The fight was fierce and intense. Taken by surprise, the Normans were immediately at a disadvantage and, although they fought for their lives, were no match for the skill of their opponents. It had been an easy victory but it also raised other questions. Dougal came over to join Iain who stood surveying the slain mercenaries.
‘A small raiding party or scouts for a larger force?’ he asked.
‘Probably the latter,’ Iain replied. ‘The question is how large a force?’
Before the other could say any more, Robbie’s voice broke in abruptly. ‘My lord!’
Hearing the tone of alarm Iain turned quickly, his hand moving automatically to the hilt of his sword. Seeing no immediate threat he relaxed a little. Then his gaze went past Robbie and caught sight of Ashlynn’s retreating figure. He swore softly. Crimson with embarrassment, the young man bit his lip.
‘I’m sorry, my lord. I only turned my back for a moment.’
‘Damn it, lad,’ said Dougal, ‘could ye no keep control over a wee slip of a lass?’
‘I’ll go after her.’
Iain shook his head. ‘No, you stay with the rest. I’ll fetch her back.’
‘Aye, and give her a good hiding into the bargain,’ growled Dougal. ‘The wee fool deserves no less.’
‘I’ll deal with her,’ said Iain. ‘Meanwhile, get the men away. There’s no telling how big the rest of the Norman force might be and I can’t take a chance that would jeopardise our mission. Make for Jedburgh as planned. I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘Will you no take some men with you, my lord?’ the other replied. ‘It’ll be dark in another hour and there’s no telling how many more are out there, or where they are.’
‘I’ll be faster alone.’
‘Aye, perhaps.’
‘I’ll take good care.’
‘See you do.’
Iain turned and whistled for his mount. A few moments after that, he had guided the stallion across the stream and was heading the horse up the slope at a gallop.
* * *
Ashlynn reached the top of the hill and slowed a little, glancing over her shoulder. For a moment or two she could see no sign of pursuit. Then her heart missed a beat to see the rider on the dapple grey heading in her direction. It needed no lengthy study to work out who he was. Turning the mare’s head she urged her on. The land above the summit was open and dangerous for that reason: the grey was bigger and faster and in this terrain would overtake them soon enough. Looking swiftly round she spied some trees in the distance and headed for them.
By the time she reached the wood the grey was closing the gap rapidly. She needed somewhere to hide and soon. The path through the trees was narrow but though there was thicket on either side it was leafless and afforded no concealing cover at this season. Even as she took the information in the track forked. Forced to choose she went left. A hundred yards further on she realised it had been a serious error for the path ended abruptly in a narrow defile bordered on three sides by walls of rock.
Ashlynn turned Steorra and retraced her route but as she neared the main track it was to see Iain’s horse not a hundred yards off and closing fast. In a last desperate effort she urged her mount forward, conscious of the hoof beats behind thudding like her own heartbeat. However, though the mare was game her speed was no match for the bigger horse. Worse, the trees ended suddenly and the track came out into open land once more. Two minutes later the grey drew level and a strong hand grabbed the rein, drawing her horse to a gradual halt. Before a word could be spoken Ashlynn kicked free of the stirrups and leapt from the saddle. Then she ran, heading back for the cover of the trees in a last desperate bid for freedom. She had covered only fifty yards before a powerful arm swooped down. Moments later it drew her up on to the front of the saddle and locked around her. She fought the hold, struggling wildly. Reining the horse to a halt, Iain glowered at her.
‘Be still, you little hellion!’ Then, as the words had no effect. ‘Stop this now, Ashlynn.’
‘Let me go!’
‘You know damned well I won’t.’
Ashlynn twisted and slapped him hard. His jaw tightened and the dark eyes took on an expression that caused her stomach to turn over. Too late she realised that some unspecified line had been crossed and she was now in real trouble. Without another word he dismounted, dragging her off the horse after him. Ashlynn kicked and fought, cursing him roundly, managing only to deliver another ringing slap before she was thrown to the ground and pinned her there with a knee in her back. Iain glared down at his writhing captive.
‘By God, I’ll teach you to obey me, you little wildcat.’
‘Get your hands off me, you Scottish bastard!’
‘Scottish bastard is it?’ Iain drew a length of cord from the leather pouch on his belt. ‘Well then, I may as well live up to my reputation.’
Moments later she was bound hand and foot. Beside herself with fury, Ashlynn fought the rope even as she delivered a lengthy and blistering assessment of his character. Iain paused a moment and regarded his captive keenly.
‘It seems to me that you’re in no position to deliver insults, lass.’
‘You deserve every one, you black-hearted villain.’
‘Keep it up and I promise I’ll warm your backside with my belt, you contrary little besom.’
It had been on the tip of her tongue to say he wouldn’t dare but she choked the words off. The brute would not only do it but would enjoy it too. He had no sense of shame. Too late she was beginning to understand how he had earned his name. It was perhaps fortunate that she did not see the satisfied smirk that accompanied her sudden silence. A large hand hauled her upright. Then, adding insult to injury, he tucked her effortlessly under one arm and carried her to her horse. Moments later she was slung across the saddle like a sack of meal and tied there securely. After that he remounted and, having retrieved her horse’s reins, set off again. Incandescent with rage now, Ashlynn tested her bonds, but to no avail. They weren’t cruelly tight but they were fast. The brute had known exactly what he was about. The final humiliation would be returning thus to his waiting men. Almost she could hear their laughter.
However, Iain made no effort to retrace their earlier route but continued on his present course for another hour or so. To Ashlynn he spoke not at all, or she to him. For a while hot temper and a strong sense of grievance kept her from noticing the discomfort of her position. However, as the time wore on it made itself felt, and she began to repent of her earlier actions. Her bound limbs ached; the saddle pressed hard against her midriff and the chill was more apparent. More than anything she wanted to be freed from her bonds. If he would just cut her loose she would agree to ride anywhere he wished. Only pride kept her silent.
* * *
The light was going when at last the horses came to a halt before a small farmhouse. A man came out and, from his ready greeting, it was clear that Iain was no stranger to him. To Ashlynn he paid no heed at all. The two men exchanged a few words and, having directed his visitor to the barn, the farmer went indoors again. As Iain dismounted and led the horses toward the designated shelter, Ashlynn craned her neck to take a quick look around, now keenly aware of their isolated position and the fading light. Was this where he meant to rendezvous with his men? As yet she could see no sign of them and for the first time missed their presence. For all sorts of reasons she was aware of the old proverb about safety in numbers. Moreover, she was tired, sore and cold for with the approach of darkness the wintry bite in the air was pronounced.
When they reached the barn Iain led the horses to their stalls. Then he paused, surveying his captive. Ashlynn waited, silently willing him to cut her free, though still she could not bring herself to plead. He waited a moment more, then smiled faintly and untied the rope that held her to the saddle. Having done that, he untied her ankles and let her slide down. She stifled a gasp as her cold feet jarred on the hard ground and felt her legs buckle. Had it not been for his arm she would have fallen. It k
ept her upright while he dragged her across to some upturned barrels by the wall.
‘Sit down there and don’t stir.’
The tone implied that to do anything else would be a serious mistake. Ashlynn said nothing. In fact she had no intention of disobeying him, all thought of rebellion long gone. Apparently satisfied by her chastened demeanour he turned his attention to the horses. From her vantage point she watched as he unsaddled and rubbed them down, noting with reluctant approval the sure methodical way in which he performed each task. Having done what was necessary he fed them some grain and filled the hay racks. Only when the horses were settled and comfortable did he turn his attention back to his prisoner, surveying her with a cool speculative eye.
‘If I untie your hands will you give me your word not to try and escape again?’
She nodded dumbly, too cold and tired to contemplate a further attempt now. He knelt beside her, his strong fingers working the knots until they slackened. Then, blessedly, the rope loosened and she was free. Flexing her wrists she began to massage the aching flesh.
‘Where are we?’ she asked then.
‘Among friends. We’ll stay here tonight.’
‘But what of your men?’
‘We’ll catch up with them later. It’s almost dark now and the countryside is crawling with Norman mercenaries. It’s too dangerous to continue.’
Ashlynn shivered, knowing it was true. Along with that realisation came the first stirrings of guilt that it was she who had put them in this position. As the possible consequences dawned she began to see the extent of her folly and the reason for his anger. It occurred to her that, had he wished to, he could have followed his earlier inclination and thrashed her soundly. She swallowed hard. Knowing his strength she was devoutly thankful that he had restrained the urge. The only thing he’d bruised was her pride.
She was drawn from these thoughts by the return of the farmer. Again he glanced once at Ashlynn and then ignored her, speaking quietly with Iain before setting down a wooden tray on one of the barrels nearby. From under the cloth covering she could smell the savoury aroma of stew and realised suddenly that she was famished. Then she glanced at Iain. He had not beaten her but he could still punish her by withholding food. If he did it would be a long time before the next meal. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the growling in her stomach. Whatever happened she would not beg.
However, it seemed that such was not his plan for he handed her a bowl of the steaming concoction and a hunk of bread.
‘Here. Eat.’
Rather shyly she took the bowl. As she did so her fingers brushed his. The touch sent an unexpected frisson along her skin. Avoiding his eye she focused her attention on the food and, unable to resist, fell to. The stew was thick with meat and vegetables and, after a day in the open air, quite delicious. For a moment Iain surveyed her in silence, then sat down and ate his own. They washed the food down with a beaker of ale.
By the time they had finished it was dark save for the small pool of light from the lamp. Ashlynn was beginning to feel better now for the food had restored some inner warmth and, even though the barn was chilly, it was better by far than being out in the bitter night air. She drew her cloak closer, keenly aware of the man beside her. She watched him gather the bowls and beakers and return them to the tray. Then he took the lamp from its hook.
‘Come.’
She rose somewhat reluctantly from her makeshift seat. ‘Where are we going?’
He guided her to the foot of a wooden ladder. ‘Up there.’
‘The hayloft?’
‘Aye.’
Apprehension reawakened and she hesitated, looking from the ladder to him, more than ever aware of the darkness, the remote place and his physical proximity.
‘Where are you going to sleep?’
‘In the same place.’
‘You will not!’
One dark brow arched a little. ‘Are you going up that ladder, Ashlynn, or am I going to carry you?’
The mild tone didn’t deceive her for a moment. He wouldn’t hesitate. Glaring at him in impotent wrath she knew there was no choice but to obey and with thumping heart began to climb, conscious that he observed every step. He smiled sardonically; then followed her up and lifted the lantern, illuminating piles of sweet-smelling hay.
‘It’s likely not what you’re used to, lass, but it’s dry and a lot warmer than sleeping in the open.’
Ashlynn said nothing. It wasn’t the thought of sleeping in a hay barn that disturbed her.
‘We’ve a long ride ahead tomorrow,’ he went on, ‘so get some sleep while you can.’
The tone was gentler than the one he’d used earlier but still Ashlynn made no move to comply. She watched him hang the lantern on a nail by the ladder. Immediately the loft was plunged into shadow for most of the light fell below. Apparently unaware of her gaze, he divested himself of his sword belt and then he lay down beside it and stretched out, wrapping himself in the fur-lined cloak. Only then did he glance at his companion.
‘Goodnight, lass. Sleep well.’
Seeing he made no move to touch her, Ashlynn felt slightly less anxious. Besides, after the rigours of the day, she was suddenly bone weary. Selecting a spot as far from him as possible, she too lay down and drew her cloak protectively around her. For a while she was quite still, ears straining to detect any movement from her companion, but none came. She could hear only the sound of the beasts munching hay in the stalls below. Outside in the distance a fox barked. She shivered and curled up beneath the cloak. The sense of loneliness intensified bringing tears welling behind her eyelids, and for a while she wept silently into the folds of the cloth. Not for anything would she have let her sobs be heard or given utterance to the grief that weighed upon her heart like lead.
However, in the quiet of the loft even the smallest sounds carried clearly. From where he lay, Iain heard the pain and sorrow underlying those stifled sobs, and with that all her aching vulnerability. All vestiges of his earlier anger evaporated on the heel of that realisation and he was unexpectedly touched, more so perhaps than if she had wept openly. For a moment he was tempted to go to her but then checked the impulse. Given all that had passed between them she’d likely not welcome the intrusion. Besides, what could he say that would in any way diminish the loss she felt? Grief needed an outlet. Better to let her have her cry out no matter how hard it was to hear it.
* * *
Sleep came for her eventually but with it troubling dreams of burning buildings and mounted men all in chain mail with the light glinting on their helmets. Like devils they rode through the flames striking down any who tried to flee. The air rang with screams of pain and terror. She could see her father and Ethelred locked in a desperate fight against overwhelming odds. Then Ban was there, shouting at her to flee. She tried to obey but her horse’s legs were moving too slowly and the Normans closed in. She saw her brother fall, saw his face as he went down beneath their swords. Then she was being dragged from the saddle and the soldiers closed round her, their leering faces filled with hideous intent. Their hands reached out for her and she began to fight. Somewhere she could hear a woman screaming…
She awoke wide-eyed and panting with terror, struggling against the strong hands that held her.
‘Hush, lass, it’s all right. It’s all right.’
Through her tears Ashlynn became aware of lamplight and the man beside her. With a jolt she recognised the face bending over hers and, involuntarily, her hands clutched hold of him.
‘But I saw them…Norman soldiers and Heslingfield burning…the bodies in the snow…and blood, blood everywhere.’
As he listened Iain’s expression hardened, but his voice was gentle. ‘It was just a bad dream, lass. Nothing more.’
With that, some of the terror began to ebb though her body was still shaking with reaction.
‘It was so real.’
He drew her close, speaking softly, his hand stroking her hair. ‘The Normans canna hurt you any mo
re, Ashlynn.’
He continued to speak to her in the same gentle tone, as he might have spoken to a child. Gradually she grew calmer for his nearness was reassuring now, not threatening, and his strength comforting, like the smell of wool and leather and wood smoke from his clothing, smells that seemed familiar and soothing. Involuntarily she relaxed a little, letting her head rest against his breast. She could feel the steady thud of the heart within, beating like the blood in her ears. His arms tightened around her and she felt him drop a kiss on her hair. The touch was light but it sent a flush of warmth through her entire being. Ashlynn caught her breath and looked up, meeting his gaze and seeing there an expression whose intensity both excited and alarmed her. It aroused a feeling unlike anything in her life before. She felt his lips brush her temple and cheek, kissing away the tears they found there. Then his mouth sought her lips. The pressure increased, gently, until her mouth opened beneath his, yielding to a more intimate embrace that awakened other pleasurable sensations that she had not known existed: sensations that thrilled and appalled sending a delicious shiver through her entire being.
Iain’s heartbeat quickened as he felt that sudden tremor and with a sense of shock he felt his own hardening response, unanticipated and undeniable. The kiss grew more passionate as memory stripped her clothing away. The fire leapt and, unable to contain it, he crushed her closer, hungry now, wanting her, every particle of his being aroused by the taste and scent of her, the feel of her body in his arms again. He lowered her onto the hay and followed her down.
Unfastening her belt he pushed the tunic aside, sliding his hands beneath the fabric of her shirt, gently caressing, relearning with touch all the soft curves that his eyes had shown him before. The rediscovery sent a charge through the length of his body, a sensation of delight he had almost forgotten. Imagination outpaced him, turning his blood to flame.
The Laird's Captive Wife Page 6