He reminded himself that her pitiful condition was not at all her fault, that she’d been a victim of his men, and for that reason, he owed her his care. It was, at the least, his knightly duty.
For a moment, his gaze settled on her face, and he attempted to discern the line of her cheek, the shape of her mouth, but no, he could make nothing definitive out—nor should he wish to, he reminded himself. She must remain a blur at the edge of his consciousness. An indistinct presence, as all women and children must remain, as they were not the domain of a warrior in the field of conflict.
“Wake up little one.” He toed her with his boot. She jerked up to sit, looking dazed—and instantly fearful. “You must come with me.”
Chapter 4
He was handsome. The man, standing above her. A warrior, strong and beautiful, like something out of a fantasy, his blond hair shining with ethereal brightness in the light of the fire, framed about an angular face and jaw.
He nudged her again with the toe of his boot. “Up with you.”
Then she remembered …
He wasn’t handsome at all. Why had she thought it for a moment? He was a beast. The same beast who had confined her here, against her will, while the others …
Her heartbeat surged, rising on a sudden stab of anger and anxiety.
What had happened to the others? Were they even alive?
“My kinsmen…” she said, her voice thick and unrecognizable even to her own ears, but when at last she’d been left alone, she’d cried so very hard.
“Alive and well,” he replied, stepping back, looking bored and uninterested. As if she was an unpleasant duty to be dealt with. “But you must listen now, and come with me.”
Derryth rubbed her face, seeking to calm the sudden, abominable itchiness of her skin, but her hands met the dried crust of filth on her face. Ugh, and she stank like a pigsty.
She glared at her captor, as she struggled to rein in her emotions and the torrent of words that filled her head, which she desired to unleash upon him for the outrage of her present condition. Never before had she been treated so poorly.
But he believed her to be a peasant, and she wished that to continue for now, until she knew better what to do. She would not have herself and the others used against Niall and Elspeth, as hostages or bait. For now, she must survive, and not needlessly inspire his anger or his violence by railing against him or making demands. Against her nature, she must be obedient.
Slowly, she stood. Her woolen kirtle unfolded to her ankles, half dry, but still damp and heavy and caked with muck.
“Are you taking me back to them?” she asked. “To the others?”
But he was already turned away from her. With a sweep of his muscular arm, he threw back the flap of the tent, and bent to pass through. She glimpsed the old man who’d brought her food. He hurried to bind the flap back, so it would remain open, and in the next moment, placed a pair of shining leather boots on the threshold. From outside, she heard voices. Heard the slosh and suck of countless feet striking into mud as soldiers moved about. Nearby, a hammer struck against a spike or some other piece of wood.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Moving into the dim, gray daylight, she found Cull waiting for her beside a horse. He did not look at her, but directed his gaze off across the camp, as if judging … assessing everything. Beyond him, men were everywhere, some standing about fire pits warming their hands. Others emerged from tents. She stiffened, feeling a hundred interested eyes fix on her. Suddenly, she longed to retreat into the dim shelter of her prison again. But she must be braver than that. She must go with him, as he commanded, and keep her eyes open, with the expectation that she would successfully escape and make a swift return to Inverhaven. She must gather any knowledge that might be useful to the Kincaids, and note the location of any unattended horses that she and the others might use to flee.
“Come now,” he said, his words clipped. “I have only so much patience, and you’re testing it with each moment you delay.”
She bristled at his tone. She tested his patience? Nay, his tone pricked her patience, as did his coldly issued orders and arrogant scowls. Derryth’s hands curled into fists, and she counseled herself again to hold silent. To feign docility. Remaining invisible to this man was the only way she would be able to take in her surroundings, observe the weaknesses of her captors, and make a careful plan for escape.
She could not help but notice the destrier that stood proudly behind Cull. Enormous, black, and shining like glass, she’d never seen any animal so fine.
He climbed into the saddle, and extended a hand to her. “Up with you.”
For a moment their eyes met, but again, he looked away. She took his hand, which she could not help but notice was strong, long-fingered, and fine, and allowed him to hoist her up, before him, into the saddle.
She flinched, as his arm came around her, too close for comfort. She bit down a gasp at the crush of his chest, hard and unyielding against her back … and the too-intimate flex of his thigh beneath her bottom. With a toss of its dark forelock, the animal started forward.
She’d ridden horses before, but riding with Cull, on top of his destrier, was a different experience. Everyone stepped aside, scrambled even, to make way for them … for him. She felt so high up off the ground, that she could have been perched on a treetop. From that vantage point she looked out over the camp, and counted some fifty tents, and what had to be at least two hundred men. Two hundred … it was a high number, but the Kincaids could fight them and win. A surge of pride rose up within her.
All too soon they rode free of the camp, and into a thicket of trees, and with each step her fear increased. Where was he taking her and for what purpose? Then she heard the ripple and splash of a river, and she could only assume he wanted her to bathe. Her heartbeat increased, and her cheeks burned. With him sitting atop his horse, watching? The idea filled her with dread.
Cull tugged the horse’s reins, and they delved down an embankment. The sound of water grew louder, and she saw a mud-colored, circular tent set upon the banks. In the distance, nearly obscured by the same trees, she saw men on horseback, and others standing, armed with spears. Guards protecting the furthest edges of the encampment.
At the riverside, two broad shouldered, middle-aged women scrubbed linens against stones, but paused in their work to eye them with interest. One stood and approached. Behind her, three large cauldrons steamed over fires and wooden buckets were stacked all around. Planks were laid to and fro across the earth, to make a path across the stones and mud.
“Go with her,” Cull said, and urged her off his horse.
The woman reached up, helping her down, and kept hold of her arm afterward, making it clear she would not be allowed to wander away.
“Why?” she asked, looking back at him. “Am I to wash linens too?”
She prayed so. She prayed he would leave her here with these hard-faced women. She would wait until they weren’t watching and she would run, and evade the guards and never see Cull again, until he lay dead and defeated by her brother-in-law’s sword. A stab went through her heart at the thought, but she did not question why.
“Nay, little one,” he replied with a mirthless chuckle. “You’re going to have a bath, and clean garments.”
The other woman drew back the panel of the tent. Inside she saw a large wooden tub, a stool, and folded linens all about.
“I don’t want a bath,” she retorted.
It was a lie. She wanted nothing more than a bath, but not like this. Not with him standing here, and those strange women assisting her.
“There’s no refusing,” he climbed down, dwarfing her and the woman. “Consider yourself fortunate that I feel inclined to share my bath with you at all.”
Derryth’s pulse surged high.
“I will not bathe with you!” she choked out, horrified.
His eyes flared with annoyance. “You misunderstand. I don’t wish to bathe with you either, peasant.” He spoke throu
gh clenched teeth. “I simply meant that I am sharing a luxury that a fortunate few here in this camp may enjoy.” He raised his hand toward the structure and gestured with impatience. “So please go, and be done with it.”
That was different. If he would not join her …
She turned, yanking her arm free of the woman’s grip. Both wash maids followed her, but she turned and pulled the flap down against them before they could step inside. She backed away, over wooden planks that moved beneath her feet. And yet in the next moment one passed through, and then the other, their expressions amused and determined.
“Behave yerself, child.” Roughly, one divested her of her sodden kirtle, yanking it over her head, which left her in just her léine, hose, and shoes. The other shuttled in buckets of steaming water, which swung and sloshed from a bar lain across her shoulders. Her companion paused in undressing Derryth, to dump the water into the tub. When the tub was filled, and the tent thick with warm steam, they both turned to her again, reaching, but she’d had enough of their handling.
“I will tend to myself.” She pushed the flats of her hands against their shoulders, directing them to the door. “Leave me.”
Thankfully, they did as she commanded, snickering and shrugging and pushing through the canvas, leaving her alone.
“’Er ladyship wants nane o’ our help,” she heard one declare, her words thick with sarcasm.
Heavy bootfalls approached, crunching against the earth, coming nearer. Derryth drew in her breath, fearful that he would burst inside and force her into the water himself—
But he did not.
“You there, peasant,” he said in a low, yet commanding voice. “Are you listening? Do not tarry overlong. I do not have all day to tend to you.”
She imagined his blue eyes flashing with annoyance.
“I will hurry as best I can,” she answered, as subserviently as she could manage, so that he would not recognize the rebellion she intended.
Aye, she’d be done with this bath faster than he knew. Heart pounding, she crossed through the thick steam to the back of the tent. If she were to escape, she did not have long.
Soon enough, he would discover her gone, and follow. But if she disappeared into the forest, and took an erratic path away from the river and the guards, she prayed he would not find her quickly enough to intercept her. This moment might be her only chance of ever escaping, and making her way back to Inverhaven to warn the Kincaids of the impending attack, and she must take it, without overthinking every detail … or of the consequences of failure.
Escape was likely the most foolish and dangerous thing she had ever considered doing—given the distance, and that she had no mount to carry her—but she had to try. She could not simply remain here helpless, doing nothing. Elspeth, and the rest of them, meant more to her than any fear she might experience, or any hardship she might suffer. Oh, she wasted time just thinking now … pondering everything.
She had to move. They’d taken her kirtle, and outside the tent the air would be cold. She plucked a large swath of linen from a nearby stand. After doubling it, she wrapped it around her shoulders. She threw one last, longing glance at the steaming bath, for her skin still itched from the dried mud caked there. ’Twould be paradise to indulge, but no. She must go and go now.
Kneeling, she lifted the thick wall of the tent and slipped under. Cold water and mud soaked her legs, chilling her skin. She winced, as stones jabbed into her knees. She scrambled up. Standing in the wane, gray light, she assessed her best path of escape, and deemed it to be away from the river, into the forest just behind, where the trees were the thickest. She let out a small, anxious moan, seeing little other choice. Unless he was a complete dullard, which she knew he was not, he would easily discern her path of escape and know exactly where to pursue her.
Still, she hurried in that direction, racing over the uneven ground, her terror rising with each step, doing her best to make no sound.
The more distance she could put between them, and quickly, the better. The moment she stepped into the protection of the trees, she veered southward, breathless from fear, toward the camp, thinking to continue on for a short while before cutting northward toward Inverhaven—
Only to be yanked to a sudden stop.
She let out a panicked cry, and glanced over her shoulder to see him, huge and terrifying, behind her, lunging—his hand gripping her makeshift cloak.
Ducking, she frantically pushed at the cloth and slipped free. She ran a few feet more before the full weight of him barreled into her—
“No!” she shouted.
She fell hard—but somehow landed sprawled on him, as if he’d turned to protect her from the punishing impact. Cold air swept up her calves and thighs, laid bare in the fall, her léine now bunched just below her bottom, across which one of his large hands was splayed. He gripped her arm, and though she wriggled and pushed and pulled with all her strength, desperate to be free, he held her rigidly still.
“Stop that,” he growled, peering up at her with burning blue eyes, from a pillow of fallen leaves.
When she did not, he gave her a yank that made her teeth click.
She stared at him, her heart beating, the knowledge she couldn’t escape him ripping through her like a storm.
“Kill me then!” she cried, feeling like a failure. Useless to those she loved.
“Kill you?” he said, sitting up … turning her, bringing her upright beside him. In doing so, she felt the movement of his muscles against her, his stomach and chest … his arms where they touched against her. His heat.
“Who said anything about killing you?” he growled, his cheeks and jaw tight with anger. “I just want ye to take a damn bath.”
With another growl, he stood, dragging her up onto her feet, his hand now clenched in the back of her léine. The cold claimed her quickly, and sent her teeth to chattering.
“Ye’re cold, are y’?” He released her, and she spun around to look back into his eyes, as her chest rose and fell with her labored breath. “Serves ye right.”
He jabbed a finger at her.
“The sooner ye do as I say, the sooner ye’ll be warm.” He rested his hands on his hips, breathing hard, and rolled his eyes.
She said nothing. She only stared back at him.
“Why are ye fighting me on this?” he demanded, exasperated.
She wasn’t fighting at the moment, as she ought to be. Instead, she was staring at him. Handsome. Oh, he was indeed handsome, with his loch-blue eyes, and the scar at the corner of his mouth that she hadn’t seen before.
And he didn’t seem to want to kill her.
But he was her enemy, because he intended harm those she loved. For that, she hated him. She had to.
“Just let me go,” Derryth whispered, still breathing hard from their tussle—her body frozen, but strangely burning from the shock of sprawling across his, back there on the ground. “I’ll never be anything but trouble to you.”
“I don’t doubt that, but nay, I won’t let y’ go,” he gritted out. “Not yet.”
“I won’t tell the Kincaids—”
“That’s right,” he replied coldly, his eyes flashing brighter and more dangerously with each step he took toward her. “Y’ won’t. Because ye’ll stay here. In my camp. Where I know exactly where y’ are, until I decide to let you go. Do y’ understand?”
“Aye,” she whispered. “I understand.”
“Then come with me.” He pushed past her, striding in the direction of the river.
She turned and ran in the opposite direction.
Only to hear his curse, and the thud of his boots behind her.
The world spun as he hoisted her up from behind, and spun her midair, stomach down, tossing her headfirst over his shoulder.
“No!” she cried, kicking.
“I see y’ are not to be reasoned with in any sort of rational way,” he muttered.
“Aaarrggh!” she shouted, kicking—but his arms banded her legs like a
n iron vise.
The world passed by, upside down. Tree trunks. Gray sky. Fallen leaves. Mossy stones.
The women cackled when he stormed past them, carrying her, apparently delighted and amused by her capture and distress. He bent—and she heard the sound of canvas slapping against canvas. Steam enveloped them both.
Abruptly, he set her down.
She met his gaze, and found it shimmering with an anger so intense, she gasped from it. All she could think is that she wanted him gone. The thought of his hands on her … oh, she couldn’t allow it!
“I’ll take their help now,” she squeaked.
“Nay, ye already made clear ye didn’t wish it, lass.” One brow slanted, and his nostrils flared. “So that leaves me. Yer choice, do y’ see?”
“No, that’s not what I want—” She shook her head.
He flashed a lecherous smile at her before seizing her by the shoulders, and spinning her toward the tub. Unsteadied she grabbed the edge—
Suddenly, her léine flew upward, over her head.
She grabbed—trying to keep it, to cover herself, but he was too fast and she, suddenly naked, save for her hose, her shoes, and the steam.
“Devil!” she exclaimed—humiliated and fearful of what he would do to her now. Hands clenched her ankles. Just as she stiffened in surprise, he wrenched her up and tipped her forward.
She splashed face-first into the tub—as she felt her shoes and hose unceremoniously tugged from her legs. Twisting, she slid through the water … floundering … splashing and sputtering to the opposite side, turning to glare at him.
But she only glimpsed his broad back, covered by a smudged tunic, and his shining hair as he passed through the tent opening. In came the wash women, chuckling gleefully over her humiliation.
Both took up rough bars of soap. Approaching, one grabbed an arm, the other, the length of her hair, and they began scrubbing.
The Warrior of Clan Kincaid Page 5