“Ye canna fight this, lass,” he said as gently as he could.
Her eyes narrowed. “Then why did you help me escape?”
To save myself, to make myself whole again, because you are innocent and brave . . . “Because she likes fear in the blood of her victims, terror in their eyes, awe at her beauty and her power,” he said cruelly. “She sent me to hunt you down.”
She blanched. “I—I—thought you were . . .”
He gritted his teeth against the rage that surged through him. “It’s my job. It’s what I do, who I am. I am her sealgair!” He tugged harder, uselessly, against his bonds. “Did ye think that I had a soft heart, that I’d betray my mistress for you, a lass I don’t even know? Untie me and I’ll make it quick. Ye won’t feel a thing.”
Now he saw tears sparkle in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
“No.”
“No?” he repeated.
“I won’t untie you, I won’t let her win, and I won’t let you kill me. I am going to find help.”
“A pointless, worthless quest,” he said. “There are worse dangers in the world than me.”
“But I bested you, didn’t I?” she asked proudly, tossing her head. He nearly laughed.
“Just this once,” he said.
“Ella?” the goodwife called again.
She slipped the knife into her sleeve, then turned demurely away to lace up the front of her gown. As if he hadn’t already seen, imagined . . . She stuffed her feet into her borrowed shoes without her stockings. He had those. She picked up the cloak—his cloak, and pulled it around her shoulders.
“D’ye intend to leave me here like this, bound and helpless?”
She sent him a cold glare. “I daresay someone will come along eventually, someone you can handle.”
He swore under his breath, but she’d already gone, his cloak swirling around her body as she strode away, as merciless and sure as Bibiana.
But no—Bibiana would have cut his heart out, just to be sure.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Inverness
He’d come to kill her.
The words repeated over and over again in her brain. Laire was exhausted, constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting to find the sealgair behind her, swift and silent, his bow drawn. Her muscles ached with the constant expectation of a sharp arrow between her shoulders, but she didn’t see a soul.
Would he escape his bonds? She thought of his long, lean, muscular body, the power of his broad shoulders, the cockiness in his gray eyes. Of course he’d escape. He’d known it too, when she left him . . .
She couldn’t kill him, but she should have at least knocked him out again. She realized too late that she’d left his dirk not a dozen feet from where she’d tied him.
Nay, he was somewhere behind her, and he was coming. Her only hope lay in speed, but Aggie’s gout was making her slower, not quicker, and she complained with every step. The sky was pewter gray, the same color as the huntsman’s eyes and almost as cold. Laire wrapped the cloak tighter and shivered. There’d be snow soon . . .
She’d made her plan. It was ninety miles to Inverness, over the rough terrain of the Highlands. Snow would make travel harder, slower, and she had to reach Edinburgh and her uncle. Once they reached Inverness, she’d ask Colin to accompany her to the docks, help her find a ship. Even if he knew as little as she did about such things, a lad his size was a powerful deterrent against unwanted attention. It would be like having one of her father’s clansmen by her side. The sealgair wouldn’t find her in a crowded town. With luck, by the time he reached Inverness, she’d be gone.
“At last!” Aggie said as they came over a hill, and Laire saw the town of Inverness spread out below them. From the high point of the road, Laire saw shops and houses toeing the edges of the broad gap where the River Ness met the firths of Beauly and Moray. She could see the masts of the ships and boats lining the harbor, and she looked at them hopefully. She looked behind her again, scanned the road, the heather, shaded her eyes and looked as far as she could see, but there was no sign of the black figure of the sealgair.
She tried to take note of the road that led to the harbor, but as they descended into the center of the town, the harbor disappeared behind walls and rooftops. The streets twisted until she had no idea where she was. Worse, it was late afternoon on a November day and already nearly dark. Folks became shadows, hurrying home in the gloaming. Candles and lanterns sprang to life inside the houses and taverns they passed. The warm glow made Laire long for home. She soon lost track of the number of turns they’d taken, and it was too dark to be sure of any landmarks that might help her find her way to the harbor.
She wrinkled her nose. The town smelled of too many people living too close together, of cookshops and tanneries, of wet wool and chamber pots.
She kept her eyes on the figures on the streets, looking for the sealgair, but most folk were wrapped tight against the cold with no more than their eyes showing. No one was tall enough, or lean enough, or moved with a stalker’s determined grace as he did. Still, she kept her hand on the dirk beneath her cloak, squeezing the hilt until her fingers cramped.
Aggie was animated, her complaints done now the end of their journey was close at hand. She bubbled over the joys of arrival, the pleasures of a hot meal, a warm bed, and the merry company of her sister.
From the corner of her eye, Laire saw a man clad in black with a bow strapped to his back, running along the crowded street behind them. But the wind blew the corner of her hood over her eye, and when she shoved it aside, he was gone. Her breath caught in her throat. Had he found her already or was it a trick of the light?
Aggie was describing the particular blend of spices she liked in a hot whisky posset on cold nights. She used a different blend depending on the seasons. Ginger was wanted in November, strong and sharp, while December required cloves and cinnamon when one could get such luxuries . . .
Laire’s senses were on full alert, her tired body tense. She could feel him there, in the dark, watching . . .
“There’ll be roast fowl and sausages waiting for us,” Aggie predicted.
Laire strained to see through the dark, but in the gloaming, all was shadow. And there were doorways and alleys to hide in, all black as pitch. Anyone might be lurking there. She flexed her cramped fingers, took a better grip on the dirk. The garron flinched, sensing her fear as her hand tensed on the reins. She relaxed her grip, but her heart pounded.
“And pigeon pie and apple cake,” Aggie went on.
Laire’s stomach rumbled, but if the sealgair was near, she could not wait until morning, enjoy the pleasures of a good meal, a bath, and a warm bed. She had to go now, and find her way to the docks.
She wrapped the cloak tighter, as much against her own fear as the cold. She peered into the alleys, tried to see into the dark, and shivered.
But if the dark hid him, it would hide her as well.
Perhaps for once, the dark would be her friend instead of her enemy, would give her shelter instead of stealing what she loved.
Iain hurried through the busy streets of Inverness, keeping his eyes on the crowds. The tracks of the garrons had led to the hill above the town. Then they’d become obscured by hundreds of other footprints.
She’d be harder to track in the narrow, crowded streets of a large town like Inverness, but not impossible. Colin was a tall lad, and his blond head would tower above any crowd. Iain kept his eyes open as he paused to rub his wrists where her stockings had chafed his skin. The blow to his head had been more worrisome than the bonds. An inch to the left and she’d have brained him. No doubt there was a bruise on his brow the color of midnight. Folk glanced nervously at him, taking in his black clothing, his weapons, the arrow cut on his cheek and the bruise on his head before they hurried away.
He found a woman selling apples on the corner and dropped a coin into her hand. “A girl, with two companions, an old woman and a big lad with yellow hair. Did they pass ye?”
She bit the edge of the coin before she nodded. “A while ago now,” she said, pointing the direction. He turned to push through the crowds.
And then he saw the big lad’s thick head sticking up like the spire of a cathedral above the throngs. He smiled grimly. In a matter of minutes he’d have her.
But a cart toppled in front of him, and the load of vegetables fell into the street. In the half-light of late afternoon, folk descended on the produce, snatching it up as the carter yelled curses at them and tried to save his wares. Iain ducked down an alley and threaded his way back to the main street, but it took precious minutes . . . and when he reached the road again, there was no sign of the lad, or Laire MacLeod.
They rode to the door of a modest house, tucked into the middle of a row of other modest houses, and Aggie slid off the garron with a cry of relief. She kissed the beast’s nose. “If I never set eyes on ye again, it will be too soon for me,” she told the horse. She tossed the reins to Colin and climbed the steps to the front door.
Laire hung back, dismounted slowly, and stood beside the garron for a moment. She slipped a silver coin into her saddle pack and left everything but what she wore. A shaft of warm candlelight touched her briefly as the door opened. Aggie threw herself into her sister’s welcoming arms as Colin watched the happy moment.
Laire stepped back. She crossed the street and ducked into the first alley she found. She clung to the wall for a moment as the darkness enveloped her, blinded her, made dread surge. Her heart pounded.
“Ella?” she heard Aggie’s strident voice calling for her. “Ella? Where is she, Colin?” She sounded panicked, worried, but Laire hurried down the alley toward the faint smudge of light at the other end. She prayed Aggie wouldn’t send Colin to look for her. She turned into another street, then turned again so he wouldn’t see her. She hid inside the black cloak. Her own scent had mixed with the sealgair’s on the garment. It was oddly comforting, even now. She looked behind her, listened for sounds of pursuit, but only rats and stray cats scuttled in the darkness. Sensible folk were tucked safe indoors by a warm fire. She felt another twinge of homesickness wash over her, a sweet, hot wave of misery.
But he was here somewhere, in the dark, and there was no time to cry now. The cold deepened with the arrival of night. The sky filled with low clouds, heavy with snow, and she could see her breath in the light from the windows. She hurried along the street and hoped she was headed toward the harbor at last.
By the time Iain found the lad and the goodwife again, Laire MacLeod had already fled. He frowned and hung back, standing in a dark doorway. Had she seen him? “Ella?” the goodwife called shrilly into the darkness as if she were looking for a lost cat “Ella? Why, she was just here. How could anyone disappear so quick?” she said to a woman in the doorway. She wrapped her shawl around her throat. “’Tisn’t safe out on the street at night.”
“Should I go look for her?” her son asked dully.
“Don’t be daft! Ye don’t know the town, or where to look. You’ll get into trouble yourself. Nay, she’s gone. Take the garrons round to the stable. Someone will steal them if ye go off and leave them.” She gave the street a final glance and hurried into the lighted house and closed the door.
For a long moment, Iain waited for Laire to move in the shadows, to show herself, but once the lad left with the horses, all was quiet. Iain was an excellent hunter, a fine tracker. He could sense prey, smell a stag or a hare on the wind before the creature knew he was there. Laire MacLeod was a Highland lass used to fresh air and sun on her skin rather than the stale fug of the town. She trailed a faint scent of heather behind her like a path of crumbs. There was no trace of her on the wind. Frustration welled in his breast. Where would she go, a country lass, unused to towns or being alone? She’d probably never been anywhere in her life without a dozen sturdy clansmen following and keeping watch for danger.
Iain’s skin prickled with warning. They were close to the docks, and it was dangerous here. The lass might find herself robbed and murdered if she wasn’t careful. His brow furrowed. Did she know where she was going, or was she simply running scared? He thought of the look on her face in the wood, that idea, the determination he’d seen in her eyes. There’d been fortitude in her—a lily with steel for a stem.
He started walking, his deerskin boots making no sound on the cobbles. He was simply another shadow in a place full of shadows. He’d check the nearest tavern first, the kind of genteel place she might seek lodging, somewhere to hide, to think. She would not be invisible, not with those eyes, those lips, that sweet, untried quality to her. Someone would see her, take notice.
He tightened his hand on the hilt of his sword and hoped that was all they took.
The dark was full of sounds, of dogs prowling and cats fighting, and folk talking, yelling, and singing. Every screech, every whisper made Laire jump. She missed the silence of the Highlands, where there was only the sound of wind and birds and naught else to disturb a person’s composure. Here, every shadowed cranny was alive. She was tired and hungry, but she couldn’t stop. She’d rest when she reached Edinburgh and her uncle . . . She rubbed her frozen hands together and followed her nose toward the docks.
She almost sagged with relief when she rounded a corner, smelled salt on the wind, heard the slap of water against the hulls of ships, and saw tall masts against the dark sky. She frowned and scanned the vessels.
How did one go about booking passage on a ship? She watched men coming and going from the taverns that lined the wharf side. There was laughter and music inside. Cold wind buffeted her. Her bones ached with chill. She’d freeze if she hesitated.
She took a deep breath as she opened the door of the first tavern she came to and stepped inside. Heads turned as she lowered the hood of her cloak, and conversation stopped. She bit her lip and wished she had kept herself hidden, or stayed outside, but it was done now. She raised her chin, fixed her gaze on the sour-faced innkeeper behind the bar, and moved toward him.
Iain tried four inns near the docks, the most respectable of the disreputable places that offered rooms to let. She’d want a bath, a hot meal, and sleep, and he’d given her the coin to pay for it. The landlords stared at him as he entered, expecting trouble from a battered Highlander dressed all in black and bristling with weapons. The customers in each place looked at him as if he were the angel of death, come out of the dark to walk among them. He tried smiling, but he was so long out of practice it seemed to make folk even more afraid.
No one had seen her, though her description made their eyes brighten with curiosity. They’d be watching for her now, a pretty Highland lass with violet eyes, all alone.
He continued until he reached the docks. The establishments here were rougher, full of sailors. These were dangerous places, where whores and pickpockets plied their trades, hunting their prey the way he hunted his. He didn’t like the comparison, though it was apt enough. His mouth dried at the thought of Laire here.
He scanned the figures and the faces that hovered outside the lowest inns. He was desperate to find her, to know she was safe. And when he found her, he’d have to kill her.
If someone didn’t do it for him first.
The innkeeper watched her moving toward him, his eyes narrowing. His frown told her he didn’t want any trouble, warning her away before she’d even spoken.
“I’d like to buy passage on a ship bound for Edinburgh,” she said in a soft whisper when she reached the bar.
“Edinburgh?” She winced at the loudness of his voice.
She swallowed. “Aye.”
He cast a canny eye over her cloak, the fine silver pin, her pretty face, and leaned across the bar.
“Are ye running away, eloping perhaps?”
She sent him a sharp look and raised her chin. “My business is my own.”
He slid his eyes sideways for a moment. “Can ye pay?”
She nodded. He raised his brows and waited. She reached into her pocket for a silver coin and
slid it across the scarred surface of the bar.
He snapped the coin up so fast she barely saw his hand move. He came out from behind the bar and crossed the room. He bent to speak to a man in the corner, and they both glanced up at her, took her measure. She straightened her spine, did her best to look haughty and worldly. The man at the table drained his tankard and rose slowly. He followed the innkeeper back to Laire.
He didn’t bother with introductions. “Ye want passage to Edinburgh? Alone? Just you?” Laire nodded, her tongue too thick to speak. Her heart was hammering, but she stood her ground, forced herself to hold his gaze and not look away.
He looked her over from head to toe and back again. She was glad of the heavy cloak that concealed her. Under it, her hand slid toward the dirk.
“At your ease, mistress. I’m an honest man,” he growled. “The weather’s going to turn. We’ll have snow soon after midnight. I was going to wait until morning, but I’ll sail now. Are ye ready to go?”
Laire couldn’t believe her luck. “Aye.”
“Then ye’d best show me your coin.”
She fished another coin out of her pocket and held it out. “Half now, half when we get to Edinburgh,” she said. Wasn’t that how it was done?
For a moment the captain stared at the coin, then at her. Then he laughed. He pocketed the coin. “Done. Have ye baggage?” She shook her head, and his eyebrows rose. “And ye’ll brook no questions, I’ll wager.”
“No questions,” Laire agreed.
She followed him out of the tavern into the dark. The wind had picked up, and it rattled at the rigging of the ships and boats, pasted her cloak to her body. She scurried after the captain, who didn’t shorten his stride or wait for her. She followed him up the gangplank of a small ship, its deck stacked with barrels and boxes.
The Lady and the Highlander Page 9