One thing was clear in his mind, he couldn’t release Sarah from Eilean Dubh until he was absolutely sure of her loyalty. Because if he released her—or God forbid, she escaped—and she forgave Tay for his infidelity and wed him anyway, then this whole plan had been for naught. Not only that, if Sarah managed to work out he was Alexander Price or worse, the wanted Jacobite, Alexander MacIvor—which was entirely possible given the fact she was a canny lass and had the wherewithal—he would be ruined, not Tay. It was a conundrum to say the least.
Sarah appeared in the doorway, rousing Alex from his troubled musings. As she hovered uncertainly on the threshold, he greeted her with a smile that he hoped was reassuring. The flickering fire and candlelight revealed how worn down and uncertain she looked. Her golden blonde hair was dishevelled, her blue gown creased, the hem mud-stained. Fatigue shadowed her eyes as her gaze flicked to him then over the items he’d assembled on the table—linen bandages, a bowl of water, salve, and a washcloth.
He pulled out a heavy oak chair. ‘Please, come and sit down.’
Sarah only hesitated a moment before crossing the room and gracefully taking her seat. ‘This really isn’t necessary,’ she said, smoothing her skirts then folding her hands primly in her lap. ‘The burns aren’t that bad.’ Her eyes were cast downwards; it was clear she was avoiding his gaze.
‘Perhaps not. But at least consider applying some of the salve. Aileen makes it from the herbs at Black—’ Alex broke off, cursing himself inwardly for his near slip of the tongue. He’d been about to say Blackloch Castle. ‘It’s very soothing,’ he continued as he took a seat beside her. ‘Bandaging the abrasions might provide some relief as well.’
Sarah’s mouth twitched with the hint of a wry smile. ‘I’m pleased to hear those are bandages,’ she nodded towards the small pile of linen strips, ‘not restraints.’
Alex smiled back. ‘I promise I won’t tie you up again as long as you don’t take it upon yourself to attack me with the fire iron or any other heavy or sharp object. Actually, I’m still grateful that you didn’t try to push me down the stairs as I unlocked the door.’
‘It didn’t cross my mind at the time but thank you for the suggestion.’
A vivid image of Sarah wrestling with him in the confined space at the top of the stairs leapt into his own mind. Of him cornering her and trapping her up against the stone wall; her breath catching and her body stilling as he brushed his thumb across her full lower lip. ‘I’d like to see you try,’ he murmured before he could stop himself.
Sarah must have guessed the direction of his thoughts, as she blushed and dropped her gaze. Not wanting to unsettle her further, he made a beckoning gesture with one hand, his manner all business again. ‘I’m only joking, lass. Now, let’s see these burns.’
Sarah sighed but nevertheless, did as he asked. She carefully pushed up the lace-trimmed cuffs of her sleeves then presented her forearms for him to see. As he took in the sight of the raw-looking abrasions marring her fair skin, guilt tore through his belly all over again. He still rued the fact he hadn’t tied her bonds himself. Or used silk rope. ‘I’m so sorry about this, Sarah.’ He pushed the ointment towards her. ‘Use as much as you need.’
Sarah took the small pot and gave the contents a delicate sniff before dipping her fingers into the pale yellow unguent. ‘What’s in it?’ she asked as she began to gingerly apply it. ‘It smells a little like lavender and something sweet, like honey.’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, I’m afraid, but you can ply Aileen with questions tomorrow.’ Alex picked up one of the bandages. ‘Shall I put this on for you? You should probably have those cut fingers rebandaged as well.’
Sarah’s eyes met his and for a long moment she studied him. She must have read sincerity in his expression rather than speculative lust this time, as she said, ‘Very well,’ then extended her right arm, her elbow on the table, her palm facing upwards. Alex gently wrapped the linen around her delicately boned wrist. He held her hand to steady her arm and her pulse fluttered beneath his thumb; when he slid a glance at her face, he noticed she was blushing.
Interesting… His touch as well as his rakish quips and stares affected her, and not in the way he would have supposed given everything he’d put her through. His mind returned to their first encounter at Kenmuir House and the time she’d permitted him to restore the circulation to her half-frozen feet. And then there’d been that highly charged moment last night at the Stag’s Head, when he’d been certain she’d been thinking about kissing him just as much as he’d been thinking about kissing her.
Alex carefully tied off the bandage then proceeded to wrap another strip of linen around Sarah’s other wrist. And then an intriguing idea flared: what if… what if he could win Sarah’s devotion? If she cared for him, then he wouldn’t have to worry anymore.
It was a ruthless, deceitful tactic to be sure, but the more he considered it, the more he believed the plan had some merit. Despite everything he’d done, there was an undeniable, simmering attraction between them. He’d be a fool not to exploit it.
Indeed, if the circumstances were different—and if his heart were capable of any type of tender feeling—he might have courted her as a gentleman should; he might even fall in love with someone like Sarah Lambert. Someone intelligent, brave, and beautiful. She certainly didn’t deserve to be shackled to a Devil like Tay. He’d said as much at the Stag’s Head when he’d blurted out she’d never have cause to doubt him if she was his. She had been surprised at his rash pronouncement but she hadn’t reacted unfavourably.
He’d have to proceed carefully, of course. Sarah barely trusted him and he didn’t blame her in the slightest. He certainly had a great deal of lost ground to make up if he had any hope of charming her and rousing her affection, but he was up for the challenge.
Besides, when all was said and done, what did he have to lose?
***
‘Thank you.’ Sarah withdrew her hand from Black’s and dipped her gaze to examine her bandages—a completely unnecessary action given he’d applied them most adeptly, but right at this moment, she’d do anything to dispel the strange intimate tension between them. The air fairly crackled with electricity. Her pulse leapt about madly and her face felt far too hot.
Black’s voice was soft and low as he murmured, ‘It’s the least I can do, Sarah,’ and like a besotted girl, her blush deepened, curse him.
When he’d held her hand and gently, almost tenderly wound the linen about her wrists and her cut fingers, when his muscled legs brushed against her own knees, she’d been plagued by a most inconvenient awareness of the man’s inherent physical attractiveness. His overwhelming masculinity. It seemed a heated stare, a soft touch, and a lopsided smile were all that were needed to beguile and disarm her. It would be far easier to stay on guard around him if he regarded her with callous disdain or treated her cruelly.
But he didn’t.
It made her want to scream with frustration at herself for being such a weak-willed ninny. If only she weren’t so exhausted, she might have summoned the energy to rally her anger and disdain.
As she’d been silently admonishing herself, Black had begun to assemble a rudimentary supper for them—a pot of tea, oatcakes, and some type of cured meat that she guessed was ham—but as her eyes travelled over Black, she decided that perhaps she should forgo supper and retire for the night before she had any more foolish thoughts.
She rose from her seat and Black cast her a quizzical look. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘I was thinking about going to b—’ Sarah bit her lip. There was only one bed in the bedchamber. Apprehension unfurled in her belly as she added, ‘I meant to ask you, what will the sleeping arrangements be?’
Black put down the carving knife he’d been using to slice the ham and met her gaze steadily. ‘The bedchamber is yours and yours alone. There’s another, smaller room beyond,’ he nodded toward a door on the other side of the fireplace, ‘which I shall use.’ Attired only
in a loose cambric shirt, breeches and boots, and with dark stubble shadowing his lean jaw, Sarah was vividly reminded of the night before at the Stag’s Head when Black had undressed for bed in front of her. The moment they’d almost kissed…
How stupid of her to think of such things right now; yet again she could feel a hot blush creeping over her face.
Stop it, Sarah. You are mad. Alexander Black is a fiend and you should not be attracted to him.
She cleared her throat. ‘Thank you… and goodnight.’ She picked up a candle and started for her room.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’
Sarah paused on the threshold and glanced back. Her stomach rumbled loudly in the silence, as if responding to Black’s question. ‘Yes, but I’m too tired to eat,’ she murmured.
Black’s forehead creased. ‘Yes, of course. That’s understandable. If you change your mind,’ he gestured towards a wooden dresser on the far wall, ‘I’ll leave a plate for you there.’
‘Thank you.’
Sarah shut the door and sagged against it. The room was icy and seemed even more cavernous than before. The beamed ceiling was hidden in deep shadow. Shivering with cold and fatigue, she knelt down before the hearth and set about lighting a taper and coaxing a fire to life; someone, at some stage, had stacked kindling and logs in the grate and for that, Sarah was thankful.
Stifling a yawn, she began to undo the buttons at the front of her riding jacket. Tomorrow, when she was rested, she would plan another escape attempt. When all was said and done, she really didn’t think she could bring herself to attack Black; just like last night, she certainly couldn’t imagine striking him with the fire iron as he slept. And there was simply no way she could best him in a physical altercation when he was awake. Besides, as she’d reasoned before, where would she go if she did manage to escape from the tower? It was pitch-black and she’d never rowed a boat before. And even if she could get to the shore, what then? She still had no idea where she was.
No, she was far better off biding her time, learning as much as she could about her new environment so she could formulate another plan, one that would actually succeed. Black had mentioned Aileen was returning on the morrow. It would be far easier to evade the older woman than Black. It also occurred to Sarah that Aileen must be staying relatively close by. Perhaps there was a village somewhere near. Indeed, Black had almost let slip where Aileen procured the herbs for her salve. Unsurprisingly, it was a place name beginning with the word Black.
Black claimed he was wealthy so logic would dictate this isolated tower wasn’t his primary place of residence. He must have another house. Of course, she wouldn’t be seeking help there but she might be able to secure a decent mount and ride away as she’d tried to do the night before.
Despite her weariness, a small spark of hope at last flickered to life inside her. Sitting down in one of the wing chairs, she removed her boots then loosened the buttons securing the lace cuffs of her shirt. As she unfastened her lace jabot, her gaze wandered to the large oak chest at the foot of the bed and the ornate armoire beside the silk screen.
Was there anything inside? She was still confounded by the knowledge that Black had procured such well-fitting travelling garb for her. Candle in hand and curiosity pricking along her spine, Sarah crossed to the chest. It was a beautifully carved piece of glossy oak; roses, thistles and ornate scrollwork adorned the lid and the lock was polished brass. The lid looked so solid and heavy, she’d have to lift it with both hands.
After placing her candle on the mantelpiece, she returned to the chest, unlatched the hasp, and hefted open the lid. And gasped.
Nestled inside the satin-lined interior lay at least half a dozen exquisitely fashioned gowns of silk and velvet, satin and lace. With trembling hands, Sarah lifted out the first gown in pale blue and ivory striped satin; it was cut low around the neckline and trimmed with tiny rosettes, elaborate bows, and very fine lace. Aside from being inordinately pretty, it looked like it would fit her perfectly.
She tossed it on the bed, and with mounting horror, rushed to the armoire. As she threw open the doors and yanked open the drawers, her bewilderment and panic only intensified. Silk and wool stockings, delicately boned stays, shifts of the finest lawn and lace, soft leather gloves, and shoes—satin-covered pumps and neat kid boots—were all neatly folded or laid out upon the velvet-lined shelves.
God in heaven. The intricacy of Black’s kidnapping plot stole her breath away. Made her stomach pitch. And her ire boil.
Snatching up a handful of items, Sarah stormed back to the main chamber.
Black’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of her. Putting down his knife, his gaze moved to the garments she brandished at him like a weapon and a look of uncertainty flickered across his face. ‘Sarah—’ he began.
‘Don’t you dare call me Sarah. What, in God’s name, are you really up to? Explain how these,’ she flung the stockings, ribbon garters, and all but transparent shifts onto the table in front of him, ‘and all of the other clothes that seem to be tailor-made for me, came to be here. You said you weren’t intending to make me your doxy but I’m seriously beginning to wonder if you’re lying.’
Black’s forehead creased. ‘Of course I’m not lying.’
‘Then explain these.’ She picked up one of the gossamer silk stockings and tossed it towards him. ‘Did you have them made for me?’
Black inhaled deeply then let out a long sigh. ‘Aye. I wanted you to be comfortable during your… stay. That’s all.’
‘Really?’ Sarah planted her hands on her hips. ‘You still haven’t told me how everything miraculously fits. Did you bribe the information out of my lady’s maid? Did you steal some of my clothes? How long have you been stalking me, Alexander Black?’
He winced. ‘I know it looks bad but there’s really a simple explanation.’
‘Enlighten me then.’
‘At Christmastide, you might say I procured a box of your clothing. Things you were donating to the poor.’
‘On Saint Stephen’s Day?’
‘Aye.’
‘But… but I was in Northumbria then. The items were from my wardrobe in Linden Hall. You followed me to Linden Hall? My home?’
Black pressed his lips together as if internally debating with himself about what to say next. ‘I’ve never been to Linden Hall.’
‘Then how…?’ Sarah’s anger flared brighter and hotter. ‘You paid someone to spy on me? And Malcolm?’
‘Aye.’
‘Oh, my God.’ Sarah’s knees suddenly felt like water and she gripped the edge of the table. She raised her gaze to Black’s face. ‘You really are diabolical.’
Did she detect a flicker of guilt in his dark grey eyes or was it a trick of the light?
‘Sarah…’ Black ran a hand through his dark-as-midnight hair then rubbed the back of his neck. He did indeed look uncomfortable. ‘I’ll admit I have been planning your abduction for some time. But my intention has always been to treat you well. This is about—’
‘Your revenge on Malcolm. I know,’ she said bitterly. ‘But unless and until you tell me what he did to you, you’ll have to forgive me for seeing you as the monster. Not him.’
Black grimaced. ‘I suppose now is the time I should tell you that your bedchamber and mine are connected.’
‘What? How? I didn’t see another door.’
Black crossed his arms over his wide chest and the linen of his shirt pulled tight across his heavily muscled biceps. ‘There’s a doorway behind the hanging tapestry beside the fireplace. I assure you, I don’t intend to use it. But all things considered, I’d rather you know it’s there.’
Resisting the insane urge to let her gaze drop to Black’s impressive upper body, Sarah retorted, ‘Oh, how gallant of you. Thank you so much for letting me know.’ She spun on her heel to go but then turned back to add, ‘If you do enter my room, I will run you through with the poker this time. Just so we’re clear on the matter.’
Black’s mouth t
witched. ‘As crystal.’
‘Good.’
Sarah flounced back to her room; she would have liked to have slammed the door but it was too heavy and cumbersome for such a dramatic display. Instead, she paced back and forth across the thick Aubusson rug, cursing beneath her breath, imagining how satisfying it would feel to whack Black over the head with something. To wipe that smug, knowing smile off his too-handsome face.
Beast.
Out of morbid curiosity, she peeked behind the floor-to-ceiling tapestry beside the fireplace. An arched doorway was indeed secreted behind it and a short passageway appeared to lead to another room. There was no way to block the entrance. She would just have to take Black at his word that he wouldn’t enter her chamber.
Her blood still boiling, Sarah undressed quickly and flung open the doors of the armoire. Ignoring the flimsy silk and lace night-rails—Black was mad if he thought she’d wear anything so indecent and impractical—she threw on a plain flannel nightgown and after snuffing the candle, climbed into the enormous bed.
The sheets were crisp and cold but the pillows and mattress were soft and it felt like heaven to be lying in a comfortable bed at long last. Closing her eyes, Sarah dashed away an errant tear with the heel of her hand and tried to resist the overwhelming urge to cry. Tears would not help her get out of this mess. But rest and a clear mind would.
She would not think of Aunt Judith and how worried she must be. She would not think of Malcolm and what he’d done. She would not think of her brush with danger in the Stag’s Head’s stables last night.
And she would not think of Alexander Black. Not his grey eyes, nor his raven black hair or stubble-clad jaw. Not his admirable physique nor his roguish smiles. Not his inexplicable acts of kindness nor his perfidy.
She especially did not want to think about why he confused her so. Why he clouded her judgement and made her think about things she shouldn’t.
The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue) Page 10