The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue)

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Oh, dear God. Would Alexander really render her unconscious and then drown her? He’d promised over and over again that he’d never hurt her. Despite his harsh words and rejection last night, she’d even come to believe he cared for her.

  But that was before I knew his true identity…

  Sarah swallowed past a throat tight with fear. She must not panic. Whether she believed Alexander really was a wolf in sheep’s clothing who was capable of murder was almost immaterial at this point. Because now she had an ally. And an opportunity.

  ‘Isla, please help me escape.’ Sarah squeezed her hand. ‘I promise not to tell anyone what I have learned about your master. I do not want retribution either. Just my freedom.’

  Beneath her linen and lace cap, Isla’s brow furrowed with uncertainty. ‘What aboot Lord Tay? He is a powerful man.’

  ‘I can assure you, I do not wish to marry Lord Tay anymore and I will never divulge who was behind my kidnapping. I know the earl is not a good man. In fact, I never want to see him again. I just want to return to Linden Hall, my home in Northumberland. I can pay you—’

  Isla shook her head. ‘Och, I dinna want yer money, miss. But yes, I will help you.’

  Oh, thank God. Unbidden tears welled in Sarah’s eyes, blurring her vision. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Och, dinna cry, miss. Ye dinna have time fer that.’ Isla stood and dusted off her hands. ‘I have a plan and the sooner we begin, the better. First, we must get ye into more suitable clothes. Ye have a long way to travel.’

  ‘Of course.’ Fear and excitement thrumming through her veins, Sarah returned to her bedchamber where Isla helped her change out of the apricot silk gown and matching embroidered pumps into her blue woollen riding habit, thick woollen stockings, and sturdy black boots. Black kid gloves and her black cloak completed the ensemble.

  ‘Now, miss. Ye must take some food with ye,’ said Isla, ushering her back into the kitchen. ‘There’s bread and cheese on the table. And apples in the bowl on the dresser. And while you are readying tha’, I need to take care of MacLagan.’

  Sarah took a clean linen napkin to wrap her food in from the dresser. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he willna let ye go, so I think he might be needin’ a wee nap.’ Isla disappeared into the small chamber Black—or rather, Lord Rannoch—slept in and emerged a minute later with a silver flask.

  Sarah recognised it at once and shivered. ‘You’re going to dose him with laudanum?’

  ‘Aye.’ Isla filled up a tankard with small beer then measured out a large spoonful before stirring it into the ale.

  ‘That seems like rather a lot.’ Aunt Judith sometimes took laudanum for her megrims but never more than a teaspoonful.

  Isla shrugged. ‘MacLagan is a fair-sized man. And we want to make sure he goes to sleep quickly, and for a while. Ye need to be well away from here before Lord Rannoch returns.’

  Good Lord. Isla was right. Sarah cut off a hunk of bread and wrapped it up in the napkin. ‘And then you will row me over to the shore?’

  Isla shook her head. ‘Nae, ye will have to row yerself.’

  Sarah’s stomach tumbled over with panic. ‘But… I don’t know how to.’

  ‘I will show you.’ Tankard in hand, Isla unlocked the door with the key she kept at her waist. ’Tis not verra hard. Ye will manage.’

  The door closed and then Sarah looked about the room. Bandit sat by the fire, watching her with sad brown eyes. Did he sense she was leaving? ‘I’m afraid it’s time for us to say goodbye, my friend.’

  The collie whined and sidled over to her, his bushy tail swishing back and forth. Tears in her eyes, and a hard lump in her throat, Sarah ruffled his soft fur. ‘Thank you for keeping me company. I will never forget you.’

  When Isla appeared in the doorway again, Sarah was ready. She’d packed her food rations into a small willow basket, along with a number of items she hoped to barter in exchange for a horse somewhere along the way: the silver-backed mirror and matching brush; the ornate embroidery scissors and thimble from the sewing box; and a pretty comb decorated with seed pearls. Lord Rannoch would hardly miss them.

  ‘MacLagan was beginning to nod off, miss.’ Isla beckoned her over. ‘So it’s best ye leave now.’

  Her pulse racing, Sarah followed the maid down the stairs and sure enough, the footman was slumped on the ground in a relatively sheltered alcove in one of the courtyards ruined walls, empty tankard in hand and his chin on his chest, snoring away. Nevertheless, they both tiptoed across the flagstones, heading for the garden gate.

  ‘Do you have the key?’ murmured Sarah as they drew close.

  ‘Aye.’

  Within seconds, the gate was unlocked and Sarah was outside, following Isla along the barely discernible pathway towards the stony shore. However, trepidation quickly replaced exhilaration when she saw how far she needed to row.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do this, Isla,’ she said, staring with longing at the far bank. A bitterly cold wind carrying the scent of rain ruffled the surface of the loch’s dark waters. ‘Won’t you reconsider?’

  Isla shook her head. ‘Nae, I canna. It needs to look like ye escaped withoot any help. If I take ye, I will be on the wrong side.’

  ‘But couldn’t you row back?’

  ‘Yes, but then the boat would be on Eilean Dubh, which means Lord Rannoch will know I helped ye. And I dinna want him to suspect I was involved.’

  Sarah frowned. Isla spoke sense and of course she didn’t want the girl to get into any trouble. But why did a prickle of apprehension suddenly creep down her spine? Isla had clearly put some thought into all of this.

  Sarah studied the serving girl’s face. She seemed earnest enough. Perhaps she simply wanted Black all to herself and that’s why she was helping. Regardless of Isla’s motive, this was her first real chance to escape and she’d be foolish to throw away the opportunity. ‘Very well. Before you show me what to do, you must tell me where to go once I get to the other side.’

  Isla pointed to the east. ‘Blackloch Castle is that way, miss, and farther on is the village of Kinloch. The folk there are loyal to the master so dinna head that way, whatever you do. Ye must head west, in the other direction. Go into the woods and follow the shore until ye get to the end of the loch. Then just go straight across Rannoch Moor. There’s a small river that flows west so if you follow it, you canna go wrong. Ye only need to travel aboot three or four miles to get to the next village. There’s an inn where I am sure ye will be able to borrow a horse and get directions that will take ye back to Edinburgh.’

  ‘Are… are Lord Tay’s lands that way?’

  ‘Nae, miss. ’Tis Clan Robertson land. The Earl of Tay’s lands are over twenty miles away or more. Over the mountains to the south-east.’

  Isla showed her how to work the oars and after Sarah placed her basket in the boat, they both pushed it down the shingle into the water. Picking up her skirts and cloak so they wouldn’t get soaked, Sarah climbed in and once she was seated, Isla gave the boat another shove and she was away.

  The icy water lapped at the sides of the boat and Sarah had to close her eyes for a moment to tamp down a surge of panic. You won’t fall in. You’re not going to drown. The shore is not far. You can do this, Sarah Lambert.

  Sarah gripped the oars tightly, leaned forward, then pulled them back towards her chest. The boat moved forward and she released the breath she’d been holding. The going was slow and more than once, one of the oars slipped and splashed in the water ineffectually, but within the space of a quarter hour, she’d reached the other side. When the prow of the boat glided onto the shingle, she almost cried with relief.

  At long last, she was free.

  As Sarah turned back to take one last look at Eilean Dubh, a squall of freezing rain hit so she dashed into the trees to take cover. It was only after she’d reached the end of the wood and gazed out upon the vast stretch of desolate moorland that she realised she’d never see Alexander MacIvor again. Pulling h
er cloak tightly about her body, she trudged along the rough ground along the river’s edge, her vision blurred by mizzling rain.

  Not tears.

  At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself anyway.

  ***

  Blackloch Castle, Loch Rannoch, Perthshire

  Alex cracked open his eyes and groaned when his valet, Duncan, drew back the heavy damask curtains, revealing a miserable day.

  ‘Forgive me, milord. But you said ye did no’ wish to sleep too late. And it’s already ten o’clock.’

  ‘Aye, I did.’ Alex dragged himself upright out of the tangled sheets and burgundy silk quilt, ruing the fact he’d drunk too much whisky last night. His right temple throbbed dully and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara. However the guilt roiling in his gut was the worst sensation of all. ‘Might I have some coffee, Duncan?’

  ‘Of course, milord. I hope you dinna mind but I took the liberty of bringing up a tray.’

  ‘Excellent, man. Thank you.’

  As Alex washed down his eggs, haggis, and toast with bitter black coffee, he mulled over how he would approach Sarah. He’d pushed her to the brink of desperation and had then grievously insulted her by suggesting she was prostituting herself. She had very good reason to hate him.

  He prayed that she didn’t.

  He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, but he had truly begun to care for Sarah Lambert. Deeply. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part, but his gut told him that despite everything he’d done, she had begun to develop feelings for him too. Feelings that went beyond mere physical attraction. During the dark hours of the night, as he’d steadily worked his way through the bottle of whisky, he’d gone over everything she’d said to him during those fraught, passionate minutes in her bedchamber. Hadn’t she told him her heart raced just for him…? That she no longer cared for Tay?

  He hadn’t believed her last night because his own guilt had made him blind to everything else. But oh, he did so want to believe her.

  He had to make things right between them.

  He had to say he was truly sorry.

  He had to take a leap of faith and tell her the truth.

  Those three thoughts were uppermost in his mind an hour later as he rode the short mile from Blackloch to Eilean Dubh. After he’d tethered his mount to an ancient Scots pine, he made his way through the trees to the shore.

  And then his heart lurched for there, on the shingle, was the rowboat.

  He frantically scanned the surrounding shoreline and retreated into the woods again but there was no sign of MacLagan or Isla. And he hadn’t seen either of them on the route from the castle to Eilean Dubh.

  So why, in God’s name, was the boat on the wrong side of the loch?

  He examined the ground at the edge of the woods—even though sleet and rain had been falling on and off all morning, there were still large patches of snow lying between the trees—and within the space of a few minutes, he found what he’d been looking for. A footprint in the muddy snow.

  A small woman’s footprint made by a boot. And there were several more farther on.

  Shit. They had to be Sarah’s footprints and she was heading west, straight towards Rannoch Moor.

  But how had she managed to escape? And how long had she been gone? She couldn’t have run off last night, as MacLagan and Isla would have come back to the castle early this morning to alert him. Not only that, Sarah hadn’t a key to the garden gate and he’d taken the rowboat.

  His heart in his mouth, Alex pushed the rowboat out, leapt in, then rowed himself across to the island. Sprinting through the trees he could see that the gate was open and on entering the courtyard, he discovered MacLagan, out cold and virtually insensible. An empty tankard lay beside him.

  Alex bolted up the stairs and as he’d expected, the door was wide open. Isla lay slumped on the table, a half-drunk cup of small beer beside her. He took a sip and grimaced. There was a distinct bitter after-taste. Laudanum. Christ, Sarah must have got her hands on his silver flask and laced the beer.

  ‘Isla, wake up, lass.’ Alex shook her gently; she moaned a little and her eyelids flickered but that was all.

  Damn. He couldn’t waste time trying to rouse her and MacLagan. Or fetch extra help from Blackloch Castle.

  Bandit nudged his leg with his nose, his tail wagging. ‘You’re going to have to help me find her, lad.’ Alex started for the door. ‘Come.’

  Another freezing shower of rain gusted across the loch as Alex rowed with all his might for the shore. As soon as he mounted his horse, he kicked it into a canter. Bandit would keep up. He had no idea how much of a head start Sarah had, but he had to find her. Rannoch Moor was treacherous even in high summer. In this kind of weather, it was deadly.

  If anything happened to her, he’d never be able to live with himself.

  Chapter 12

  She was in deep trouble.

  Sarah had been traversing the bleak moor for well over an hour, perhaps longer, when she came to that heart-sinking realisation. Soaked to the bone, shivering with cold, she stood on a small hillock with her arms wrapped around herself, uncertain which way to go.

  To her right was a rushing stream; the water boiled violently between sharp granite rocks. Less than ten yards to her left was nothing but a vast peat bog, which she’d only discovered by accident when her boot had sunk below the spongy ground into a pool of sucking, freezing mud. Living in Northumbria she knew enough about bogs to realise how perilous they could be so heading south was clearly out.

  Before her was nothing but a great stretch of snow-crusted sedge grass, and in the far distance lay another nameless range of mountains, their peaks obscured by a heavy grey shroud of low-lying cloud. The village Isla had spoken of was nowhere in sight.

  Had she taken a wrong turn? She very much doubted it. She’d done exactly as Isla had instructed. At the end of the loch, she’d headed westwards in the straightest line she could manage across the rugged ground. The going was slow but she estimated she must have travelled at least three miles by now. Yet nothing indicated the presence of another living soul, let alone a village, anywhere close by. Not even a crofter’s cottage. Not even a deer or a bird wheeling on high.

  A chill that had nothing to do with the weather snaked its way down Sarah’s spine. Had Isla deliberately sent her out here in the hope she would get lost? But why would she do that?

  She recalled the girl’s sullen, judgemental attitude over the last few days. And how she’d blushed and smiled and stammered in her master’s presence. Isla clearly harboured a tendre for Alexander, but would the maid really have been motivated to put her in harm’s way because she was jealous?

  Mulling over the reasons why Isla may or may not have given her ill advice wasn’t going to help her get out of this situation. The weather was rapidly deteriorating. The ice-cold rain, which had been falling steadily since she’d set out, had turned to sleet and Sarah could no longer feel her feet or her fingers. Every breath she exhaled emerged as a frozen white puff of mist. She needed to make a decision about what she would do—whether to keep going forward, or turn back towards Loch Rannoch. Isla had mentioned another village, Kinloch. If she turned back now, she’d reach it before dark.

  She might also encounter Alexander… Fear knotted Sarah’s belly at the thought. He’d taken great pains to convince her that he meant her no harm. And she’d begun to trust him. But what if she’d been wrong? Isla had been adamant he’d been planning to get rid of her. She didn’t know who to believe. Or what to do.

  One thing was clear, she couldn’t continue standing here in the middle of the moor in the sleeting rain. She’d freeze to death, especially if she didn’t reach any kind of shelter before nightfall.

  Perhaps if she crossed the stream, the ground on the other side would be firmer. It was nigh impossible to tell without investigating. Telling herself she’d be fine—although the waters were turbulent, the stream was shallow—Sarah carefully picked her away along the rocky edge o
f the bank until she reached a narrower section. The opposite side was only a few feet away and there was a high, flattish rock in the middle she could use as a stepping-stone.

  Picking up her skirts, she drew in a steadying breath and stepped forward. The rock was slick and for a heart-stopping moment she teetered on the edge before regaining her balance. The other bank was farther away and she would have to jump. Not wanting to risk falling again, she tossed her sodden basket over and it rolled onto its side, the contents scattering between the rocks and the tussocks of sedge grass beyond. She cursed aloud but at least everything hadn’t fallen into the water.

  Bending her knees slightly, Sarah counted to three then launched herself forward, aiming for a flat patch of snowy grass. However, as she landed, her right foot slipped and with a startled cry, she toppled towards the rocks…

  ***

  Alex wiped the rain from his eyes and halted his horse on the fringes of a peat bog. Bandit, sopping wet and looking for all the world like a giant half-drowned rat, trotted back towards him and barked.

  ‘Please don’t tell me she went in that direction, lad.’ They’d been steadily making their way west across the moor for an hour in an almost dead straight line and with each passing minute, Alex’s dread had grown. He knew this countryside as well as the lines and scars on his own hand. If Sarah had strayed into any one of the innumerable bogs or deep crevices of rushing water hidden by the snow… Dear God in heaven, it didn’t bear thinking about.

  He squinted at the barren, frozen wasteland ahead, scanning the near distance, middle ground, and then the horizon for any flash of colour that wasn’t dun brown, grey or white, for any flicker of movement. But he saw nothing and no one. At least he had several more hours of decent light left. However, as time marched on, the less likely it would be that he would find Sarah before something terrible happened.

  Please God, keep her safe.

  Bandit snuffled the wet sedge grass a few feet away then barked again. ‘All right, lad. I trust you.’

  Head down and tail up, Bandit started off again, skirting the edge of the bog, heading slightly north-west towards a rocky burn. Alex urged his horse forward, following the dog but at a slower pace, picking the way carefully. He was determined not to miss anything. Nor did he want his horse to end up in the bog.