by Aileen Adams
“Now, Liam,” Drew instructed, still holding the pistol high. “Ye shall return the steers to their stalls. Worry not that they shall charge ye or crush ye. Gentler beasts never lived. But take your time,” he advised. “No sudden movements, or they might react violently.”
He truly was enjoying this. What did that say for him? What would Davina think of the kind, good man she’d declared him to be?
She’d been wrong. If she saw him now, she would know better. Perhaps it was better if she did.
“Are ye armed, lass?” he murmured as Liam worked with the steer, walking it into the stall. His steps were slow, calculated, as if he was afraid to make a false move and upset the beast.
He listened to her sharp, raspy breathing. Yes, she was armed.
“Dinna make me search ye,” he warned. “I shall do it, and no one would blame me for ensuring my safety. If ye value the lad’s life, hand the weapon to me.” He released her free hand, the one not still holding onto a rope, and watched her withdraw a slim dirk from a belt around her waist.
After taking it and tucking it into his trews, he took hold of her again. “Wise lass.” She only tried once to wrench herself free from his grasp, but she offered no retort.
They watched as the lad took the second rope from the lass and led the steer to its stall where it could rest. “Remove the rope from about its neck,” he instructed almost as an afterthought.
“W-what?” the lad whispered from the shadows.
“He’s only a lad of ten,” the lass hissed, fierce.
Hmm. Ten years. He appeared younger. It was an interesting thing, how similar he was in appearance to Drew at the same age.
“Then he should not have come along with ye,” Drew retorted in spite of this. “I have no time and even less concern for your protestations. If he is old enough to engage in this thievery, he’s old enough to untie a rope from around a steer’s neck.”
To his surprise, the rope landed at his feet within moments. The lad was braver than he appeared, now that the first instance of startled dismay had passed.
“Now the other one,” he ordered. He waited until the second steer was secured before sliding the pistol into the holster at his waist and taking the lad’s thin arm in his free hand.
Which was when the mere slip of a lad turned into a rabid dog.
“Let me go!” he roared, kicking and flailing, landing blow after blow on Drew’s shoulder, back, chest, knees, and ankles. It seemed the boy had suddenly grown a few extra arms and legs, for there was no blocking him.
There was no choice but to release his hold on the lass and pin the lad’s arms to his sides in a tight hug. Not too tight, however, for the lad truly had been underfed and underdeveloped. Any further pressure might have broken his ribs.
“Run, Anne!” Liam shouted.
“I would not do it,” Drew warned, breathing heavily as he continued to struggle subduing the squirming, fighting thing he held.
For one so small, the lad possessed a great deal of strength and determination.
Once again, he reminded Drew of himself.
The lass hesitated, as Drew knew she would. There was something between the pair of them, though he was not certain what it was. Brother and sister? Most likely. While he had not yet taken a good look at her face, her hands and arms were smooth. Unlined, unspotted. She was young, too young to be the lad’s mother.
And what mother would take her son reiving?
“Ye dinna want to leave me alone with him,” Drew warned with a snarl. This was not his nature. He did not threaten children, and he very much did not bring harm to them. But she was not aware of that.
A pause. “Wh—what do ye intend to do, then?” she demanded.
He gave her credit for keeping emotion out of her voice.
“Before or after I turn him over to the local magistrate?” he snickered. “Young or no, the punishment for reiving is no laughing matter. I canna imagine the law would take pity on him for his youth. And I would not hesitate to tell them it was him and him alone who ventured onto my farm this evening.”
He looked down at the dark-haired lad who had only just begun to tire. “Something tells me he would not disagree if it meant protecting his… sister.”
Her soft gasp told him he’d hit his mark. It had been a risk, but the risk was well worth it. She was unsteady now, wondering how he’d known and how much more he knew.
“’Tis up to ye, Anne. Will ye run like a coward, or will ye accept punishment for your crime?”
She was thinking about it, her mind likely moving in all directions at once. She was no fool, this one, especially if she’d already managed to escape with so many of their herd.
Would he follow through with his threats, or was this all an attempt to frighten them?
“Well?” he barked. “What will it be, Anne?”
“Anne, dinna listen,” the lad pleaded. “Go. Go!”
“I canna.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I canna leave ye.”
He had taken a chance, and it had paid off. The lass was devoted to her brother, and he to her. If they had not both been thieves, Drew might have pitied them.
Now there was the matter of deciding what was to be done with them. It was too late to take them to the village. They would have to wait until morning, which was at least six hours away. A night spent in a barn never harmed anyone, he supposed.
After all, had he not been sitting up in the barn, waiting for them? And had he not nearly dropped off into sleep before they arrived?
“Anne, take the ropes,” he decided, looking about the barn for something to tie them to. When he could find nothing, he made a decision. “Go to the last stall at the end of the row. There was once a heifer in that stall, but ye would know that, would ye not?”
“Aye, I know it,” she muttered with a knowing in her voice. She had been the one to take it, after all, along with the rest of them. No sense in pretending not to understand his meaning.
He shoved the lad inside, then held him there with his stern gaze while tying Anne’s wrists behind her.
“Ye shall not harm her,” Liam warned, baring his teeth. “It will not end well for ye if ye do.”
“Liam, please,” Anne begged, shaking her head. With a vicious tug, Drew pulled the hood down to reveal a thick shock of dark auburn curls, and a fine profile when she turned her head to cast a doleful look his way.
He pulled his gaze from her and looked to the lad. “Ye are in no place to make threats,” he snarled. “I am the one to make threats now, for ‘tis my land and my cattle ye were fixing to steal.” He shoved her once her wrists were secure, making her drop to her knees on the straw-covered floor.
Liam lunged at him, but Drew held him off. “Save your strength for when the magistrate deals with ye,” he advised, turning the lad around that he might secure his wrists as well.
“Dinna fear,” Anne groaned, working her way into a seated position before blowing errant curls from her face. “All will be well.”
He was almost touched by her efforts to calm the lad, who all but fled to her side once Drew determined his bonds to be secure. The lad leaned against her shoulder, facing her, curling up at her side.
Was he cowering there, or shielding her with his slight body? Regardless, the image did something to Drew’s heart. He felt a twinge, a flutter. As if the lad could protect her. It was unlikely he could’ve protected himself.
“There, there,” she murmured, the tenderness in her voice entirely unlike the hate-filled glare she shot him. “All will be well.”
“Aye. Keep telling yourself it will be so,” he sneered before stepping outside the stall and closing the door. He barred it closed with great satisfaction. No cattle would disappear that evening, or any evening.
Just the same, he did not enjoy the prospect of leaving them alone until dawn. This lessened his satisfaction, as did the reality of needing someone to watch over the bairns while he took yet another ride to the village. Clyde would lik
e as not have work to do, as would everyone else on the farm.
He couldn’t very well take the twins along with them. What a thing to explain. Riding criminals into the village that they might receive their punishment. It was not as if he could trust this thieving, lying lass to avoid blurting out the truth, and he could not very well gag her in front of the twins.
Their eyes met from opposite sides of the wooden bars. She was a bonny one, to be sure, though he suspected she’d be even more so if she were not glaring in open hatred.
“Can ye do one thing for me?” she asked, lifting her chin so as not to be mistaken for a pitiful creature, begging favors. She had no shame, this one.
“Why should I do anything for ye?”
Rather than answer, she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “My mare is hobbled at the last broken bit of wall, just on the other side.”
He raised a brow. “And?”
Her nostrils flared as her chest rose and fell. She wished to kill him, that much was clear. “And the poor thing ought not be left out there. While the grass is plentiful, the air is chill and damp. She ought to be brought inside.”
He could not help but laugh. A prisoner, making demands. “It seems ye believe you’re in a position to beg my favor,” he chuckled.
“The horse did nothing wrong,” she snapped. “She is a dear old thing. Gentle and kind. I would allow a bairn to ride her. She deserves not to ache from the cold and damp. If ye have a soul, please, bring her inside. I dinna care if ye keep her from me. But I ask ye to take pity on her.”
Who was this lass? She appeared to care deeply for her mare and was fiercely protective of her younger brother, yet she’d been foolish enough to bring him along on her midnight reiving. He considered himself a fair judge of character, yet there was no putting her together.
“Well?” she snapped. “Will ye?”
He backed away, his heart hardening. “I suppose ye shall never know.”
She gasped, but said nothing. Perhaps her instinct for self-preservation advised her against it. A wise instinct.
“For all I’m aware, ye stole the mare as well,” he added as he left the barn.
Then, he turned left and walked straight to the patch of wall she’d described, the last bit they had yet to repair. He was not a cruel man, after all, and the lass was correct about it being no fault of the mare’s.
They’d come early enough in the evening for him to get a few hours sleep, at least. He supposed that was one positive thing to be taken from the ordeal.
It would be good to see Rufus’s satisfaction once he knew the thieves were caught. They all needed a bit of good fortune.
Including the pair in the barn, whose fortune had run out.
6
What was she going to do?
No matter how she turned the matter over in her mind, and she did so for hours, until the first rays of sunlight appeared through window holes in the barn’s walls and tiny holes in the thatched roof—there was no making sense of it. No way to win.
Was this truly the ending she was meant to come to? After everything she’d endured? It had all been leading to this embarrassing, uncomfortable situation?
With Liam, no less. What an example she’d set for him. What a life she had helped make for him.
And she had, let there be no doubt. She was guilty of destroying his life.
If she’d held a barbed flogger in her hands and whipped her own back until the skin hung down in strips and blood poured forth, it would be no match for the way she punished herself in her mind. Liam’s life was over, or as good as. He would always be a thief, always branded as one who’d ventured onto another’s land that he might steal what was not his.
It was her fault. He would never have a chance. He’d be branded. Untrusted. Mistreated in ways that would make his years as Malcolm Stuart’s ward seem like a happy dream in comparison.
Because of her. Because she had allowed this to happen. Too stupid and slow-witted to take note of that terrible man’s presence. They might have escaped him, otherwise.
That man! She grimaced at the merest thought of him. How he’d already tossed Liam around as though he were nothing. He had certainly not been gentle with her, grabbing at her wrist, knocking her to her knees. He’d bound her hands tight enough that she’d lost feeling in them long since.
If only she could embrace poor Liam. He slept fitfully with his head on her legs, the hair on the nape of his neck curling with perspiration. The poor, wee lad. She had done him a grave injustice. Would that she had ventured out to do something, anything other than remaining with the Stuarts.
She ought to have broken ties with Malcolm the moment she was of age to secure a position someplace.
Now? Now there was nothing for either of them to do but await their punishment. No one would come to their rescue, that much was for certain. Who would wish to align themselves with a pair of reivers?
Not Malcolm. Least of all Malcolm. Hence his remaining behind, at home, while others did the work of stealing for him. He could pretend to have no knowledge of them should they fail.
The coward.
But then again, so was she. Remaining with him when she ought to have fought and scrapped and never given up until Liam had a safe, nurturing home in which to come of age. Imagine! Following her through the darkness, proud of himself for having tracked her undetected. Proud of what it meant for his prospects as a thief.
Always wanting to prove himself worthy.
Liam shifted, letting out a soft moan, the back of his head burrowing into her abdomen now and serving as a painful reminder of nature’s call. When would their captor come for them? If she had to wait much longer, there was no guarantee she would be able to hold back.
Only the thought of her captor’s sneering face helped her maintain composure. He would sneer at her in disgust if she soiled herself and likely shame her for it, just as he’d tried to shame her upon capture. Did he believe they did this for amusement? As if there were not better things for one to do at midnight than roam the Highlands in search of cattle to steal.
For a moment, only the briefest one, she considered explaining the situation to him. That they’d been at the behest of their uncle, how terrible he was when disobeyed, how he used Liam’s safety as a way to force Anne to do his bidding.
What good would it do? He would never believe her, for one. He knew, because she’d all but announced it, that she’d been there before. This was not a chance encounter, no first-time attempt at stealing from the farm. A farm he and his hands had worked hard to improve—even she could see and appreciate that, no matter if she hated the man himself.
Footsteps. She sat up a bit straighter, though she did not wish to disturb Liam yet. He needed his rest, fitful though it was, and she would not deprive him of it.
A somewhat familiar face appeared moments later, and she made certain to hold his gaze with her head high. He would not break her will. He could not.
She could not allow it.
“Did ye sleep well?” To his credit, he whispered, glancing at Liam as he did.
“Wonderfully well,” she lied, having not once closed her eyes.
He merely snickered before bending down to leave something on the floor, then straightening to lift the wooden bolt from in front of the door.
“As did I,” he replied.
The dark circles beneath his dark eyes told a different tale, though she chose to pretend she did not notice.
Best to choose one’s battles wisely at such times, and while she enjoyed the notion of torturing him a bit she did not enjoy the thought of him returning the favor—especially when it could be Liam upon whom he took out his ire.
When he entered the stall, she saw what he’d left outside, a pail full of steaming porridge, on top of which was a wrapped slab of brown bread.
“I suspect ye have to…” He cleared his throat, nodding toward one of the windows in the wall.
She decided to feign ignorance. “What’s that, now? I
have to what?”
Was it her imagination, or did he go slightly red? “Ye know what I mean, lass. Do ye have to relieve yourself?”
It was either continue to feign ignorance and risk him denying her the chance, or admit she knew just what he meant. “I do. I would imagine he does, as well.”
The man bent, coming too near her for her comfort. She flinched away, leaning as far from him as she could without toppling over to the side. “Calm yourself,” he growled, hands on Liam’s shoulders as he lifted her brother from her lap and onto his other side, where he continued to sleep. “I merely wanted to move him so ye might stand.”
She was angry with herself for reacting in fear. He must not see her fear. “Ye shall have to help me,” she retorted. “I cannot stand without use of my hands in getting up, and my arms and legs are cramped and numb.”
The man swore under his breath, a string of colorful words—some of which Anne had never heard before, but this didn’t mean she mistook them for another other than their intended purpose. “Ye might watch your language, as well,” she hissed, looking to Liam.
“Och, my mistake.” The man’s hands were rough and unforgiving as he hauled her to her feet by gripping beneath her arms. “I forgot to be on my best behavior before a pair of thieves.”
She would have rewarded him with a tart remark, only her legs wobbled so. Once they were strong enough to support her, they began aching with horrible pricks all up and down their length. She hissed in discomfort, gasping when the prickling sensation turned painful.
The man sighed, sounding as though he carried the entire world upon his tight shoulders. “’Tis the blood coming back into them. The pain will not last long.”
She merely rolled her eyes as though this was not a concern at all, even as she took each step in utter agony. Only the threat of making herself look like a fool kept her upright, kept her moving forward.