Desiring the Highlander (6 page)

“On how you enjoy your baths.”

Ellenor realized the man would continue with his vague comments until she really did go mad. He expected her to press for explanations, and maybe most women would have, but she was not most women. It was time he learned that fact.

Throwing back her head, Ellenor let out a peal of laughter. “You make no sense, Scot. Maybe it is you who is mad, not I.”

“I make sense, and stop calling me a Scot.”

“Why? That’s what you are.”

“My home is the Highlands.”

“So, you are still a Scot.”

“I am a
Highlander
,” Cole replied evenly. If the woman was intentionally trying to provoke him, she was surprisingly effective. She was not only impossible to ignore, she seemed to read him and his reactions in a way very few could.

Ellenor clucked her tongue. “Last I heard, the Highlands were a part of Scotland. Therefore, you
are
a Scot.”

Cole’s jaw clenched. He forced it to relax. “You and your sister share the same father and therefore the same blood. I am as close to a Scot as you are to your sister.”

Ellenor sat mum. This Highlander had never even met her sister, but he had made his point. She and Gilda were far different people, and always had been.

“I need to know, are you or are you not going to unbind me when we camp?”

“I am not.”

The answer was so short and final it almost made her give up trying. Almost. “And just why not? What is it that you hope to achieve by perpetuating my irritability?”

“You are not mad, woman, but you are obviously not above acting like you are,” Cole began, surprised by his willingness to explain himself. “I am not in the mood to be scratched, or bitten, or kicked in an attempt at freedom.”

Ellenor couldn’t deny having the impulse to do just what he feared, but she doubted she would have acted on it. She was desperate, but not stupid. She didn’t want to assault him. She just wanted to leave. “What if I promise to behave?”

“You will be freed only when I am assured that you will not flee.”

“
Damn,
” she muttered, uncaring if he heard her or not. “Just who
are
you? Why do you care if I run off? I am nothing but a burden to you, I stink, and most of all, you hate me.”

Her comment rattled Cole. He didn’t hate
her
. Fact was he admired her. And surprisingly, she had not felt like a burden. It wasn’t often someone held his interest, but this lass did. He found himself anxiously awaiting her next ploy. And her eyes…gold flecks swam in the deepest green he had ever seen. Each time he peered into them, he got lost. But if she ever knew any of that, he would lose all control, over her and himself. “I am the man who has been charged to escort you north. That is all you need to know.”

“No, it is not! I need to know where I am going, who you are, and where you are taking me.”

“These questions will be answered in time.”

“Maybe in your time,
Scot
, not mine.”

“Aye, I’m glad we understand each other,
babag
.”

Furious at lacking the power to retake control of her life, Ellenor sat in silence as Cole weaved in and out of the forest. The hills had grown steep again, and the sight of fresh water was disappearing along with the sun. The ground was slippery with mud, and Ellenor suspected they would be stopping at the next decent spot to camp. And when they did, bound or not, she intended to escape.

Thinking about how she would traverse these hills on foot, Ellenor was unprepared when the horse stumbled slightly on the slick ground. She almost fell when firm hands instantly grabbed her arms, dragging her back to safety. She had been deep in thought unaware of what had happened or who was holding her. A cold sweat enveloped her as memories of a man’s hands holding her down filled her mind.

“Are you all right, lass?” Cole asked, concern lacing his question. He had never seen a human being turn so pale so fast. It was as if all the blood had drained out of her.

Ellenor blinked. “What…? What did you say?”

Cole shook his hands. Ellenor looked down and realized she had a white-knuckled grip upon them. “I won’t let you fall,” Cole said softly, hoping to allay her fears.

Ellenor stared at his fingers. They were long and large and rough with calluses. The power and strength of his hands were unmistakable, and at any time, he could have wrenched them from her grasp. Instead, he was waiting patiently for her to let them go.

She eased her grip, but didn’t fully release it. She looked up and found his eyes searching hers. They were the deepest, most intense hue she had ever seen. Darker than the sky. Clearer than the sea. A woman could get lost in eyes like his if she let her guard down. They seemed to reflect understanding. He didn’t know why she needed to be the one to let go, but he recognized her pain. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for her in a long time.

And for a moment, Ellenor almost reconsidered running away.

Cole threw the leg bone of the rabbit he had been chewing on into the fire. He offered to do the same for Ellenor, but she opted to glare at him and toss the bone in herself. Shrugging, he stood and announced, “I’m going to scout the area and will return shortly.” Then he paused and added in Gaelic, “And if our
aoigh
decides she no longer wants our company…” He paused, looked back and gave her his half grin. “Then let her go.”

A minute later, he was gone. Ellenor sat in shocked silence, wondering if she could have misunderstood…but she doubted it. After her father died, she had stopped venturing into town alone, ending her secret lessons in the Gaelic language. However, before that, the old Scottish smithy had told her that, with the exception of Laurel Cordell, she was the finest student he ever had. She had similar compliments from the abbess who had taught her how to read and speak French and Italian. She had a mind for languages and found them easy to digest and learn, but never did she dream she would actually have a need for one of them in her lifetime. Tonight, the once-useless talent had both calmed and inflamed her fears.

Since they stopped to make camp, the three Highlanders had chatted intermittently in their language about various topics. Most of them uninteresting—horses, the flat terrain, and the painfully slow pace they had been forced to endure. Ellenor had almost given away the fact that she could understand their speech by making a sarcastic comment, but held her tongue just in time. And the price for her silence had paid off.

She had learned the name of her captor—Cole. He was the third of seven siblings and they were headed to the home of his eldest brother and laird of their Highland clan. The brother was married, and by the sporadic comments—quite happily. However, nothing in the conversation explained why his brother had ordered Cole to go south and bring her safely back to him.

Ellenor could only surmise two reasons. She was to be married, which was unlikely, but possible. The thought of building alliances with an English baron might appeal to some. The other reason was labor, but even that was a stretch. Why go to so much effort to punish a single Englishwoman whom you don’t even know?

“Do you think she will try and run?” The question came from one called Jaime Ruadh—or Jaime the Red, which was appropriate for his wild hair was an incredible shade of bright crimson.

His friend, Donald, shrugged and stoked the fire. “Hope so.”

“You’re just sore about earlier,” Jaime chided. He was still gnawing on the rest of the rabbit so his words were slurred and half-articulated.

“More like pissed. All I did was try and keep the wench from falling.”

“She was just scared of you.”

“I don’t care if she thought I was the devil,” Donald retorted, adjusting himself once again. “You don’t kick a man that hard…there…especially when he has to sit in the saddle all day.”

“True,” Jaime agreed. “And I’ve seen no remorse from the lass.”

Ellenor’s eyes widened and quickly looked away. All afternoon she had been returning Donald’s evil glares, believing her violent reaction had been justified. He had grabbed her from behind and she had wanted him to let go and never think about touching her again.

“The damn
mùrla
is no more capable of remorse than she is of shame. No woman should allow herself to smell the way she does.”

Jaime took a last bite, licked his lips, and threw the bone in the fire. “Come on now. I’ve smelt worse. Hell,
you’ve
smelled of worse.”

“I’m not a woman.”

“And you’re not sick in the mind, either.”

Donald stood up and pointed in her direction. “If that woman is mad, I’m a married monk.”

Jaime glanced in her direction and caught Ellenor staring at them. “Aye, I wondered myself. She avoids our company, but not the commander’s. Doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s because she’s the last person in the world he wants with him and she knows it. Wench actually takes comfort in the knowledge.”

“Wonder why,” Jaime murmured, ignoring his friend stalk around the campsite to where he’d placed his things earlier.

“Don’t know and don’t care,” Donald mumbled as he grabbed his rolled plaid. “I just want to get back to my woman, a woman of quality, who happens to know how to take care of herself.”

Jaime adjusted his own saddle and leaned back, chuckling. “Better prepare yourself, friend. Your Brighid seems to get along with the English. They just might become fast friends.”

As Donald sharply denounced any possibility of Jaime’s prediction coming true, Ellenor slipped off the large log and headed toward the thickest part of the brush surrounding the campsite. Relief went through her when she made it to the other side without any sounds of her breaking brittle branches, notifying them of her exit. She doubted they would have stopped her, but she didn’t want to take any chances. Not even to get the bag, which held her few remaining possessions.

As she moved deeper inside the dark brush, very little light from the partially veiled moon was getting through the thick branches. Ellenor waited for her eyes to adjust and then began to look for something that could free her from the leather straps binding her wrists. Spying a fallen tree with a broken narrow branch protruding from it, Ellenor straddled the log and pulled both wrists as far apart as she could. Then she carefully began to saw the exposed leather back and forth against the sharp edge of the break. What felt like an eternity later, the leather snapped, and for the first time in months, she felt truly and completely free.

There was no Ainsley, no threat of marriage, no pretense of madness…nothing. And based on what that Highlander had said to his men, she was also free from him.

Cole watched in fascination as the woman trudged on through the ever-darkening woodland. She had been fighting her way through some difficult foliage for over an hour and had fallen several times. Still, she had forged ahead. He had no idea where she was going based on the wild path she was taking, but the woman was heading toward the deepest part of the forest. The region was full of prey, but with all the noise she was making, he had seen more than one animal scamper away in fear.

It was a calculated risk to let her try and run, just as it had been a tactical decision where to camp. Normally, he would have ventured closer to the River Teviot for the night and let her bathe, but then he would have been forced to keep her bound another day. Access to the shoreline would have only fueled the dogged determination to get away he had seen in her eyes. This forest was difficult to navigate in daylight. At night, it was near impossible, and Cole needed her to succumb to the idea that she was safer with him than on her own.

The constant cracking sound of twigs and branches suddenly ceased. Apprehension flooded him. The noise the woman had been making could have led the dead to her location, and consequently, he had felt comfortable keeping his distance to prevent her from accidentally seeing him.

Cole started moving quickly to the last place he heard her, praying he had been the only one stalking her movements. His fears dissipated as he soon as he saw her huddled form. She was sitting on the forest floor with her arms locked around her knees rocking back and forth…crying.

He stepped into the small area and the crack of twigs breaking immediately caught her attention. Instinct caused her to grab the closest thing to her and leap to her feet.

Waving the half-rotted stick around, Ellenor demanded, “Who goes there? Tell me now or I will scream. I have three enormous Highlanders traveling with me, so I suggest you think your plans over again before you take another step.”

Cole grabbed the waving stick and, with a single twist, plucked it from her grasp. “So it is now we three who are traveling with
you
, is it?”

He had been prepared for a spicy retort or to chase her if she chose to run away, but he had not expected the woman to throw herself—weeping hysterically—into his arms.

“Cole, thank God, it’s you.”

An unexpected shudder went through him. His name echoed in the black stillness as she mumbled it again and again. The sound of it seemed to ease her fears. He tried to remain indifferent, telling himself that she didn’t know what she was doing or saying, but found it impossible as her slim body melded to his.

“Aye, lass, it’s me,” he whispered, threading his fingers through her thick, tangled mane. Had he really forgotten how wonderful a woman’s body could feel, or was Ellenor’s embrace so very different from every other he had known?

“I…was so scared. I was lost and…” Ellenor’s voice caught in her throat as she became aware of their tight embrace. She was clinging to him and he was comforting her. His hands were in her hair and his huge frame practically engulfed her own, holding her gently to him.

And the last thing she wanted was to pull away.

“You were running away,” Cole finished for her.

“No,” Ellenor mumbled into his tunic, followed by a sniffle. “I was at first, but I haven’t been for some time. I was trying to get back to you.”