The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue)

by Amy Rose Bennett

  ‘I suppose everyone in that corner of Scotland is in your employ as well.’

  ‘More or less.’

  Sarah frowned. Black’s influence was wide indeed. Who was this man? From what Sarah had seen, he wasn’t short of funds by any means and he inspired loyalty wherever he went. Their early morning departure from the Stag’s Head Inn had been delayed as Black had sought an audience with the local magistrate in Dunkeld. He’d later informed her that the ostler and groom would be charged with assault and theft; apparently the innkeeper had suspected the recently employed men of pilfering ale and other stock from the Stag’s Head for some weeks, and he was more than happy to support Black’s claim that the men attacked him and attempted to steal his coin last night.

  Black hadn’t reported the attack on her and he’d sincerely apologised for the omission. Sarah didn’t quite know what to make of it all; she knew the true crime that had occurred had been hidden by Black because he was in the process of committing a crime himself. She was his hostage and for that reason, she could hardly regard him as a champion.

  The man was certainly a conundrum—on one hand, he appeared to have no scruples whatsoever. Yet he had gone out of his way to make sure the ostler and the groom would receive some sort of punishment for what they had done to her. And even though he’d flirted with her, she sensed that was all he would do. If he were going to take her by force, he’d had ample opportunity to do so over the last few days.

  He possessed a strange, warped sense of honour and Sarah couldn’t help but wonder why. What events in his life had shaped him? For much of the morning, she’d puzzled over the enigma of Alexander Black. There was one particular question that buzzed around her mind, demanding to be answered: what had Malcolm done to him?

  If she could discover the truth, perhaps she could use it to free herself.

  ***

  Night was falling by the time Black called a halt to their journey. Sarah was half-frozen and ached all over as her exhausted mount, which had been tethered to Black’s, drew to a stop too; Aileen and the grey-haired poker-faced manservant, Dobson, reined in a few yards behind them.

  They were in a copse of pines on the edge of a loch; Sarah could hear the water lapping against the stony shingle and through the trees she caught a glimpse of dark water. Over the snow-covered peaks on the opposite shore, a full moon was rising in the dusky blue and lavender hued sky. The snow had ceased to fall and the wind had dropped so there was barely a rustle in the surrounding woodland.

  Sarah surreptitiously scanned the trees; if she tried to run once Black untied her from her horse, how far would she get before he caught her? She was stiff with cold and even though she might be able to lose Black in the fading light, she had no idea where she was or which way she should go in order to reach help. And if it snowed before she reached shelter… She shivered. She didn’t fancy spending the night in the open. She would surely perish.

  Black dismounted with ease and placed a gloved hand on hers as she gripped the reins. ‘It won’t be long before you’re before a roaring fire with supper in your belly,’ he said gently.

  Sarah wanted to kick him. ‘Is that supposed to comfort me?’ she snapped. Her breath misted in the frigid evening air.

  ‘No. But it’s the best I can offer you at the moment. It’s been a trying few days and I thought you would be pleased to know the journey is over.’

  ‘How wonderful. It’s a shame this nightmare isn’t.’

  Black’s mouth flattened. ‘I won’t disagree with you.’ He swiftly untied her ankle, which had been lashed to one of the stirrups, before gripping her about the waist and lifting her down from her horse. ‘I wouldn’t bother trying to run. There’s nowhere for you to go.’

  ‘Well that’s a surprise,’ grumbled Sarah. ‘And I’m sure if I scream, no one will hear me?’

  Black took her arm. ‘Yes.’

  Resentment warred with trepidation and a small dose of curiosity as Sarah reluctantly followed Black through the trees towards the water’s edge. Dobson had gone on ahead of them and she could hear a crunching, sliding sound as if he were moving something heavy. When they emerged onto the shore, she could just discern a small rowboat and several hundred yards away, across the water, loomed a rectangular tower on a small island.

  Oh, no.

  Sarah stopped and her stomach plummeted to the grey stones beneath her feet. Alexander Black was going to hold her prisoner on an island. And she couldn’t swim. Once he took her across, there was no way on earth she would be able to escape. She’d be trapped. Well and truly.

  ‘I cannot… You cannot…’ Panic tied Sarah’s tongue in knots as she tried to wrench her arm free. ‘I will not go.’

  Black’s grip grew firmer. ‘You must.’

  ‘No.’ Sarah pulled with all her might and her feet skidded across the stones.

  ‘Sarah.’ Black grasped her tightly by the upper arms. ‘Stop. No harm will come to you if you do as I say.’

  A bitter laugh that was more like a sob escaped her. ‘No harm? I’ve already been harmed. And threatened and abused. How do I know you’re not going to throw me in the loch to drown, or abandon me to rot in your island gaol?’

  ‘Sarah, I give you my word. I will not hurt you. You’ll be perfectly safe.’

  ‘I don’t believe you! No!’ Sarah pushed at Black’s chest and kicked at his legs but her efforts proved futile. He simply picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like he had in Edinburgh. As Sarah screamed and twisted and beat her fists against his back, Dobson tethered her ankles with rough rope. When Black lowered her onto the shingle, he held her wrists so Dobson could lash them tightly together as well.

  Her struggles against her bonds were futile. Her cries and frantic pleas fell on deaf ears. Black was resolute. Relentless.

  He swept her up and unceremoniously deposited her in the bottom of the rowboat. Before she could sit up, Dobson and Black had pushed the small craft out onto the water and then Black climbed in.

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, Sarah pushed herself up and skewered Black with a fulminating glare. ‘You have no pity. No soul. I hate you.’

  ‘So you should,’ he replied calmly as he gripped the oars and began to row. His strokes were long and sure and within moments, they were pulling away from the shore.

  The last vestiges of Sarah’s hope slipped away too, and she laid her head on the side of the boat and closed her eyes. Fear and anguish rolled through her, making her stomach churn. She didn’t want to look out across the dark still water or watch the grim tower draw closer. She especially didn’t want to see Black’s hateful face. His hard, determined expression.

  For the first time since Black had taken her, she contemplated the possibility that she might never see Linden Hall, Aunt Judith, or any of her friends, ever again. She might never see Malcolm again. Even though she didn’t think she could forgive him, she deserved the chance to confront him about his transgression and to end things properly.

  But Black had taken all of these things away. And despite his assurances that no harm would come to her, she had no way of knowing if he would ever let her go. His thirst for vengeance seemed unquenchable.

  And she had nothing to offer him—he’d told her that over and over again but it was only now that she truly believed him. She was nothing but a piece to play in his wicked, selfish game.

  Yes, she hated him. As far as she was concerned, Alexander Black could go to Hades.

  A jolt and the scrape of the boat against rocks startled Sarah and she opened her eyes.

  ‘Welcome to Eilean Dubh,’ said Black. He leapt into the shallows and pushed the boat further up the shingle.

  Eilean Dubh? It sounded like a Gaelic name. Sarah wanted to ask what it meant but she was so angry with Black, she didn’t want to speak to him. Instead, she straightened and tried to make out her surroundings. The moonlight revealed a squat rectangular tower surrounded by a dense copse—a mixture of snow-shrouded pines and firs and the skeletal f
orms of denuded trees. Aside from the lap of the water and the distant hoot of an owl, all was silent. The tower itself was in total darkness and had a desolate air about it. Sarah shivered as an icy gust of wind swept by, tossing the tree branches and whipping her unbound hair into her eyes.

  Black knelt beside the prow of the boat. ‘I’m going to free your legs, Sarah.’

  She didn’t bother to reply but he took her silence as consent; the bonds were tight and after a minute of trying and failing to loosen the knots, Black withdrew a wicked-looking knife from his belt. The blade winked in the moonlight and Sarah swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. She hadn’t realised Black was armed. However, she didn’t have time to dwell on this disturbing fact as with a few deft cuts, Black sliced through the rough rope and it fell away.

  Sarah held out her hands but Black shook his head.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, resheathing his knife. ‘When we are safely inside I’ll untie you. Can you hop out?’

  ‘Yes.’ She stood carefully and Black steadied her at the elbows as she climbed over the side of the boat.

  ‘This way.’ His hand at her back, Black steered her across the rocky shore, towards the trees. It was too dark and there was too much snow underfoot for Sarah to note if there was a path, but it wasn’t long before they reached an ornate, wrought-iron gate set in a high stone wall. Black pulled a key out from the folds of his greatcoat and unlocked it. The gate’s hinges were well oiled and it opened without a sound.

  Despite her antipathy and despair, a question burned on the tip of her tongue. ‘Is there anyone else here?’ she whispered.

  Black’s face was in darkness but Sarah sensed his reticence as he hesitated briefly before replying, ‘No. But Aileen will return tomorrow.’

  A shiver of apprehension washed over Sarah. She’d been alone with Black for hours on end over the past few days, but never in such isolated circumstances. And there was not a thing she could do. She was entirely at his mercy. She just prayed to God he’d meant what he’d said—that he wouldn’t hurt her.

  Too exhausted, defeated and heartsore to make a protest, she allowed Black to lead her through the gate towards an archway in another stone wall. Stepping through, she stopped and sucked in a startled breath. The light of the moon glanced off a deep snowdrift piled up against a section of crumbled wall and through another archway she glimpsed stairs. ‘You intend to keep me locked up in a ruin?’

  ‘Eilean Dubh is very old, but the main tower is structurally sound.’ Black clasped her arm. ‘Come and see.’

  Sarah shook her head and wrenched herself away. ‘No.’ Her throat constricted and her voice, when it emerged, was hoarse with terror. It suddenly struck her that Black might have a very good reason for bringing her to such an out-of-the-way, derelict place. He kept claiming she was safe but perhaps he thought to lull her into a false sense of security. He could have freed her hands but he hadn’t. She didn’t feel safe. No, not at all.

  She remembered the large knife at his waist…

  ‘Sarah.’ Black moved to face her and gently framed her face with his hands. ‘Good God, you’re trembling.’

  She didn’t know what to say. Indeed, she was incapable of speech. Her lungs had frozen and her heart stuttered as though it might stop at any moment. Black’s gloved hands were warm and gentle but what if he slid them to her neck? He was so strong and her hands were bound. She wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

  ‘Sarah. I swear to you, with God as my witness, I will not hurt you,’ he persisted. ‘I’m not the monster you think I am. You must believe me. Say you believe me.’

  She nodded. What other choice did she have?

  ‘Good girl. I’d untie you now but there isn’t enough light.’

  Again she nodded, a stiff jerky movement but it seemed to satisfy Black. He took her arm, gently this time, and led her to the stairs. The shadows were black as pitch and she couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘You go first,’ he urged. ‘I’ll be right behind you. The stairs curve to the right and there are twenty.’

  ‘I can’t. My hands are tied and I cannot pick up my skirts properly. I’ll trip.’

  Black cursed beneath his breath. ‘Hold on,’ he said and before Sarah knew what he was about, he’d swept her up into his arms and had started up the stairs.

  Oh, God. Sarah closed her eyes and gripped the lapels of Black’s coat, praying that he wouldn’t stumble. She needn’t have worried as within the space of several heartbeats, she found they were at the top of the staircase. Moonlight streamed through a narrow window aperture and she could see they were on a small stone landing. Before her was a sturdy-looking wooden door. Black put her down and then pulled his keys from his coat again. Reaching around her, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. ‘Here we are.’

  A pair of windows with diamond panes let in just enough light for Sarah to discern a large rectangular chamber furnished with a table and chairs. A floor-to-ceiling tapestry adorned one wall, obscuring the stonework. At least Black hadn’t lied to her about the state of the building. On stiff and sore legs—it had been a long time since she’d ridden such a significant distance on horseback—she crossed the room to one of the windows; a cushioned window seat beckoned but she was too on edge to sit down. Black was relocking the door so she turned away to study the view from her island prison.

  Night had rendered everything to shades of silver, grey and black; the moon shone across the dark waters of the loch and the snow upon the distant mountains glowed with a faint pearlescence. There wasn’t a light anywhere on the far shore. Like the hamlet they’d passed through earlier in the day, Eilean Dubh was clearly in the middle of nowhere too.

  The glass panes reflected a sudden flare of light and Sarah’s gaze was drawn to Black; he’d lit a candle on the sturdy square table and was in the process of lighting several more in an iron candelabra upon the mantelpiece. When he was done, he crossed over to her and unsheathed his knife.

  ‘Here, let me untie you.’

  Sarah lifted her painfully bound hands and watched his face as he set about cutting through the rope. His eyes were hidden by the sweep of his black lashes and his mouth was set in a grim line. When the rope fell away, he swore. ‘Sweet Jesus, I should flog Dobson for this.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Look at your wrists, Sarah. The fool tied the ropes too tightly. You’re hurt.’

  Sarah glanced down and winced. Her wrists had begun to sting and burn. Between the lace cuff of her sleeve and her gloves, her flesh was marked with angry red weals. Strange how she hadn’t noticed the pain until now. But then, she’d been so miserable and frightened, the irritation caused by her bonds had seemed like the least of her woes.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she murmured. She pulled off her gloves but had to bite her lip to stifle a gasp as the lace brushed over the abrasions.

  Black removed his black wool greatcoat and tossed it onto the window seat. ‘I’ll start a fire. Then after we’ve bandaged those burns, how about some supper and a cup of tea?’

  Sarah nodded then asked, ‘Is there… What about?’ Her cheeks heated. It seemed like an age since she attended to the call of nature. And Aileen wasn’t here to assist her.

  Black didn’t seem perturbed; his expression a study in neutrality, he nodded at a door to the left of the fireplace. ‘If you go through there, you’ll find a garderobe before you reach the bedchamber.’

  The bedchamber? Sarah really hoped there was more than one in this tower. Thrusting all thoughts of Black in any kind of bed aside, she took one of the candles and found the medieval privy, and when she’d attended to her needs she decided to investigate the bedchamber beyond.

  Raising the candle, she scanned the room: a wide oak canopy bed with sage green hangings and a matching counterpane dominated the centre of the chamber; a washstand, matching armoire, and a screen covered in Chinoiserie-patterned silk occupied the far corner; a large carved oaken chest stood at the end of the bed; and two oak wing c
hairs upholstered in pale grey damask graced a plush Aubusson hearthrug in front of the massive stone fireplace.

  It was a graceful, feminine room. And not what she’d expected.

  Black continued to confound her. He clearly didn’t wish to mistreat her whilst he held her captive at Eilean Dubh. But there was the rub.

  She was his captive.

  Sarah Elizabeth Lambert, she admonished herself as she returned to the main chamber. Even if Alexander Black gifted you the Crown Jewels, it shouldn’t make one iota of difference to how you see him. He’s abducted you and you do not know his endgame. You cannot trust him. Don’t ever forget that.

  Chapter 7

  When Sarah disappeared into the main bedchamber, Alex blew out a heavy sigh and ran a hand down his face. He knew she was still angry, and wary of him—and rightly so—and part of him deeply regretted that. But he hoped that over the coming days, she would discover she really did have nothing to fear from him in a physical sense. That the worst was over until he released her.

  If he released her, he mentally amended. How and when that would happen depended on how well the next and riskiest part of his scheme played out. Whether Tay paid the ransom to secure Sarah’s release, or not, was immaterial at this point. Indeed, it had always been immaterial.

  As Alex set about lighting the fire and gathering the items he would need to attend to Sarah’s rope burn, his thoughts turned to the challenges that lay ahead. His plot for revenge had seemed simple when he’d envisaged it half a year ago, when he’d first learned of Tay’s betrothal to Sarah: steal Sarah and then somehow drive a wedge between her and Tay so she would never want to marry him. So far, considering she’d witnessed Tay’s act of infidelity at Kenmuir House, he appeared to have succeeded, at least at a superficial level. However, he needed to take things further.

  Much further.

  Sarah needed to despise Tay as much as he did. She needed to learn her affianced was a truly depraved man. A man with no soul. But therein lay the dilemma; he couldn’t risk revealing too much about what had happened at Blackloch Castle in the dying days of the Rebellion, at least not until he was sure of Sarah’s allegiance to him and him alone.