much as I did.’
‘I’m not disputing that,’ she said. There seemed no point in lying.
‘Then why are you afraid of me alluding to it? You enjoyed it, didn’t you?’ She nodded reluctantly. ‘So there’s no reason why it shouldn’t happen again if we both want it to.’
‘But that’s the point – I don’t!’
He held her slightly away from him and stared into her eyes, his blue gaze intense. ‘Why?’
‘I …’ Marsaili swallowed down the lump of misery which rose in her throat. ‘Because you don’t love me. Because I’m not good enough for you. Because I don’t want to be like my mother, damn you! So just leave me alone from now on, all right? Just leave me be …’ She flung away from him and marched off towards the door, tryin
g to stem the flood of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. ‘I’ll send someone up with the salve,’ she added.
Then she yanked open the door and fled, running down the stairs as if all the ghosts of the past were after her. But there was only one spectre she really feared, that of her mother. Janet’s worn, downtrodden features rose up before Marsaili, even when she closed her eyes. Janet, forever trying to please one man or another. Janet being beaten for her trouble …
No! I will not end up like her. I’d rather die.
Brice stared after Marsaili for a long while before sinking back into the water. What on earth was that all about? he wondered.
He knew he hadn’t told her he loved her, but then he wasn’t sure he was capable of loving a woman again. Not after last time. That didn’t mean he was entirely without honour. He was well aware he couldn’t just take Marsaili like a common doxy without any consequences. If nothing else, Ailsa would have his hide.
He would have to marry her now.
A couple of weeks earlier, the thought would have filled him with horror, but in the aftermath of making love to Marsaili he’d realised he didn’t mind. It was the price he’d have to pay and he was willing. But was she?
He shook his head and picked up the wet cloth, continuing where she’d left off with soaping himself. Women were strange creatures and no mistake. What had she meant by ‘not good enough for you’? Socially, she wasn’t his equal perhaps, but he didn’t care about that. He’d never expected to be lord of anything, so it made no difference to him who his future wife was descended from or that she was born out of wedlock. Nor did he care about her lack of dowry. He had enough money for both of them.
Was he not to her liking? He’d certainly pleased her this morning, he was sure. She hadn’t complained then.
The only comment of hers he truly didn’t understand was the one about her mother. He would have to make enquiries, discreetly of course, to see what had befallen the woman that was so terrible. Whatever it was, he could make sure it didn’t happen to Marsaili if she agreed to be his wife.
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