But would they?
Thoughts of Douglas and Marguerite, framed and betrayed, washed through her mind. Dunstan was capable of any level of dissembling. She knew that now. He had no regard for the truth. He would frame her cousins as quickly as he had played the Jacobite sympathizer with her father, simply to gain his trust.
And what did he plan to do, when he had me at Southfields? When I could not escape? I can see now that he does not care for me at all.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry.
You always had misgivings.
She recalled that now. She had dismissed her unease with Dunstan South as girlish fancies, but now she believed she had noticed something. Always, there had been that prickle of warning down her spine.
“Milady? Should I attire you for dinner now?”
Claudine shook her head, feeling infinitely weary. “No, Frances. If you could bring me up a tray? I wish to dine alone.”
“As you wish, milady.”
Over dinner – a fine stew of river fish – she made her plans. She hadn't eaten such good fare in days, and was amazed by how much stronger she felt when she finally pushed away her empty plate.
She was going to run away.
She would take the horse her cousins had loaned her, pack a small bag of provisions, and leave at first light the next morning.
How will I know where to go?
She suddenly had a flash of inspiration. All she needed was a chart. There was a map in the drawing room – Douglas and Brogan had consulted it one evening, while she chatted with Marguerite. She would take the map and flee.
And then?
She shook her head mutely. She had no idea. She would try to reach her brother at his border-post.
If Reid can still be trusted.
She shook her head. How could she doubt Reid? This man should not have such power to distort her views of the world! She could not doubt her dear older brother.
“No. I am not going to stand for this. I am going to run away.”
However wild it seemed, she would do it. She was not going to live her life in misery. It was the only life she had, and she would make it the very best she could. She was going to run away.
RUNNING AWAY
Morning came slowly in the winter lands. The dawn light crept, gray and wolfish, over the hills toward the window, creeping along the sill. Claudine watched it, her heart gripped with tension.
In her hand, she clutched a bag filled with provisions. The little cash she'd brought with her, a necklace – she could sell it, if she needed ready cash – a small loaf, filched from dinner the previous night. The map, smuggled carefully from the drawing room an hour ago, and just a few personal items.
“I should go now,” she told herself.
Her heart was ice. During the night, terror had settled on her. She could see how utterly foolish this plan was. She was a woman, alone, recently recovered from a serious illness. She had a rudimentary idea of where she was going, and no fixed destination in mind, besides the knowledge that her brother had last been stationed at Berwick. She would be out there, alone with her horse, facing footpads, outlaws and renegade soldiers in a land already building up to war.
Terrors – named and nameless – bore down on her. She tried to stand, but her legs refused to do it.
“Come on, Claudine,” she urged herself.
The instant she felt her resolve waver, she built a mental picture of Dunstan. The way his eyes – flat, cold, unfeeling – stared into hers. His grip on her wrist. His hateful, threatening tone, the uncaring way he dismissed her, and her cousins, and even Reid.
“I have to go.”
As she paused at the door, words suddenly flashed into her mind. Listen to your heart, lass.
“I am listening,” she told herself softly.
She stepped out into the hallway.
It was cold out there, frigid and icy, no fires having burned through the night to keep it warm. It was dark too; the lamps set in the wall barely enough to keep the hallway lit. She tiptoed across the wooden boards, holding her breath in terror of their creak.
“Och, haud yer whist, ye pesky blasted thing...” a voice said harshly.
Claudine froze. Then, as a light wavered around the corner, she pressed into the shadow of the doorway.
“I dinnae ken why I bother with this thing. A new bucket. That's what I need...I'll ask Mrs. Merrick for one tomorrer.”
Claudine let out a sigh of relief. It was a maidservant, Mrs. McLeary, whom she'd only met once or twice. She carried a bucket full of coal-ash, which squeaked as it swung on the handle, making a high pitched protest.
She waited until the woman had briskly walked past, taking the lantern with her. Then she tiptoed out of her hiding place, and headed down the hallway. At the stairs, she drew in a breath.
Walk on the edges. That's where they hold firmer.
Reid's voice whispered to her. They were children in Estridge together, he ten, she eight, and they were sneaking down the steps to the parlor, where her parents hosted a small dinner party.
His advice was as sound then as it was still. She tiptoed down the stairwell, steps barely squeaking.
When she reached the bottom, she ran for the door.
“Hey!” a voice called as she tore it open. She almost screamed, but didn't stop. She ran toward the stables. Perhaps if she moved fast enough, she'd be out before anyone caught up with her.
Outside, in the gray dawn, the courtyard was a bustle of activity. Men brought barrels out from the storehouse, and then loaded them onto carts. Coal was delivered in a big dark cart, the collier's horses standing still and patient while he did his work. Another cart rumbled in, laden with flour. Claudine darted between them, running for the stables.
“Lass!” Miller, the head stable-hand said, staring. “You shouldn't be out here. What if...”
“Help!” Claudine whispered. “Please! Help me...” She ran toward the stables, not thinking. All she wanted was a horse. Someone to help her tack it out, and then the road before her. She had this one chance!
I should have known the courtyard would be so busy at sunrise. It was a stupid time to choose. I should have gone earlier...
She cursed herself as her legs moved, straining, toward the corner.
“Lass!” Someone reached out and grabbed her arm. She screamed, coming to a halt. Found herself drawn close, a face thrust level with her own.
“Help!” she called. Then her eyes focused on his face. She stared. “Laird McRae!”
“Aye,” he said softly, looking down. “It's me, lass. What is it?”
“They're looking for me. I need to run!”
She spoke the truth: already she could hear people running from the manor. Footsteps filled the courtyard. Someone shouted.
“Stop, thief!”
Brogan stared at her in astonishment. He didn't ask any questions, though.
“Fine,” he nodded. Then, picking her up as if she weighed nothing, he vaulted her onto his horse, and jumped up behind her. Holding the reins with his arms round her waist, he set his knee gently to his horse's side, and they sped forward, toward the open gate.
Then, before she could even think about it, they were on the road, flashing through the mist-pale forest.
“What..?” she whispered. “How..?”
However, she could ask no more questions. Had she had the breath, she could not have done much better. Her mind could barely frame them. They rode on, and on. Their pursuers fell back and the pace slowed. Claudine felt herself start to breathe more deeply.
“You comfortable?” he whispered to her.
The incongruity of the question struck her as funny. She laughed. Relief mixed with genuine humor and brought a chuckle to her lips.
She had escaped a dangerous man, left the only safe place she knew in the whole country, and run off alone. She found herself barely recovered from an illness, in the company of a man she scarcely knew, riding to an unknown destination. Yet, she
was happy.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
“Grand,” he said, satisfied. “Best hang on then. We're almost at the hill.”
Claudine closed her eyes and bit her lip. Her hands gripping the front of the saddle, legs sore from the unusual mode of riding – she was used to side-saddle and sat astride – the wind blowing in to her face, she hung on.
She should have been quite terrified. Yet, she was happier than she could remember being.
They rode on into the woodlands.
As the sun rose, the drizzle started. They rode beneath the trees, slowing for the slippery ground underfoot.
“And we need to spare my horse,” Brogan advised. “Poor fellow. He's no' used tae two bodies on his back.”
“No,” Claudine agreed gently. “Poor thing.”
Brogan chuckled. “Och, he'll fare well. They're strong horses. Clydesdales. Ever rode a Clydesdale before?”
“No,” Claudine whispered softly. “We don't have them in England.”
“Och, that is true.”
She smiled. Her cheeks ached from the cold and the pressure of the wind and rain, but she was happy. “Yes,” she agreed merrily. She felt happier than she had for days – relief and the aftermath of terror mingling with the joy of being free of Dunstan South and what her father had intended for her. “It is.”
They rode between the trees.
“When we get to the inn, we'll stop,” Brogan said after what seemed like a long time. She could forget about his presence if they talked, but, in the silence, she became acutely aware of his body, pressed to hers; his arms linked about her waist, hands resting by her knee. It was unseemly, yet her body found it pleasant.
I could grow used to travel such as this.
She flushed, glad there was no way that he could read her mind. She shouldn't be thinking like this! She couldn't help it. She knew she should be terrified of being alone with Brogan. However, he had nursed her through her illness, and she wasn't. She trusted him.
“The inn?” she made herself say carefully. “How far is that?”
“Och, not fifteen miles, milady. We'll be there by luncheon.”
“Oh.”
Claudine tensed. It seemed a long time to stay on horseback like this. All the same, she was far from discomforted here. With his arms round her, the feel of his chest pressed to her back, she felt safer and more cared-for than she had ever felt before in her life.
“If ye wish tae stop, just tell me, lass. I ken ye were nae well.”
“I can manage.”
He smiled. She couldn't see him, but she heard it in his voice when he replied.
“Och, grand.”
They rode on toward the inn, down the forest road.
The water dripped from pine needles and soaked her hair. Her cloak had a hood, but it had fallen back and she was too nervous to let go the pommel and raise it. The rain fell slowly, though, and her clothes stayed mostly dry. Her hands were cold, gripping icy leather.
“It seems a shame tae leave the manor afore breakfast,” he said.
Claudine tensed. It was the only sort of thing like an inquiry he had made since he saw her. However, as yet, she had no words to answer. “It was necessary.”
“Aye,” he said softly. “I'm sure it was. Well, we'll be there soon enough. We can take a breakfast there as well as luncheon, if we've the mind.”
Claudine smiled, albeit a small grin. “That is true.”
“Och, that's the way,” Brogan chuckled. “Well then. On to the inn. And breakfast.”
Claudine chuckled, feeling suddenly weak. All the tension had held her upright for the last few hours. Since the pursuit had cut out within the first few yards of entering the woods, her concern had soothed somewhat. She felt sleepy now, badly in need of rest.
She was dropping off to sleep by the time Brogan held her firmer and Brogan's voice called out gently.
“The inn, lass. Let's get down now.”
She felt him shift behind her and his arms gently unclasped as he slid down and, reaching for her, helped her to the ground. Her legs weak, she leaned against him, breathing in the smell of him.
Then they were walking to the inn.
Brogan held Claudine against him gently. His heart beat like a drum. He had no idea how he had managed that ride, keeping his hands off her.
Her body pressed against his, yielding, gentle. Every jolt on the road's surface – and there were many – pressed her body into his a little more. His groin had long ago given up any hope of remaining unaffected, and he had ridden the last two hours in acute discomfort. He breathed in the scent of her hair and tried to control the stab of longing he felt.
By, but she's the most bonny lass I ever saw.
He helped her up the steps, and then turned to the innkeeper, a fellow called McNott, whom he distantly knew.
“Greetings, Alisdair,” he said quickly. “A room for the lass...she's my aunt's kin. And my usual room, please.”
“Of course, milord. Stable your horse?”
“Please. And rub him down well, and get him warm bran and a poultice for that leg.”
“Yes, milord.”
“You know horses well,” Claudine murmured, as he gently led her in over the threshold.
“I ken something,” he whispered back. She turned and smiled at him.
“You always say that.”
“Aye, and I mean it still,” he grinned. Their eyes held and suddenly he had a peculiar sensation, as if he was falling into those gray depths, drowning in them, helpless.
A creak of the boards in the hallway brought his attention back to the present.
“Luggage, sir?”
“I'm traveling light,” he shrugged. “Take my saddlebags up.”
“Yes, Milord McRae.”
One thing he liked about McNott was that he was not the sort to ask questions. His sudden appearance with an unknown girl, no luggage, and apparently no reason to be here, raised no speculation.
It's best that way, for the lass, if not for me.
Glancing down at her, he felt a flush of tenderness such as he had never felt before. He would do anything to spare her any hurt. He knew how he had jeopardized her by carrying her away like this, but, given the circumstances, it was all he could consider doing.
I still have no idea why she was running.
That, he decided, he would leave her to tell, in her own time. For now, all he could do was care for her needs.
“I'll order us a luncheon, lass?” he said gently. “Unless you want to rest first? Maybe get out of those wet things...” His voice trailed off, distressed, as he realized they had no spare clothing between them.
“No,” she whispered, her voice a thread of sound. “I'd like luncheon.”
“Fine. Alisdair?”
“Yes, milord?”
“Bring us your finest luncheon. And set it in the outer room, please? I'll no' have all the riff-raff all over it.”
“Very good, milord.”
He helped Claudine walk, slowly and carefully, to the dining room. On one side, across the hallway, was a private area, reserved for guests who did not wish to sit in the tap-room with the local traders and farmers. Not that he usually minded that – but the last thing Claudine needed, he sensed, was prying eyes.
“There now,” he said, helping her into a seat while the innkeeper's wife, Mrs. McNott, bustled about laying out silverware and plates and napkins. “This is better.”
“Aye,” she whispered.
She was looking down at her plate. A big grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Aye?” he asked. She blushed.
“Oh. I mean, yes...”
He laughed. She looked up at him, tired, and then she too burst out laughing. The two of them giggled helplessly, the tension melting away. Beside them, the innkeeper's wife shook her head as if they'd both turned into fearsome beasts.
“Sorry, milady,” Brogan gasped, recovering first. “I just...It was unexpected...”
“I
t was funny,” Claudine sighed, swiping a strand of dark hair from her eye. She met his gaze. Her cheeks were flushing, but she was deathly-pale still. He wondered again at the wisdom of her running away.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded. Her hand rested on the table and he gently reached for it. He saw the innkeeper's wife raise a brow and he ignored it, gently rubbing his fingertip over one of Claudine's own. Hers were icy.
“Gilly? Bring the soup – a big bowlful for my cousin here.”
“Aye sir.”
“Your cousin.”
“Well?” he shrugged, smiling at her. “It makes as much sense as any.”
Claudine regarded him a moment, then looked down shyly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Oh, thank you.”
Brogan stared in astonishment, seeing her shoulders shaking. She was crying, and he had no idea why. The weariness, he guessed, combined with whatever tension had driven her to be outside then. He sat and watched her, feeling helpless, waiting for her to finish crying.
When she had done so, she looked up at him. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I suppose, I...”
“Easy, lass,” he said gently. The broth had arrived, but he'd signaled to Mrs. McNott to leave it on the side table. She had left and crept out slowly. Brogan reached for it now, ladle in hand.
“Thanks,” she whispered as he ladled it into her bowl. “I am sorry. I never meant for you to be stuck here with me...” She shook her head, distressed.
“You did nothing,” Brogan said gently. “Nothing at all.”
“Oh, Laird McRae,” she said softly. “You're so kind. I never met such kindness.”
Brogan stared. “Nonsense, lass. I do only what any sane folks would do.” What had she expected him to do? Turn her over to whatever sought to chase her?
“I wouldn't have run away, if...” She paused. “If he hadn't...He threatened me, McRae.”
He stared into her horrified eyes. His heart stopped. “South?”
“Yes, him,” she said, gaze dropped. “He said that...that he would take me with him. By force, if necessary. Take me back to England. Honor the...contract my father made.”
“You were meant to wed him?” Brogan stared. He was horrified. How could anyone wed this beautiful, sweet girl to that cold-hearted...He shook his head.
The Highlander’s Runaway (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 11