No, it was up to her to escape. Somehow, she would get back to Edinburgh and Aunt Judith. Only then would she have the freedom to decide what she would do with her life.
Her heart hammering an erratic tattoo, Sarah sat up and pushed the bedcovers aside as quietly as she could. Thankfully, Aileen continued to snore steadily. Even though the dying fire was the only source of light in the room, it would be sufficient to allow her to do what she needed to.
Black had tethered her right ankle to the bedpost with another silk rope; she already knew the knots would be impossible to untie so she’d made a contingency plan. When Aileen had left her alone to fetch their supper from the taproom, Sarah had broken a small spill vase that had sat on the nearby bedside table. She’d then hidden the tapers and all of the pieces, bar the biggest and sharpest one, beneath the bed in the farthest, darkest corner; the largest shard was secreted within easy reach beneath the mattress.
With a shaking hand, she pulled out her makeshift knife then drew her right knee up so she could reach her ankle. Fortunately, Black had left enough length in the rope to enable her to move about a little. Gritting her teeth against the bite of jagged edges pressing into her palm, Sarah began to saw feverishly at the silk rope. It was a tight bond and more than once her grip slipped and she cut her ankle, and two of her fingers, but the pain mattered little; she was determined to free herself as quickly as possible. If Aileen awoke, or worse still, Black came in… she really didn’t want to think about would he would do.
At last, the silk began to fray and unravel and Sarah choked down a sob of relief. She tugged off the rope and ignoring the sting of her cuts, slipped from the bed. The floorboards were icy-cold beneath her bare feet and she shivered in her thin shift. Outside, the wind howled like a wild animal; it rattled the windowpanes and every now and again a flurry of hail dashed the window. Although she was loath to waste time dressing, she couldn’t leave here in next to nothing. She would need to dress warmly if she were to avoid freezing to death.
She was lucky that Aileen had been too tired to put her things away; she’d left everything lying on a worn damask armchair by the bed. Working quickly, Sarah donned her stockings and stays, then her petticoats, undershirt and red riding habit as quietly as she could. Her hands trembled so much, it was difficult to do up all the tapes and ribbons and buttons, especially with bleeding fingers, but in the end, she managed everything. Last of all, she threw on Black’s wool cloak and tugged on her new boots. She’d put on her leather gloves—Black had provided her with a pair yesterday—before she ventured outside. God willing she’d make it that far.
Picking up her skirts, Sarah tiptoed across the chamber to the fireplace; Aileen had placed the key on the mantelpiece before she’d climbed into bed. Not daring to breathe, she snatched it up then crept back to the door. When the key scraped inside the old iron lock, and Aileen turned over and mumbled in her sleep, Sarah’s heart stopped and she willed herself not to faint.
Frozen, too terrified to draw another breath, she waited for Aileen to settle again. Several taut seconds passed but when it was clear the servant was still fast asleep, Sarah lifted the latch with painstaking slowness. She almost cried with relief when the door eased open without so much as a creak.
As she’d expected, the hallway was deserted. And dark, save for a faint strip of light at the bottom of Black’s door. Praying Black wouldn’t hear her, Sarah walked as swiftly and silently as she could, past his room, heading towards the servants’ stairs at the end of the corridor.
She offered another silent prayer of thanks to heaven when she discovered the door leading to the stable yard was only bolted rather than locked with a key. But when she drew back the door, she cursed beneath her breath; the yard was awash, the rain coming down in sheets, and the stables were as black as Hades.
It’s only rain. It won’t kill you, Sarah. And you’ll never get another chance like this.
After pulling on her gloves, she inhaled deeply, picked up her skirts then dashed toward the shelter of the stables.
By the time she reached the other side of the yard, she was half soaked and shivering. But it seemed she hadn’t been detected. Wiping the raindrops from her eyes, she squinted through the darkness at the back of the inn. It was quiet as the grave and all of the windows—bar the one she suspected was Black’s—were dark. So far so good.
On entering the stables, she noticed that somewhere towards the back, near the tack room, was a glimmer of light; it seemed someone—perhaps the ostler—had left a lantern burning. She waited in the shadows by the door, listening for any sounds of human activity, but all she could hear was the rain drumming on the roof and the occasional equine snuffle.
There were a dozen or so stalls, and at least half them were occupied. But she only needed one mount. And a saddle and a bridle. Thankfully, she knew how to ready a horse; her father had taught her to ride when she was only six, and by the time she was twelve riding was a part of her morning routine whenever they stayed at Linden Hall.
However, when Sarah tried the door to the tack room, she discovered it was locked. Hell and damnation. Why hadn’t she anticipated such a possibility? Tears pricked but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t be defeated. She would ride bareback all the way to Edinburgh if she had to—
‘Weel, what do we have here?’ demanded a gruff male voice.
Oh, no. Sarah spun around and her stomach plunged to the hay-strewn floor. A middle-aged man with a wild mane of red hair and a bush of a beard was descending a ladder that appeared to lead to an overhead loft. She’d obviously woken the ostler or one of the stablehands.
Before she could formulate some sort of plausible reason for being in the stables—it would be foolish of her to admit she’d been trying to steal a horse—another man peeked over the edge of the loft. ‘Looks like a bonnie wee lassie to me, MacMunn.’
The redheaded man, MacMunn, smirked and pulled at the crotch of his breeches beneath his filthy shirt. Even though the light was dim, Sarah could detect the glint of lust in his small, pale eyes. ‘Aye, she’s verra bonnie, Angus. Is there summat in particular tha’ ye wanted, miss?’
Sarah shook her head and stumbled backwards towards the stalls. ‘N-no. I d-don’t need anything,’ she stammered. It seemed she had unwittingly jumped from the frying pan into the fire. ‘I’ll just go back to the inn. My travelling companions are expecting me.’
Angus, a tall and gangly youth dressed in a rough cambric shirt and patched breeches, descended the ladder. ‘Maybe she’s after a tumble in the hay, MacMunn?’
MacMunn’s smirk widened to a grin as he stepped closer. ‘Aye. I ken ye might be right, m’lad.’
Oh, dear God, no. Bile burned the back of Sarah’s throat. The servants’ entrance wasn’t far and the door would still be unlocked. She was sure she could outrun them.
She turned to flee, but faster than a striking adder, MacMunn lunged and grabbed her by the arm. When she sucked in a breath to scream, he clapped one dirty hand over her mouth and hauled her against his bony chest. ‘Whisht. Keep the heid, lassie.’ His voice was a low growl and his breath stank of stale ale. ‘The three of us will have a braw time. Just you wait an’ see.’
Thought-obliterating terror turned Sarah’s legs to water as MacMunn and Angus dragged her into the nearest vacant stall and threw her facedown onto the floor. The stench of dirty, damp hay and unwashed male assaulted her senses and her stomach rolled. Tears scalded her eyelids. Oh, dear Lord. Please help me.
But it seemed no help was at hand. MacMunn roughly gripped her by the head and pressed his knee into her shoulder at the same time Angus threw up her skirts and cloak. She dragged in another breath and managed a short scream before MacMunn pushed her face into the hay again. Anger and despair clogged her throat as Angus forced her legs apart. She twisted and bucked but he grabbed her hips and pinned her down with his weight. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Oh, no. No, no, no!
And then MacMunn swore and let go of her
at precisely the same moment Angus rolled away, howling in pain. Startled by the unexpected reprieve, Sarah turned over and pushed herself against the side of the stall. And gasped.
Black. She’d never thought she’d welcome the sight of him but at this precise moment, she most certainly did.
A vicious snarl contorting his handsome features, he advanced farther into the stall and felled MacMunn with two swift punches—one to the stomach and then another bone-crunching blow to the man’s face. The ostler crumpled to the floor where Angus still lay, moaning and clutching his groin.
‘Sarah.’ Black stepped around her assailants and pulled her to her feet. His hand touched her cheek. ‘Can you walk, lass?’
‘Yes…’ Her voice caught and she had to clear her throat before she added, ‘I think so.’
‘Good girl.’ Black’s brow was furrowed with an emotion that might have been concern; yet how could it be? He was her kidnapper after all. ‘Go and wait by the door for a minute whilst I deal with these two dogs.’
More than happy to oblige, Sarah nodded, and on shaky legs, made her way to the entrance. It was still pouring and an icy wind swept gusts of rain inside. Leaning against the stone wall behind the shelter of the door, Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. She was shivering uncontrollably and despite her best efforts not to cry, tears kept slipping from her eyes.
How low she had fallen. To think that only a few days ago she was counting the days until she wed Malcolm.
And now… now she was Black’s hostage again and she’d almost been raped. She couldn’t be certain of Malcolm’s commitment to her and she wasn’t sure whether she actually wished to marry him any more.
A sob rose in her throat and she swallowed hard to stop it escaping. She felt as hopelessly crushed as the sodden straw beneath her feet.
‘Sarah?’
She looked up to find Black standing beside her but she didn’t say anything. Weariness and despair weighed so heavily upon her, she couldn’t summon the will to speak.
‘I’ve contained the bastards that hurt you, Sarah. I know the innkeeper and they will be dealt with.’ He raked a hand through his wet, dishevelled hair then blew out a heavy sigh. ‘We need to go back inside.’
‘I know.’ Even to her own ears, her voice sounded dull with defeat. She supposed, if the circumstances were different, she might have thanked him for coming to her aid. But he was going to take her back up to her room and tie her up again.
Her life had become a nightmare that seemed never-ending.
***
Guilt crushed Alex’s chest as he escorted Sarah through the driving rain, back to the inn. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to escape. It was only natural and he would do the same thing if their positions were reversed.
Of course, it was well and truly his fault that she had grown so desperate she was willing to take wild risks. When he pictured what the ostler and stablehand had been doing to her, incandescent anger flared to life inside him. The Stag’s Head was one of his commercial property acquisitions and he couldn’t believe the innkeeper had hired such disreputable staff. Raping a woman was an unconscionable act. Those two curs were lucky they were still breathing.
But aren’t you hurting her, Alexander MacIvor? Kidnapping and manipulating an innocent woman are unconscionable acts too.
Sarah tripped on the threshold as they entered the servants’ entrance and she gripped his arm to steady herself. That she would voluntarily touch him spoke volumes about her mental state; she was clearly still shaken. Indeed, she was as docile as a lamb as he guided her up the stairs and back to her room.
Aileen scowled when she saw Sarah. ‘Yer a crafty lass—’
‘Now, now, Aileen. We’ll have none of that,’ chided Alex. ‘Sarah has been through an ordeal—’
‘Two men tried to rape me.’ Sarah’s voice was flat, her lovely blue eyes unusually dull as she stared at the floorboards. Pieces of straw were caught in her tangled, dripping blonde hair, and her red habit and his cloak were sodden and streaked with mud.
‘Och, weel, tha’s dreadful.’ Aileen crossed her arms and gave Sarah a stern, narrow-eyed look that reminded Alex of a nursemaid who was scolding a naughty child. ‘But ye only have yerself to blame—’
‘That’s enough, Aileen. Sarah needs to get into dry clothes.’ He touched Sarah’s arm and when she flinched, guilt stabbed him anew. ‘I must change then talk to the innkeeper, but after that I will bring something back from the kitchen. Tea perhaps.’ He’d also speak with the local magistrate in Dunkeld first thing in the morning; he couldn’t afford to officially report the attempted rape upon Sarah, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the men get away with it. Between the innkeeper and himself, he’d make sure the men paid.
Sarah nodded without looking at him and it made Alex wonder how far the assault had gone. In the firelight he could easily see an abrasion on her ashen cheek. He caught Aileen’s attention on the way to the door. ‘Please treat her with care,’ he murmured. ‘She may have been injured in ways that are not obvious to the eye.’
Aileen’s expression was grave. ‘Aye, sir.’
When Alex returned to the room some time later, he found Sarah seated by the fire in an armchair with a rug across her lap; dressed in a simple flannel night-rail and a pale blue shawl, she looked a little better. Her hair was brushed and braided and there was more colour in her cheeks.
Aileen grunted with approval when she saw the tray he carried. However, Sarah ignored the cup of tea and piece of fruitcake he placed on the table beside her. She stared into the fire and gripped her shawl about her chest so tightly, her knuckles were white. Alex suspected she would need something stronger than tea. It was a good thing he’d also procured a bottle of whisky from the innkeeper’s illicit stash.
‘Aileen, I would like to talk with Sarah privately,’ he said quietly, nodding towards his chamber.
She glanced at Sarah then drew close. ‘She has a few minor cuts an’ bruises an’ grazes, but I ken she’s still a maid,’ she whispered.
Alex nodded. ‘Thank you. After everything that’s happened, I think it would be best if I stayed here and you took my room. Get some rest.’
When the door shut, he poured two drams of whisky then pulled a straight-backed wooden chair closer to the fireside. He offered Sarah the drink and she took it from him with a trembling hand. He noted two of her fingers were bandaged, and considering there was blood on the bedsheets and the silk rope, he suspected she’d injured herself when she’d cut through her bonds. He’d clearly underestimated how determined she could be. And wily.
‘What’s this?’ Sarah asked after she’d sniffed the contents of the glass.
Relieved that she wasn’t entirely uncommunicative, he gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Whisky. I think it will make you feel a little better.’
She cast him a suspicious look through her eyelashes. ‘I’m sure.’
He tossed back a large mouthful of his own drink to show her it was safe and then she sipped hers. She gasped and coughed and somehow managed to glare at him even though her eyes watered. ‘It’s terrible. It’s like swallowing fire.’
Alex’s smile widened. ‘But it’s sure to warm you up.’
‘Or burn a hole in my stomach,’ she grumbled, putting the drink aside. ‘I’d rather drink laudanum.’
Alex sighed. ‘Sarah, I’m sorry about that—’
‘I’ve already told you that I don’t want an apology from you,’ she flashed back at him. ‘I just want you to let me go.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Cannot or will not?’ Her blue eyes were bright with anger.
‘Both.’ Alex put down his whisky and rested his elbows on his thighs. ‘Sarah, what those men tried to do to you was despicable. Loathsome. In Edinburgh, I threatened to ruin you and I truly regret what I said. I would never force myself on you. It’s important you know that.’
‘But by holding me captive, I’m already as good as ruined. In Malcolm’s eyes and in
the eyes of society, if anyone finds out. And how can I trust you…?’ Sarah’s voice cracked and a tear slipped onto her cheek. ‘You are mistreating me too. Let me go. I implore you.’
Ignoring the pain in his chest, he straightened in his chair. ‘No.’
Sarah dragged in a shuddering breath and lifted her chin. The expression in her eyes was colder. Harder. ‘Why won’t you tell me what Malcolm did to you?’ she demanded. ‘I keep thinking about the woman at the ball. Who was she to you? You say this isn’t about her and what she did with Malcolm, but surely it is.’ Her eyes narrowed and her gaze grew fiercer. ‘Was she your lover and you’ve decide to retaliate by taking an eye for an eye?’
‘She is no one of consequence.’
‘Well, she is of consequence to me. Malcolm’s not going to pay your ransom. I thought he cared for me but he was with that other woman—’ She turned her face away and stared into the fire, her lower lip trembling.
Alex fought the urge to touch her, to offer comfort. Christ, this was hard. Harder than he’d thought it would be. He’d never bargained on feeling anything for Sarah Lambert.
Of course, he’d harboured carnal thoughts about her since their very first meeting—what man wouldn’t? She was beautiful, after all. But now… now he was beginning to admire her in more ways than he cared to think about. Even worse, he was beginning to care about how she felt. He didn’t like seeing her so upset.
He felt off balance and shaken. Out of kilter. Like the rug beneath his feet had been yanked away and he was teetering on the edge of the unknown.
His heart had been as cold and hard as a lump of lead for so long, he didn’t know how to deal with the tender emotions stirring within. Part of him wished he could tell Sarah the real reason behind his plan for revenge. But then she would learn who he was. And he couldn’t risk giving her that sort of information. Too much was at stake.
His life and his legacy, his leaderless clan, were at stake.
But the way she’d looked at him. The despair in her gaze. He suddenly realised he hated himself for engineering the situation between Malcolm and Nell. For every hurt he’d caused. He’d made her feel worthless. But she wasn’t.
The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue) Page 7