The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue)

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Bandit had gone less than a hundred yards when he stopped at the edge of the burn; tail wagging madly, he barked frantically. And then Alex’s heart lurched. Behind an outcrop of rocks on the opposite bank, he glimpsed a patch of bright blue. A pale streak of gold.

  Sarah.

  Oh, no. Dear Lord, no.

  Alex slid from his horse and bolted to the burn. His Sarah lay face down and motionless in a crumpled heap of sodden black and blue wool. An upturned basket lay beside her.

  His gut clenching in fear, he leapt to the other side and dropped to his knees. With gentle hands he turned Sarah over and didn’t know whether to curse or thank the heavens. She was alive but unconscious; a fair-sized bump and angry red cut marred her forehead. The blood had already started to congeal. Just as concerning was how cold she was; her face was deathly pale, almost as white as the snow, and her lips and eyelids were blue.

  He needed to rouse her and get her warm and dry as fast as possible.

  ‘Sarah. Sarah, lass,’ he called squeezing one of her gloved hands. He gently stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘Please wake up.’

  Her eyelids fluttered and a soft moan escaped from between her bloodless lips. ‘Black?’ Her voice emerged as a mere thread of sound.

  ‘Aye,’ he smiled. Black would do. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Wh-what happened?’ Before he could respond, Sarah’s eyes flew open and she stiffened and pushed a hand against his chest as though warding him off. ‘P-please. Don’t hurt me.’

  Alex frowned. ‘Hurt you? Why would I hurt you?’

  ‘Isla said… She t-told me you’d be angry… That I sh-should run…’ She grimaced and touched her forehead. ‘I slipped and fell.’

  ‘Yes, you did. And I don’t care what Isla told you, I would never hurt you, Sarah. You have no idea how relieved I am that I found you. Can you sit up?’

  Sarah’s eyes grew bright with tears. Her bottom lip trembled. ‘You’ve come to take me b-back to Eilean Dubh, haven’t you?’

  ‘Not quite but it’s somewhere safe.’ With an arm around her shoulders, he helped Sarah to a sitting position. Then he removed her wet cloak and replaced it with his thicker greatcoat that was still relatively dry inside. Sarah’s teeth had begun to chatter and her body quaked with violent shivers.

  He was about to ask her if she thought she’d be able to stand when she pulled away from him. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  Poor lass. As she cast up the meagre contents of her stomach, Alex held back her tangled wet hair.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered eventually.

  ‘Och, don’t be sorry. You’ve taken a fair knock on the head. It’s to be expected.’ Alex helped Sarah to her feet then he carefully slipped into the burn. Even though it was fast flowing, it was shallow and if he was careful, he wouldn’t lose his footing. He beckoned to Sarah. ‘Come here, lass.’

  ‘Wh-what are you doing?’ Sarah eyed him doubtfully.

  ‘I’m going to carry you across. Jumping clearly isn’t an option.’

  ‘I d-don’t know.’

  Alex cocked an eyebrow. ‘You’re really going to argue with me now, Sarah Lambert? I’m standing in a freezing cold burn that’s almost up to my knees.’

  She began to scowl but then winced. ‘My head hurts t-too much to b-be cross with you.’

  ‘Well, that’s a consolation of sorts. Come now.’ He reached out his arms. ‘I promise I won’t drop you.’

  Holding onto a nearby boulder for support, Sarah took a small step towards the edge of the bank. Heeding his instructions, she then sat down to make it easier for him to scoop her into his arms; he didn’t think she’d appreciate being tipped upside-down over his shoulder, not with a head injury at any rate.

  When they were both safely on the other side, Sarah’s gaze locked with his. ‘Thank you f-for helping me,’ she said softly. ‘You seem to have a gift for getting me out of d-dire scrapes.’

  Alex smiled. ‘How could I not? Although I should say Bandit’s the real hero. He found you faster than I could have done alone.’

  The collie had been dancing around their legs, begging for attention, and Sarah bent down to lavish him with a warm hug about the neck. Lucky wee bastard. When she stood upright again, she clutched Alex’s shoulder.

  Alarm spiked through him. ‘Are you all right, lass?’

  Sarah put a hand to her head. ‘J-just a little d-dizzy… that’s all.’

  ‘Hmmm. I think it’s best if we share my horse. I don’t want you falling off.’ Not waiting for her to respond, Alex lifted her onto the saddle then climbed up behind her. Lashing an arm around her waist to keep her steady, he kicked his horse into a trot.

  ‘We’ll be back before you know it, Sarah.’

  She turned her head slightly, her wet curls brushing his cheek. ‘Back where?’

  ‘I’m going to take you home.’ He didn’t want any more secrets between them. ‘My real home.’

  ***

  She was safe. And it was Alexander who had saved her.

  Again.

  The relief enveloping Sarah warmed her heart even if the rest of her was half-frozen. With Alex’s strong arms around her, she at last truly believed she could trust him. He could have left her to die out on Rannoch Moor but he hadn’t. Indeed, in setting out on a search for her, he’d risked his own life.

  It made her wonder if he actually did care for her, and more than she’d ever anticipated.

  It also made her wonder what Isla’s agenda was… The girl had deliberately sent her into the middle of a dangerous wilderness on a wild goose chase. There was no village on Rannoch Moor, she was sure of it.

  So many questions and confused thoughts tumbled around in her mind, it made her head ache all the more. Alex had obviously returned to Eilean Dubh before nightfall. She hadn’t expected him to return at all, not after his rejection the night before. But he must have, otherwise he wouldn’t have discovered she’d escaped.

  He’d have seen that MacLagan had been drugged. But what about Isla? She supposed the maid had confessed to her master that she’d run off, but had she mentioned her direction was Rannoch Moor? That hardly seemed likely if Isla bore her ill will.

  Thank God Bandit had been able to find her.

  A frisson of fear passed through Sarah at the thought of what her fate would have been if Alex hadn’t returned early to Eilean Dubh. If he hadn’t searched for her…

  Alex must have noticed her shivering again as he tightened his hold about her and murmured against her ear, ‘Hold on, lass. It won’t be long before you’re tucked up in bed with a hot chocolate.’

  Too exhausted to speak, Sarah nodded and leaned back against his wide chest. Isla must have also told him she’d discovered his real identity. Why else would he take her to his home, Blackloch Castle, rather than back to Eilean Dubh? It obviously didn’t matter to him that she knew the truth. Instead of being perturbed, he only seemed to be concerned about her comfort and safety.

  If she could ever discount the fact he’d kidnapped her, she might be tempted to fall in love with him…

  The sleet turned to snow, and as the world turned darker and greyer, Sarah eventually gave up trying to sort out everything in her mind. By the time they reached the outskirts of Blackloch Castle’s grounds, she was shivering uncontrollably and her head throbbed. It took all of her concentration just to stay alert and upright. Thank God Alex held her securely on his horse.

  She was barely aware of the well-manicured grounds as Alex steered his horse down a winding oak-lined gravel drive. However, when they emerged from the trees onto a forecourt, Sarah’s breath caught at the sight of Blackloch. It was massive. And beautiful. Through the snow, she caught a brief glimpse of grey brickwork covered in ivy, towering turrets, and crenellated walls. Before she could blink, they were passing through an arched barbican passage into a large courtyard.

  Alex gave a shout for assistance as he reined in his horse, and almost immediately a gaggle of servants emerged from
various directions—stablehands, a pair of liveried footmen, several maids.

  And Aileen.

  The woman gave her a brusque nod but Sarah didn’t have time to acknowledge her greeting, such as it was, because Alex dismounted and lifted her down from the horse. However, as soon as her feet touched the ground, a great wave of dizziness assailed her. Dark spots danced before her eyes and her knees buckled. In a flash, Alex swept her up into his arms. ‘You need to stop giving me frights like this, lass,’ he admonished as he carried her across the flagged courtyard towards a wide open door. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

  Sarah closed her eyes, and rested her cheek against Alex’s shoulder. Even though his tone was light, she detected an underlying current of tension in his voice. ‘S-s-sorry,’ she whispered. Her teeth chattered so much she could hardly speak.

  To her surprise, she felt the brush of Alex’s lips on her temple. ‘Don’t be. Just be well, that’s all I ask of you.’

  I’ll try. With each passing moment, fatigue pulled Sarah towards sleep. Even forming words seemed an effort. She had a brief impression of Alex carrying her up a wide set of stairs then into a vast bedchamber with heavy oak furniture and dark red curtains. And then darkness claimed her.

  ***

  Christ. Sarah had lapsed into unconsciousness. Except for the angry red gash on her temple, her face was as white as the fine linen sheets on his tester bed.

  Fighting a rising wave of panic, Alex called for Aileen, who’d been hovering near the doorway of his bedchamber with two of the housemaids. ‘We need to get her undressed.’

  He placed Sarah gently on the bed and began tugging off her muddy leather boots.

  ‘Sir,’ protested Aileen, rushing forward. ‘Ye canna be doing this. ’Tis not proper.’

  ‘I don’t give a fig about what’s proper, woman.’ Alex gently rolled Sarah over and eased his sopping wet greatcoat off her. ‘Not when Miss Lambert’s life hangs in the balance.’

  Aileen planted her hands on her hips. ‘Fiona, Moira, and I will manage. In fact, we will work faster if ye will just step oot of the way. Besides, you need to get warm and dry yerself.’

  Alex couldn’t argue with that. Reluctantly he stepped away and the women descended like a flock of mother hens. ‘I want warming pans in that bed,’ he called over his shoulder, heading for the adjoining dressing room. ‘And you can dress Miss Lambert in one of my nightshirts for now.’

  A short time later, Alex, dressed in a quilted silk banyan, returned to find Sarah had been tucked up in his bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. The housemaid, Fiona, pushed a warming pan beneath the burgundy silk counterpane and sheets, and Aileen was wringing out a washcloth in a basin of water on the bedside table.

  ‘The lass’s heid needs attending to,’ she murmured, gently dabbing around Sarah’s wound; it had started to bleed again but whilst the cut was about an inch long, it was shallow. A purple bruise had begun to flower around the area.

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  Aileen scowled as he took the cloth from her but she didn’t argue with him. ‘If ye dinna mind my asking, what happened, sir?’

  Alex lowered his voice so the other maids wouldn’t hear. Only his most trusted servants at Blackloch—Aileen, Isla, MacLagan, and Dobson—knew who Sarah was and the situation on Eilean Dubh. ‘Sarah escaped but took a wrong turn and ended up lost on Rannoch Moor.’

  ‘What? Is Isla all right? And MacLagan?’

  ‘They are both fine. But send Dobson out to get them. The rowboat is on the wrong side. And get Isla to bring some of Miss Lambert’s clothes.’ He didn’t want to go into details right now. ‘I need some linen bandages. And something hot to drink. Coffee for me. And perhaps hot chocolate for the lass.’ If she wakes up. Sarah hadn’t stirred at all since she’d fainted in his arms. And now her breathing was unnaturally shallow and rapid. He didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

  ‘Aye, sir.’ Aileen touched his arm in an uncharacteristic display of tenderness. ‘She will recover, my lord,’ she whispered.

  ‘I hope you are right, Aileen.’

  Fiona and Moira soon finished their fussing and disappeared, and after Aileen delivered the bandages and drinks he’d requested, the door closed and he was left alone with Sarah. With great care, he wound a linen bandage around her head before he collapsed into a bedside wing chair. As he quietly sipped his coffee, he watched Sarah; her pallor and the blueness around her lips persisted even though she was tucked up tightly. She’d stopped shivering but that didn’t ease his fear. In fact, she seemed too still.

  Putting down his cup, he reached out and touched her cheek. Dear God, she was cold.

  This wasn’t good. Somehow, he had to do something else to warm her up.

  But what? Short of moving her closer to the fire, which was already roaring, he couldn’t think of a single thing.

  Unless…

  Praying silently to Sarah for forgiveness for what he was about to do, Alex crossed to the other side of the bed and slipped beneath the covers. His silk banyan was cool to the touch so he opened it and very carefully drew Sarah into his arms, until her back was against his bare torso, with his leg draped over hers.

  Pressing his face into her tangled, damp hair, he whispered another prayer, this time to heaven. If anything happened to her… His throat constricted and he closed his eyes and hugged Sarah tighter.

  Because for the very first time in such a long time, his heart remembered and welcomed the bittersweet pain that came with being in love. And that something—someone—was more important to him than revenge.

  Chapter 13

  She was warm. Deliciously warm.

  And comfortable. Swathed in soft fabrics. Her head cradled by a down pillow. With a sigh, Sarah turned over and a flash of pain in her forehead made her wince. And then reality crashed through the haze of sleep. Her eyes flew open. She wasn’t alone.

  Oh, my goodness… She was lying in Alexander’s arms in a strange bed.

  His bed at Blackloch Castle.

  A vague memory of Alex carrying her into this room emerged from the cloud of confusion in her mind. She’d been so very cold. And her head ached because of her fall on Rannoch Moor.

  She reached up to touch her forehead. Someone had bandaged the wound. And someone had dressed her in a man’s cambric nightshirt and put her to bed.

  Alex?

  The light in the room was muted and grey, as though snow fell outside, but there was enough for her to be able to see Alex’s face. Sleep softened his harshly handsome features and she only just resisted the urge to trace her fingertips along the blade of his nose, his slashing eyebrows as dark as charcoal, his high cheekbones. To brush the tousled black wing of hair away from his eyelids. He reminded her of a fallen angel. Beautiful yet dangerous. It didn’t help that her body was pressed against his. His hot, hard, practically naked body. Aside from a silk robe that was splayed wide open, he wore nothing but linen smallclothes.

  It made her think of all manner of sinful things that a young, unwed woman shouldn’t. Like touching the wide planes of his chest with its intriguing scattering of dark hair. Or kissing the strong line of his neck where his pulse beat. The sharp line of his jaw, shadowed with dark stubble.

  His mouth.

  Her lips tingled at the memory of his kisses last night. On her own mouth. Her bared breast. When Malcolm had kissed her, it had never felt like that. So intense. So arousing.

  So right.

  Shocked at the waywardness of her thoughts, she silently berated herself. Stop it, Sarah. You should not be entertaining such wanton notions. It’s not as though you need to try and seduce Alex any longer. And it’s not as though he wants to seduce you either. He’s had ample opportunity but so far he has refused you. What did he say last night? That what you offered wasn’t honest and true?

  In a way, he’d been right but it didn’t lessen the sting of his words.

  So why was she in Alexander MacIvor’s bed? Whatever his reason, it must be a s
ound one.

  A gilded clock upon the mantelpiece softly chimed the hour—four o’clock in the afternoon—and Sarah carefully slid from the bed and held onto the bedpost for a moment. Her body felt sore and bruised in odd places but her light-headedness seemed to have abated so she tiptoed across the Turkish rug in search of Alex’s dressing room. Once inside, she found the necessary stool behind a silk screen and because the room was chilly, she borrowed one of Alex’s banyans—a dark blue velvet robe. Wrapping it around herself, she hoped he wouldn’t mind. But then, she was already wearing one of his nightshirts.

  Before she returned to the main chamber, she caught sight of herself in a full-length looking glass and winced at how dreadful she looked—pale with shadows beneath her eyes and the hair of a hag. Morbid curiosity compelled her to unwrap the linen from her head and she winced again—there was a fair-sized bump a few inches above her right eye, an ugly purple bruise, and an inch-long cut. The bleeding had stopped, so she left the bandage off as she ran her fingers through the worst snarls in her hair.

  Unsure of what to do next—she could hardly venture outside of Alex’s room the way she was currently dressed, and the idea of summoning one of the servants felt equally awkward—she crossed back to the bed. She supposed she could sit by the hearth, but the fire had died down and the room was growing colder by the minute. Besides she knew how warm the bed was…

  Throwing caution to the wind, she carefully climbed in, hoping not to wake Alex. But her plain failed. As soon as she slipped beneath the covers, he stirred.

  ‘Sarah,’ he murmured. The heart-melting softness of his smile, the caress of his eyes upon her face sent a ripple of warmth through her, all the way to her toes. ‘You’re awake.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He yawned and ran a hand down his face before easing himself up onto one elbow. ‘I’d wager you’re probably wondering why you’re in my bed.’