by Lynda Lukow
But what had become of Randall? Would he return to the Cameron holding to explain the hunters’ failure to his laird? Nay, Randall did not have the courage to face the wrath such news would yield. More likely he hid amongst the shadows, biding time until he could safely see her dead.
She had no doubt they had intended to kill her.
Her emotions, like a blizzard’s snow, swirled through her overwrought mind to her churning stomach. She ran to a clump of bushes and vomited.
“I told her not to look.”
She shot Robert a stern look. Another man held out a cup of water. She did not trust her stomach enough to drink. After rinsing her mouth, she dunked a rag into the remaining liquid and scrubbed blood from her face and hands.
“Dillon, Have the surviving horses from the Cameron stables scattered?”
“Aye, milady.”
“Then I shall have to walk to the Grant holding.” She had nowhere else to go. She could not stay in the forest with Randall in its midst. She could not return to the Camerons.
Hoofbeats approached. Before she could jump from the horse’s path, the rider grabbed her waist. He positioned her astride, with her back against his rock-solid chest. He ordered Robert and Dillon to follow him back to camp where the others prepared for their return home.
“Ye think to kidnap me? I be the charge of Laird Douglas Cameron, and I assure ye he would pay naught for my return.” Kasey waited for his response. At his continued silence she persisted, “My betrothed has already paid handsomely for my hand. I be sure he will pay no more.”
“Betrothed?”
His bellow made her ears ring.
In a chillingly low voice he asked, “Whom may I ask has been given the honor?”
Kasey hooted. Considering her unjustly tattered reputation, along with the fate of those who dared get close, she would call it a curse. “Laird Grant and I shall be wed today at the nooning hour.”
She winced as he tightened his hold.
“Rest assured, milady. My men and I shall see ye to yer rightful destination.”
She nodded, relieved her captor had seen the wisdom of taking her to the Grants. “I can promise naught, but I shall try to convince the laird to reward ye for yer efforts.”
“Yer safe return will be reward enough.” Connor gritted his teeth. Had it not been for Dillon’s assurance, he would not have believed the woman in his arms was the curvaceous beauty who healed him. His fingers filled the gaps between her ribs. Breasts that once overflowed his hands now would barely fill them. Afraid he would snap her in two, he loosened his hold.
She wiggled closer to the stallion’s neck.
A too-large gap, the width of his hand, separated them. He had waited far too long to hold her and pulled her back until her hipbones jabbed his thighs.
“I be sure some Cameron mounts wander nearby.”
“Mayhap,” he breathed in her rose scent, “though yer escorts’ horses could hardly be called mounts.”
“I could catch one.”
“I be sure ye could. They dinna look able to run.”
“Would ye not be more comfortable if I rode my own mount?”
“Nay.”
She mumbled.
“Milady?”
She remained silent.
He took a deep breath. The Lady Kasey Cameron he remembered would be screaming. “I dinna hear ye.”
She shrugged.
He leaned around her shoulder. With two fingers he nudged her chin in his direction and waited for her to meet his gaze. He clenched his jaw when she did not lift her eyes from her lap. “If ye have aught to say, I wish ye to speak so I may hear.”
She chewed her bottom lip.
He let go of her chin and straightened.
“I should be riding my own mount.”
The weakness of her voice troubled him. “I refuse to risk yer safety, milady.”
“I can handle a mount as well as ye.”
“I believe ye can, but I be not sure if others lie in wait.”
“A lady disna ride astride.”
He cupped his fingers behind her knee, forcing it to bend, and scooted back in the saddle. His hand slipped down her reed-like calf to her ankle, and guided her foot behind the horse’s neck, then pulled her shoulder to his chest.
“Ye think it suitable I ride on yer lap?”
He chuckled. “Aye, I do.” Before she could say another word, he pushed her head under his chin. She blew at his beard and leaned out to tuck his whiskers behind her. He reached behind his saddle, untied his cloak, and wrapped it around them. “Rest.”
He tilted his head to gaze at her face. Darkness framed her closed eyes. Gauntness replaced apple cheeks.
What had she endured during their separation?
Ample rest, food, and care would restore her body, but the changes in her spirit disturbed him. The woman who arrogantly directed orders to the king and his laird and fought like a seasoned warrior during the siege had not the courage to demand answers.
Her feet dragged, her shoulders slumped, and her head hung low. She had become the mouse she once disparaged.
And why in blazes did she not look him in the eyes?
He would have his answers soon enough if he had to snatch them from her delicous lips.
“Mi-Connor?”
Dillon’s timing could not have been better. Staring at her mouth had warmed his blood. “She sleeps. Keep yer voice low.”
“Would ye like me to ride ahead?”
“Nay, brother. Ye have done enough. Send Malcolm and Robert to find a place for the night.”
“Aye, milord.”
Connor raised a brow. “Need I remind ye?”
“Nay, Connor, though I dinna agree with yer order.”
“I asked not for yer opinion.”
A few hours later, Connor woke Kasey. “Milady, we be stopping for the night.”
She yawned and rubbed her eyes.
He slid her from his lap and dismounted, but kept a hand on her lower back to keep her from falling off his stallion.
She looked around.
Connor followed her gaze to the last sliver of sun above the mountain. The Grant holding had been but a pair of hours from whence the siege took place. Had that been their true destination, they would have arrived long before dusk.
Anger flashed in her eyes. He welcomed the forthcoming reproof, but she pinched her lips, and sorrow filled her eyes.
Her grief cut him to the quick. He lifted her from the saddle and eased her to the ground.
She leaned into his chest. He wished her action had come from care, but knew the ride had weakened her legs. Once she steadied and straightened, he tilted up her chin. Her gaze remained on his chest.
“Ye love yer betrothed?” He had not intended his question to come out as an accusation. Though the king’s betrothal would make her his wife, he wanted her heart as well.
The tears on her cheeks halved his heart.
He led her to a boulder and indicated she should sit. As he retrieved her dorlach, he ordered some men to make camp, others to hunt, and one to make ready a suitable pallet for the lady.
Kasey cleared her throat.
“Be ye ill, milady?”
“I think a fire be not wise.”
“Explain.”
She kicked a pebble back and forth between her feet.
“Milady?” His impatience grew with every silent moment. “Speak yer mind, lass.”
“A fire would lead the remaining cutthroat to yer camp.”
“My men searched the area afore we left and found no others.”
“Mayhap he slithered under a rock.”
Randall’s face flashed in Connor’s mind. He fisted his hands at his side. “Ye ken who set upon yer escort?”
Kasey shrugged and rose.
He grabbed her hand before she could walk away. He turned the palm up and glared at the rough skin beneath his thumb. “I order ye to answer me.”
She tore from his grasp and clut
ched her hands behind her.
Connor grinned. Mayhap he had pushed her far enough to get a true reaction.
She sighed. “If ye intend to keep me in yer midst, ye must advise yer men to be alert. My life be not worth theirs.” She took her dorlach from his hand. “I wish a moment of privacy.”
He nodded. She had gained five paces when he called, “Dinna think to run, Kasey. If ye do, I shall hunt ye down.”
After she disappeared through the bushes, he called his men to his side. He did not need to remind them to stay alert. Vigilance came as naturally as breath. “We shall celebrate our success on the morrow. This night, we eat what we have. Dillon, see to the lady’s comfort. Malcolm, tend the horses. Gavin, stay with me. The rest of ye eat and rest. Ye will be standing guard this night.”
Connor waited for the others to leave. “She refuses to talk.”
“She has no idea who ye be. Dinna make this more difficult than necessary.”
“She loves another.”
“Ye be wrong, brother. Evonne told ye she awaited Hunter.”
“Mayhap Kasey dinna take yer wife into her confidence.”
“Mayhap yer conscience be not pleased with this ruse.”
“I have no reason to feel guilty. If she would look into my eyes, she would see Hunter.” Connor glared at his brother. “Have ye seen her?”
“She be not half the woman ye knew.”
“How can I understand the changes when she refuses to speak?”
Gavin turned around and called, “Dillon, yer brother wishes a word with ye.”
****
Kasey sat on a rock and envied the stream before her. The steady rhythm of rushing water provided music. The vestiges of the waning sun danced on the surface. She wished she could feel so carefree.
As she removed her boots and hose, she focused on the daggers. She knew her laird detested her, but she did not believe his hatred ran so deep he would order her death. Randall would not dare take such a decision into his hands. Or would he? All her life he had claimed she would be his wife. Mayhap he decided if he could not have her, no one would.
She stuck her feet into the river and considered what to tell her captor of Randall. The snake may have continued on to the Grant holding to weave a tale about her capture. If Agatha’s gossip rang true, Grant had paid a considerable sum for her hand. At this moment his army could be seeking her.
How could she explain the day’s events without looking like a motley? I believe my laird ordered my death after he sold me to Laird Grant.
Pride be damned. She owed her captor and his men a measure of honesty.
She reached into her dorlach and removed a cloth and soap. Certain no one had followed her, she tore off her bloodstained garments and ran into the stream where she scrubbed away the vestiges of the siege.
Leaves fluttered on the bushes near the shore. Perhaps the breeze, not man nor animal, caused the movement. To be safe, she covered her nakedness with her hands and ran into the bushes next to her sack. She reached through the twigs and grabbed clean chemises and a kirtle. After drying her body with one rail, she donned the other and her pale blue gown.
As she packed her belongings, her gaze landed on the chemise and kirtle she had doffed. Wishing she could as easily bid her cowardice farewell, she heaved the garments into the river.
She grabbed her dorlach and started back to the camp.
“Milady, I be on my way to get ye.”
“I be not so stupid to think I could outrun men on horseback, Dillon.”
“I only wished to invite ye to sup.”
She immediately regretted snarling.
He led her to a stump and handed her a slab of cheese. Other hands offered her dried meat, bread, and apples. She thanked them and ate a bit of each offering.
“We have plenty more, milady.”
“Thank ye, but I have eaten more than enough.”
“Ye have eaten next to naught. No wonder ye be as thin as a willow.”
“I be too weary to chew.”
Her captor grunted. “Dillon, show her to the clearing.”
“This way, milady.” He picked up an apple and her dorlach.
She nodded in the men’s direction and followed Dillon.
“I believe ye will like yer pallet. It be not as soft as a feather tick, but the pile of grass and leaves should cushion the ground. I dinna have an extra plaid, so I left the mare’s saddle blanket for a cover. I be sorry it smells like horse.”
She shrugged. “’Twill keep me warm.”
He had chosen a small clearing surrounded by a wall of bushes. In the center lay a pile of leaves as high as her knees. Her throat tightened. A long while had passed since anyone had gone to such extremes for her.
“I may have overdone it. If ye roll around a bit, ye can pack the bedding afore ye sleep.”
“I thank ye.”
Before taking his leave, he handed her an apple. “Ye may get hungry during the night.”
She unfolded the horse blanket, flung its width over her pallet, and let the cloth drift down to cover the bedding. White hairs flew up to tickle her nose. She lay on her side, pulled her arisaide over her, and tucked her hands beneath her dorlach, which cushioned her head.
The snap of a twig awakened her. Stars still gleamed through the branch canopy. Footfalls, crunching dead leaves, drew closer. She slitted her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart.
A form knelt by her side. She did not move until a hand reached toward her. She bolted up, grabbed the intruder’s hair, and pressed her dagger to his throat.
Chapter Thirteen
“We must agree upon a better greeting. I find a blade at my throat a wee bit rude.”
Her captor’s deep, quiet gibe did little to allay her fears. She did not ken his intentions and would allow him no liberties. She kept the dagger poised. “Why have ye woken me?”
“Yer teeth chatter louder than a woodpecker. I brought ye my cloak.”
Her gaze traveled from his neck to his hands. She lay back, but kept the dagger in her hand by her side.
“We ride hard come morn. I tolerate no one falling off his horse.”
She tightened her hold on the dirk when he reached toward her head.
He sat, then twisted the blade from her grasp.
Her hand flew under her dorlach, ready to grasp the remaining dagger. A snap, followed by the smell of apple stopped her.
“Would ye care for a slice?”
She had just threatened the man’s life, and he offered her a slice of fruit? She sat up and took the piece he held out.
“Why does the lady of the manor sleep with daggers at hand?”
She swallowed and wiped juice from her chin. “Though these trees offer the privacy of a bedchamber, they be not as secure as the walls of a keep.”
“Ye need not fear, Kasey. Ye be safe now.”
She shoved another slice of apple into her mouth and concentrated on chewing. Too often sweet promises had as much substance as fog. She dared not believe.
Especially from a man who had already broken his word. Had he not promised to take her to the Grant holding? And who was he? Where did he plan to take her and why?
He chuckled.
She glared at his chin. “Agin ye laugh at me?”
“Questions spin behind yer eyes like water turns a millstone. What would ye like to know?”
She shook her head. Too many beatings had stilled her tongue.
He clenched his jaw. “Ye will speak, milady.”
She chose a safer path. “Thank ye for yer timely intervention. I owe ye my life.”
“We be even, Lady Cameron.” He thrust the fruit into her hand, stabbed her dagger into the ground, and stalked into the darkness.
Too tired to give his words proper attention, she surrendered to slumber’s lure.
****
Red claws dragged away remnants of night. Kasey stretched out her arms and vowed to embrace whatever this day brought.
She twisted
to ease the soreness in her back and gasped. Her captor slept against a nearby tree. She risked a glance around the clearing. With no one else nearby, what harm could come from looking him over?
This man’s hair color reminded her of Hunter, but while Hunter’s wavy hair had barely touched his nape, her captor’s mane hung straight, far past his shoulders. No wrinkles marred Hunter’s face, but crevices carved this man’s cheeks and brow. The white whiskers sprinkled throughout his beard proved him much older, too. While Hunter had been a large man, this man’s tunic barely contained his arms and chest.
She frowned. Though she had dreamt Hunter had come for her, this man could not be him. She could sense Hunter’s presence before she saw or heard his approach. She had no such connection to her captor.
Yet something about him niggled at her. If only she could see his eyes. Her gaze again drifted over his body. She should not provoke this hairy mountain. The way he had tossed her about proved the strength beneath his bulk.
“Ye need not rouse so early, milady.”
She ducked her head and prayed he did not see the heat rise to her cheeks. “I be accustomed to rising afore the sun.”
“Why? Be the servants at yer holding so unskilled they needed yer counsel to complete their daily tasks?”
“The manor’s limited wealth allows the employ of few. Be it not yer lady’s duty to help?”
His movements graceful despite his immensity, he sat by her side. He took her hand and turned it over. “The thickness of these calluses tells me ye did more than assist.”
He released her hand. “Members of my clan work for the good of the whole, to express gratitude for the good life provided by their laird. I have found only abusive lairds need compensate their people. Dare ye refute my words?” He urged up her chin.
His touch heated her like lightning ignited a droughty forest. Detesting her body’s betrayal, she snatched up her dorlach and strode toward the river.
After she completed her morning ablutions, she spied bushes laden with ripe berries. Certain her rescuers might enjoy some to break their fast, she crawled around and picked the fruit.
Dillon greeted her on his way toward the river. From his armful of vessels, she guessed he had the task of acquiring water for the day’s ride. Then she nodded a greeting to the three men who tended the horses.