Gavin looked up at the cobwebbed rafters of the small building. “I suppose tis my home away from Thurso. Tis a base camp we use when your uncle sends us out to work along the border.”
“Well, thank you for having me over. Now, if you would excuse me, I believe my husband will be looking for me.”
“Ye have no husband. Not yet.”
“Funny, I thought I saw you at the wedding.”
“Ye are not married, not truly,” Gavin replied, the smile on his lips extending even further.
“How do you figure?”
“Ye havena let him bed ye. Yer uncle’s chambermaid told me there was no blood on yer sheets this morn, so you canna tell me you didna keep yer promise, not that I thought ye capable of breaking it.”
“Aye, I kept my promise, against better judgement, what of it?”
“Donna ye see, lass? Now we can be wed,” Gavin said, reaching out to take her hands in his.
Margaret shook her head, a trembling laugh escaping her lips. So, this was his plan, then? With no proof of consummation and Margaret far from Alexander’s side, Gavin saw her marriage as annulled.
“When you had me make that promise, you ken of this plan to attack the Mackays.”
“Of course, lass, I planned the attack. Started planning it just as soon as ye told me of yer fate. I couldna just let a Mackay have ye, and these men agreed to right the wrongs. They didna wish to see the lass I cherished taken from me, especially by a Mackay.”
Two days ago, nothing would have made her happier than to have Gavin steal her away with such honeyed words as these. Now, though, his words burned her like hot coals against her skin. She did not want to be cherished by a man like this. Not anymore. Margaret was about to tell him so, to throw her abandoned care into his face as if they were coals of her own. But that would not do well, and she checked the impulse.
“Gavin,” she whispered, trying to make her words sound as if they were dripping with sadness. “Tis all a good plan, but what of Clan Gunn? The queen shall not stand for such an insult. My family, your family, all of those brave men out there, the queen will put them to the sword for this.”
“Tis a risk worth taking, lass. Yer uncle will just wed the next lass in line to the Mackay, maybe send the queen some gold.”
“It will not be so simple! Tis an insult to her, and then she may find out about Isobel and the insult will be doubled! I appreciate the sentiment, and I’ll cherish it forevermore, but you have to send me back.”
“Nah,” he said, as casually as one rejected the offer to play cards.
Since sadness hadn’t worked, Margaret let her emotions turn to anger. “You are a bloody fool. I never would have made you that worthless promise had I—”
Margaret was cut off by a firm slap across her cheek. It sent her head whipping to the side, the metallic taste of blood on her tongue.
“It was not worthless,” Gavin breathed, his voice the quiet fury that reminded her of the eye of a storm. “Donna ye ever dare to say that again. Tis as if ye wanted that man to touch ye.”
Margaret straightened her head, defiantly looking back into Gavin’s dark eyes, which were now nearly black with his emotion. She wanted to tell him that she had wanted his touch, that the only thing that had held her back was her foolish inability to break a promise. But she had already taken it a step too far with him. The pain on her cheek was a reminder of that.
“Of course, I did not want that,” Margaret said. “I just want what is best for the clan, and I’ll do whatever I must to see that through.”
“I want the same,” he replied. “But, if we run off and stay hidden, perhaps going south to England, they’ll never ken that ye survived the attack. We’ll find a clearing and fill it with blood and bits of yer dress. The queen will only be mad then at the Mackays for failing to protect ye.”
“I wish I could believe you,” Margaret said. “But I am so afraid for the clan should we fail. Twould be better for me to just try and be happy with Alexander, even if I ken that you will one day forget about me and wed another.”
“But ye’ll never be happy at his side.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ye ken that he doesna want ye,” Gavin said, crouching down so he could look her in the eye, his hand reaching out to caress her good cheek.
“I could give you plenty of evidence otherwise,” Margaret replied, her mind returning to the feeling of him hardening beneath her lap the night before with a slight blush.
“Does he even ken who ye are? I’m not talking about identity only, but in heart?”
No, Margaret realized as pain swelled through her. And he probably never would.
Alexander expected an Isobel. He expected a woman that would ask him for the world and then a bolt of silk besides. He expected a woman that would walk through noble society at Dirlot with the grace and innate arrogance of one born into that world. That would never be Margaret, it would only be her in a mask. And knowing that brought her more pain than she would have felt if the roof of this building caved in upon her.
Gavin now may have been the wiser choice if she ever dared to have a man know her and love her for who she was. But, as she thought of the taste of Alexander’s lips and the burnishing gold in his eyes when he looked at her, she knew that Gavin would never again be a choice she could make. Alexander had managed to dig trenches into her heart with only a few soft touches and weighted glances. And, though she had not wanted him there, she also did not have the strength of will to try and push him out. His presence there filled her with a warmth that was at once as calming as a blanket and as terrifying as a volcanic eruption.
No, he would never love her, not for who she really was. But she would be happier living a lie with him than living in truth with Gavin. And now that she knew that, she would fight to get back to him. And then she would fight to stay beside him.
“You’re right. I do not ken how I did not see it before,” Margaret said, her words hollow and tasteless as they slipped from her lips. “Me and you belong together, no matter the risk.”
“Aye, lass,” Gavin softened before her, leaning forward so his forehead come to rest on hers. “I’m so glad ye see it.”
“Before we discuss where we shall run off to, I need something to drink. I feel a bit faint.”
Her voice was scratchy enough for Gavin to understand the point, and he nodded, his face once again alight with happiness. He leaned forward again, brushing his lips against her forehead. Margaret resisted the urge to scrub away whatever of his touch lingered behind.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered before he slipped away, leaving her on her own in the little building.
Margaret scrambled to her feet as soon as he had slipped through the door, her eyes darting this way and that as she tried to identify an exit. And there, along the wall, nearly hidden behind a stack of crates, was a small hole where one of the wooden planks had rot away. Margaret rushed for it and crouched. It was a small hole, but she was a small lass. She began to crawl through, her torso slipping into the cool night air before she felt resistance.
“Bloody skirts,” Margaret cursed, wishing her uncle hadn’t forced her to ride out in something so ridiculous. The thick green skirt was one thing, but then there were the countless layers of fabric beneath the outer shell, layers that gave her a pretty volume when she sat atop a horse but did not help her when she was trying to make a daring escape.
Of all times not to be in trousers, Margaret thought to herself as she scurried back into the building and began to reach desperately for the ribbon along her back that held the dress against her, but found it was just out of reach.
“Dammit,” Margaret whispered, hearing the men outside all laugh and shout with each other, with one distinctly teasing another for taking so long to bring back the water. She hooked her fingers into the bodice of the dress and pulled. At first, there was nothing. Just Margaret sitting amongst the straw, futilely pulling at the dress, but then, with a soft pop, the ribbo
n tying it to her broke.
Margaret tugged again and again, slowly but surely pulling the dress further and further off of her, frantically casting glances over her shoulder. Finally, the dress was loose enough, and she pushed it down over her hips, scrambling away from the voluminous green trap. Now, stripped down only to her kirtle under-gown, she dove for the hole again, this time making it through with only one or two tugs to free the thin cotton where the jagged edges tried to trap her. Behind her, she heard the creaking groan of the door opening.
She ran.
She didn’t know which way they had come from, nor which way would lead her back to Alexander, but that didn’t stop her from sprinting as quickly as she could. It was too dark to see where she was going, with the light of the moon only just barely outlining the trunks of trees and the soft, dark clumps of bushes. But every fallen branch or stone or piece of uneven ground threatened her footing. Loudly, she kept stumbling and falling, her palms skidding through the soft soil as she landed.
It was starting to grow louder behind her, with the shouts of men and the neighs of horses echoing through the trees. And footsteps…footsteps that were far too close for her comfort.
“Margaret!” Gavin’s voice sliced through the air; he couldn’t have been far behind her.
She slid to a stop and threw herself against the trunk of the nearest tree, tip toeing around its circumference until she could crouch in the middle of a group of overgrown ferns. She couldn’t outrun him, not when she did not even know where she was going.
“Margaret!” he called again, and this time he sounded even closer than before. She could hear his deep, frantic breaths. But then, after one large breath, he went silent. He was listening for her, for the sound of her racing across unknown land. Margaret cursed in her head. He wasn’t going to hear anything. He was going to know she was hiding and assume it was somewhere nearby.
Alexander, she thought to herself, shouting the name so loud through her mind that she hoped it would somehow project out to him. Then she stopped herself, refusing to think of Alexander just now. Just two days ago, she had given him a warning of her independence. Now was an opportunity to prove her mettle. If not to him, then to herself.
She heard two soft steps forward, then a few more, and then she was sure that she could reach out and touch him. Margaret softly touched her hand to the ground, patting it here and there as she searched for anything she could use as a weapon.
“Over here!”
The shout was faint, but distinct, coming from behind the small hill to her left. Gavin’s footsteps shifted, turning toward it, before he set off at a run.
Margaret released a breath and waited until the sound of his steps to fade before she stood and carried on. She went slowly at first, trying not to rustle the leaves or crunch any branches under her feet. But then, as the shouts and footfalls of Gavin and his friends began to grow once more, she quickened her pace.
She was at a near run at the point that she heard it: the snap of branches and the shushing of leaves being thrown aside. Margaret froze, her mouth opening to let out a cry but thinking the better of it. Where had it come from? Margaret was standing right in the center of a small clearing, with no shelter anywhere for her to use as a hiding place.
Then it came again, another snap of branches underfoot, and Margaret began to run. Whoever it was, they began to run too. They were running parallel to her, only a few trees over. Then they were ahead of her. And then…
It was like crashing into a boulder, and her eyesight went fuzzy as her head suddenly felt like it was filled with a dense fog, concealing all better thought and reason. Margaret felt drunk, and she felt her knees give way, yet she remained upright. Then, as the fog began to clear, she felt the arms around her. Arms that were not giving, even now that she was trying to push herself away. With one mighty shove, Margaret pushed against her captor with all of her might. The grip on her faltered, and then she was free, stumbling back before she felt the hem of her skirt catch under her boot, sending her falling back.
Before she could scramble up to her feet once more, to keep running as quickly as she could, the hands were upon her again.
“Got you, lass.”
7
“Now would you calm the hell down!” Alexander grunted, tightening his grip on his wife’s arms, not particularly wanting her to land another blow against him.
At the sound of his voice, she stopped moving. “Alexander?”
“Aye. Come on,” Alexander said, hoisting her to her feet and dragging her after him through the forest.
“Alexander, I—”
“Later.”
As quickly and as quietly as he could, he navigated them through the dark forest, at times reaching back to pull Margaret against him and whispering some excuse about how it was a steep hill or that the footing was difficult, but he just wanted to make sure she was still there.
The moment he had known that she had been taken, it had been as if he had been shot with a million arrows, and then a million more. If it weren’t for his muscles moving on a warrior’s instinct, he would have broken down in the middle of the caravan and lost all control of his emotions. Instead, he and his men had pursued, with Alexander issuing orders without even knowing if they made any sense.
The first hour of searching had been treacherous. Two of his men had been shot by lingering archers, and another had fallen into a pit filled with sharpened stakes. Then, finally, things in the forest had quieted, and the remaining men had decided to split up and spread out. They regrouped at nightfall, with no one having any leads or having found any tracks. Whoever the outlaws had been, they knew this forest well. Each step that they had taken had been carefully set where it would not leave a trace, and they had gone deep enough within to prevent easy pursuit.
Alexander had sent the men back to find the caravan and to ensure that it had safely made it to Mackay lands. Though Jonah had protested, Alexander had stayed behind, running into the trees to continue his search before anyone could convince him to do otherwise.
He came to regret the choice after searching in vain for another hour in the dark. What had he expected to find when the daylight had done him no good? But the thought of giving up, of turning back and laying in his tent that night without her had sharpened his pain.
The woman was frustrating, and infuriating, and flawed in so many ways that he could hardly name them all. She was the very type of woman that he had learned to despise. But then, without warning, she would transform into a creature so completely and utterly perfect to him that he couldn’t help but to bind chains round his heart and offer her the key. He wanted to get to know that woman. And he was going to be damned if a group of bandits robbed him of that chance.
Alexander had thought he was hallucinating when he heard the shouts in the distance. But then, when they wouldn’t dissipate, he rushed toward them, sliding onto his stomach as he reached the top of a hill overlooking a small camp in chaos.
“Find her!” one man shouted as he began lighting torches and passing them out.
“She couldna gone far!” said another as he began shoving men into the trees in varying directions.
Alexander had cursed to himself. If he had found this camp before she had done something stupid, like escape on her own, it would have been easy to quietly extract her. Her going out into the forest, alone and likely as blind to its secrets as he, was more of a challenge.
But part of him had been pleased as he rushed from tree to tree, dodging the groups of men and hoping they would lead him straight to her. The lass had escaped, which had meant that she had not intended to be taken, as part of him had feared.
One man had shouted up an alarm, calling all of the other searchers in the area to him. Alexander had cursed and dropped down the hill to avoid the men all converging on one area. He didn’t have a death wish, after all. But then, as they continued to shout and run about, he realized that they hadn’t found her. The lead had been false. Alexander rushed ahe
ad of them, planning on circling round the base of the hill of which they were at the top, when he had heard running on his opposite side.
He pursued and, sure enough, it led him straight to her. The bruises she had given him for coming upon her silently were well worth the feeling of calm that had washed over him, easing away all of the pain of the day and making him feel as if such a pain could never exist again.
Unless, the bitter piece of his mind whispered, she’ll one day run from you the same way that she had run from them.
The lass had, after all, not been running toward Mackay lands. She had been headed straight east, back toward the Gunns. Maybe she had been fighting him with the genuine hope of getting away.
Alexander tightened his grip on her hand, unwilling to let go.
“Ouch, Alexander, not so hard,” she said in a whisper.
“Sorry, lass,” he replied, though he wasn’t sorry at all and only barely loosened his grip.
“Where are we going?”
“Just over this hill,” Alexander replied. “We’re almost on Mackay lands, where I ken the forest far better and have the perfect spot to hide for the night.”
The place in question was a large rock that jutted nearly twelve feet off the ground. Overtop of it were draped a million vines and coatings of moss so thick that he used to peel them from the rock’s side and use them to make pretend armor.
Alexander reached forward and ran his hands along the vines until he found the spot where the firmness gave way and his hand slipped through. With a few soft tugs to loosen the places where the leaves had knotted themselves to their neighbors, Alexander managed to pull the vines aside, revealing a small crevice that was just large enough for him to squeeze through. He led the way, and then Margaret followed.
The inside of the rock was hollow, with a narrow opening at the top, as if it were a cave dug from the side of a mountain and set on end. Margaret looked up, her green eyes just barely catching the moonlight as she stared at the starry night overhead. The ground on the inside of the rock was just wide enough for two or three people to lay comfortably side by side.
Highlander's Torn Bride (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 2) Page 8