Desiring the Highlander (3 page)

Jaime halted his mount next to Donald’s. “Commander,” Jaime prompted, unable to see Cole’s current grimace, “do you want to stop and rest the mounts before continuing?”

“No.” Like most of Cole’s answers, this one was short and left no room for discussion. Before sundown, he fully intended to be back on Scottish soil. He might be forced to ride on English lands, but he refused to walk on them, eat on them, or even donate his piss to the flora. “We ride on.”

The sun was high by the time the group had made its way down the series of smaller hills and into the woodland surrounding Durchent Hall. They rode until they broke free of the trees to where a massive square tower stood visually overpowering the rest of the buildings surrounding it. Cole was unimpressed.

A young boy was busy removing stone and wood from a cart, when Cole called out to him. “Find your baron and tell him that we come for what belongs to his sister.”

After overcoming his shock, the boy dashed into the tower with the message. Minutes later, a different, much chubbier, and somewhat better dressed adolescent came running out, breathing heavily, stating the baron would receive them in his presence room.

Cole arched a single brow and stared at the lad. “And just who are you to speak for the baron?”

“I’m…I’m…the herald,” the boy rasped out.

Jaime twisted the reins he was holding and leaned forward. “Tell your baron that we will be
received
by no Englishman. If he wishes to speak to us, we will hear his words here.”

The young herald stood in stunned silence for several seconds, opening and then closing his mouth. Cole pointed to the keep’s partially opened gates. “Go now, herald. Speak our words to your baron and be sure to tell him that we will be leaving before the sun reaches your trees.”

The boy looked at the landscape and realized the sun would be setting below the tallest trees any minute now. He glanced back at Cole and gulped before scurrying back inside.

Fifteen minutes later, the herald returned huffing. He was red and obviously uncomfortable with his message. “My lord says that he meets with his guests only on his terms, not theirs. He bids you to join him in some drink and food.”

Cole smiled and the young lad blanched. He always thought it amusing that his smile was considered more frightening than his scowl. “That is good news then, herald. For it means I no longer have any reason to stay.” Then with a flick of his reins, Cole turned his mount around and headed home.

Ellenor Howell stood staring out the small slotted window in her room in disbelief. The three men sitting on their enormous mounts were not like any of the Scotsmen she had ever seen. Most were big, but these three were huge. Not just in size, but also in sheer strength. The muscles in their arms and legs peeking out from their strange garments bulged with latent strength. And while the sight of all three of them together was alarming, it was the dark-haired man in the middle who caused the hairs on the back of her neck to twitch.

He was the one in charge.

Maybe it was how he sat, or maybe it was how he stared disdainfully down at her brother-in-law despite being surrounded by English soldiers, but the large Scot was not just in command of his small group, but all those present. Ellenor had no doubt the arrogance spewing from the giant was something he could support easily with deeds.

The Scot’s shoulder-length hair was tied back, causing his face to appear severe and emotionless, almost as if it were cut from stone. The effect mirrored the rest of him. Hard and well defined. Never had Ellenor dreamed men could come in such sizes or with such strength.

The knowledge chilled her core.

The Scot adjusted a long bow that was hooked over his shoulder, and then casually tapped the handle of his sheathed broadsword. Only a fool would believe he was anything other than highly skilled with both weapons. This man was not afraid of anything. She had been wrong to assume the baron’s men had forced him to return. Something else compelled him to come back, for he certainly didn’t
want
to be here.

Ellenor turned her eyes toward her brother-in-law, who was glowering in the center of the courtyard. A slight man of medium height, Ainsley Cordell’s auburn hair only accentuated his ruddy cheeks. His matching brown eyes were usually haughty, filled with disdain for anyone whom he did not consider a peer. But today, they lacked their normal unwarranted pride. It was as if Ainsley knew he was outmatched by the strangers, both in strength and mental agility. Still, that did not keep the fool from trying.

“You are an arrogant man,” Ainsley barked without effect. “You refuse my hospitality and then have the gall to summon me outside my own home.”

Ellenor watched as the Scot eased his grip on the reins. His mount, tired of standing for so long, began to dance from side to side. “And you are a desperate one, baron,” came the bored reply.

The Scot’s unspoken refusal to get off his monster horse and address Ainsley eye to eye was a blatant attempt at intimidation. And it was working. Despite herself, Ellenor smiled at the idea. Ainsley was just like her elder sister, a greedy soul, believing his status and wealth gave him power over others.
What desperation haunts you so much, baron, that you would have your men chase after these giants and endure such humiliation?
Ellenor asked herself.

A minute later, she had her answer.

“I understand you have something for me.” The Scot’s words were unconcerned, as if he were talking about some trivial item. Ellenor wondered just what it was Ainsley wanted to give him.

“I see my message was received. I was beginning to have doubts. But in answer to your question, I have what you want,” her brother-in-law responded with a mixture of renewed confidence and relief. “But I want your word that you will take whatever I give you and never return.”

Ellenor felt her body go cold.

After her father died, Ainsley had pretended to be the dutiful brother-in-law and eagerly assumed the role as her guardian, believing it could gain him even more of what he already had by marrying her off to a wealthy nobleman. Soon afterward, Ainsley had realized his mistake and wanted Ellenor gone by any legitimate, legal means. That had been six months ago. And after months of searching, Ainsley had finally found someone willing to relieve him of his familial burden.

Scorn entered the Scot’s stare. “Englishmen have no concept of honor so why would I give my word to one?” Ellenor held her breath. “Rest easy, baron, what you have will leave with me. That I have vowed to another. It belongs to you no more.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Scot. No one owns what I give you, and God help the poor soul who thinks he does,” Ainsley replied, finally sounding like a baron in control of the conversation.

Ellenor exhaled slowly. All her prayers, all the months of planning and preparation, were now worthless. If that giant of a man intended to take her with him, he would succeed.

She had only one remaining option. She had to make him change his mind.

Cole felt the looming tentacles of a trap. He had suspected one the moment Laurel had managed to finagle his promise without disclosing exactly what he had been sent to retrieve. He had sensed it again when the baron had his men ride after him, beckoning his return. Never, however, did Cole dream the nature of the trap to be the kicking disaster being coerced toward him.

It was a woman, or what looked like it had been a woman at one time. Her long chestnut-colored hair had been unwashed and unattended for days, if not weeks, and was a nightmarish concoction of tangles. The once deep emerald green gown she wore was covered in dirt smudges and frayed along the hems.

The sound of a new rip along one arm echoed across the small courtyard as she fought her captors. The woman was struggling for her freedom with all her might. Even now, Cole could see blood dripping from her nails as she clawed the cheek of one of the men dragging her.

As she neared, her eyes darted everywhere looking for any possibility of escape. The woman hated her captors, but clearly did not want new ones.

Cole watched expressionless as the frustrated guards tugged her to his mount’s side. He gazed down as the woman shook loose the soldiers’ hold. Her defiant posture, her dress, the condition of her arms and hands…she appeared to be quite mad. Then, she looked up, and as if caught in some spell, her dark green and gold eyes held his blue ones.

Her face was filthy, but it did not conceal the collection of well-defined features. A soft lower lip slightly fuller than the upper was stretched into a scowl that held both fear and audacity. Framed in deep brown lashes, eyes too large for her face were tight with strain and lack of sleep. A sudden gust of wind whipped at her clothing and hair. The few brown tendrils not tied in unwashed knots danced across her face, but she refused to brush them away.

Whatever game she was playing, she had been playing it for a long time. The woman was many things, but she was not crazy. She was as sane as he and every other person present.

Cole glanced at Donald, who was staring wide-eyed at the woman’s back. The look in her eyes when she had been dragged between them had been borderline maniacal.

Believing her act to be true, Donald shifted his gaze to the baron. “What have you done to this woman?”

The moment Donald spoke, the female hissed and leaped to attack, but before she could inflict injury, Cole reached down and grabbed her hands firmly but not painfully in his grasp. She thrashed only for a moment and then stopped. With his long arm outstretched, she could not reach him or his horse with her kicks. Her jaw tightened, and she flicked him an icy look that he suspected could chill many a man. But her quick acceptance of the situation reinforced Cole’s suspicions.

“No one did anything to her,” Ainsley answered and threw a bag to Donald, who easily caught the bulky item. “She is my wife’s younger sister. After her father’s death, she became deranged. No one knows why. Those are her things, at least the ones my wife tells me were important to her at one time.” Swallowing, Ainsley wiped his hands on his tunic and said, “Good-bye, Ellenor. Gilda would be here to wish you well, but I thought it would be too hard on her. She does love you.”

Cole watched the woman’s eyes narrow with fury before she spat on the ground. No, madness did not swirl in those large hazel depths—hatred did.

For several seconds, Cole observed in hidden amusement as she threw rapier glances at the baron, causing him to shrink under her stare. Then, she turned her eyes toward him, assessing him as if he were a new challenge. “Leave, Scot, while you can. For you don’t want me. No man does.”

Without breaking his gaze, Cole reached behind him and yanked free the leather strip that had been holding back his hair. He wrapped it around her wrists. “Aye, in that you are right.”

The woman’s expression turned to one of outrage as he cinched the knot. In one smooth upward movement, she attempted to crack her fists against his jaw, but Cole was far more agile than she had anticipated.

“Damn you,” she hissed.

Cole captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, raising it. “Can’t condemn a man who has already been damned. And know this now,
babag
, I hit back.”

Her defiant eyes glittered with anger, and for an instant, Cole felt his pulse race. She wasn’t afraid of him. It was rare to look a woman in the eye and not see the urge to flee reflected back at him. There was a significant amount of fear churning in the dark green depths, but he was not its cause.

He abruptly released his hold and she lost her footing. With her hands bound, she could not reach out and soften her landing. Donald instinctively grabbed her shoulders and tried to help her stand upright again. The second he touched her, she started screaming and jerking wildly. The more she thrashed, the tighter Donald’s grip became.

Cole nodded to Donald, who hesitated for a moment and then let go. The instant she was free, she turned and nailed Donald in the groin, and then flew to Cole’s side like a wild creature seeking refuge.

Donald grabbed his horse’s mane to keep from keeling over in agony. “Insane bitch,” he grunted, “you will pay for that mistake.”

Stupefied that any woman would attack a man twice her size, Jaime nodded in agreement and then added, “Starting with being tied to the back of my horse.”

Cole signaled Jaime to remain seated. Couldn’t either of them see she was terrified? And now Cole knew why. The woman hadn’t been feigning madness to annoy the baron, she did it to keep him and his men away.

He looked down at her huddled form hovering near his leg. She was scared of everyone. Everyone except him.

Without taking the time to explore why she had selected him for protection, Cole reached down and hauled her thin frame onto the section of saddle between his groin and the pommel. He could feel her back stiffen as he squeezed her tightly so that she couldn’t speak. He yanked out his broadsword and pointed it at the baron. “Do not look to Scotland again to solve your problems. If you do, you shall be doing it at the end of a sword.”

Grabbing his horse’s reins, Cole swung his mount around and entered the forest enveloping the Cheviot Hills and the keep. The woman grabbed the mane of his horse to steady herself and looked back at him. He thought for a moment she was going to beg to be returned, but instead she pointed her finger at the nervous baron behind him and shouted, “May you and my sister get all that you deserve!”

“Be silent,” Cole ordered as he began to weave in and out the trees.

Ellenor straightened her shoulders. “Or what? You’ll make me walk?”

“Considering how bad you smell, that suggestion has its advantages, but I would rather endure your stench than stay any longer on English soil. So that leaves—”

“Do not pass me off to one of your men,” Ellenor spat. Her eyes sought his, seeking reassurance but also warning him of the hell she would bring if he tried to make her ride with anyone else.

“Gagging,” Cole clarified. “I will gag you,
babag
, until we reach our destination. Be silent and don’t tempt me further.”