Highlander's Ransom (13 page)

“I’m fine. You knew not what you were doing.”

He chewed on that. She made it sound like if he
had
known what he was doing, he wouldn’t want to embrace her and have her sleep in
his arms all night, which, he realized, wasn’t exactly accurate.

Pushing that line of thinking aside along with his
bedroll, which had scooted out from under him so that it covered both of them,
he stood. She did the same, brushing stray leaves from her dress and cloak.

“We’ll ride shortly. You’d best ready yourself.”

He stomped out of the cave, pretending to be
preoccupied. In truth, he had to turn away from her and readjust his kilt to
try to obscure his hard manhood standing at attention. It was just his body’s
natural reaction to the prospect of taking a tumble with a beautiful lass, he
told himself. But the thought did nothing to ease his discomfort, for he didn’t
want just any lass. Her scent seemed to cling to him, teasing and haunting him.
He wanted Alwin.

So, it was back to that, was it, she thought with
irritation. He seemed all too ready to go back to his cold and distant demeanor
with her. But why should it bother her so much? His indifference, even his
harsh coolness, made it easier for her to hate him. Some part of her whispered
that he was a good man, and that she couldn’t deny her draw to him. She ignored
this inner voice, though, reminding herself that she was his captive, and now
his wife.

He stepped out of the cave and began to rouse his men,
some of whom had already begun to stir and rise. She glanced at the sky. Dawn
was breaking in a blue sky to the east, but a heavy mist was encroaching from
the west, and from the looks of it would settle over them in an hour or so. She
hoped her dress, cloak and Robert’s plaid would keep the damp chill out. If
not, she thought with a sinking feeling, a combination of dread and longing,
she could always share Robert’s warmth again.

When the camp had been cleared and preparations
completed, Robert boosted her onto Dash’s back, then took to his saddle behind
her, a position that was becoming all too familiar to her. His rock-solid arms
wound around her waist so that he could grip the reins with his large, strong
hands. His chest behind her somehow managed to radiate warmth and be hard as
stone at the same time. Her soft, slim legs pressed into his muscular thighs.
Their hips were plastered together and would soon be rocking in a slow unison
when he gave his horse the signal. This last thought shocked her, but also
brought a new warmth to her skin. Though she couldn’t see his face, she had
stared at his handsome visage long enough to be able to picture with perfect
clarity the hard line of his jaw, now covered in dark stubble, his straight,
strong nose, his black hair disheveled from the hand that he frequently ran
through it when thinking. And his eyes—they bore into her with a combination of
heat and ice that set her stomach fluttering. He nudged his horse forward, and
they were off yet again.

Chapter 19

The next several days passed in a similar fashion.
They rode at a brisk pace during the day, stopping only for the horses and
their most basic needs. A heavy mist sat atop the countryside, which grew
increasingly barren and rugged as they rode on. Alwin found it breathtakingly
beautiful, though. She was used to the green fields and soft rolling hills of
England, and had never seen such jagged mountains or desolate expanses. She
wondered how this awe-inspiring landscape would change its personality in each
of the seasons, then chided herself for such thoughts. Why should she care what
this place might look like at different times of the year when she would be
back in England as soon as possible?

As the sun began to set each evening, Robert would
guide their party to some shelter that he and his men seemed to be familiar
with. She was struck at how well they all knew their country. She had never
been more than a few hours’ ride from her father’s keep—that is, until the day
she was sent to wed Raef Warren. Instead, she had met and been wed to Robert
Sinclair, a Scottish Laird and warrior, and was now being whisked away to the
Highlands. How things had changed in the last week, she thought ruefully.

After the night in the cave, Robert slept farther away
from her with his men, gruffly explaining to her that he didn’t want to risk
accidentally bumping into her with his flailing. She didn’t protest, of course,
but found the nights colder without him nearby.

Nearly a week after they had all slept at the cave,
the men awoke in a particularly good mood. They joked and laughed with each
other as they slowly prepared for another long day of travel, and even ribbed
Robert good-naturedly.

“Perhaps once we return to Roslin, we will no longer
be subjected to the sorry sight of that scraggly beard, Laird,” the one named
George said. Seamlessly, all of Robert’s men had switched over to speaking
English in her presence rather than Gaelic. Alwin had realized this a few days
ago, and found herself surprisingly touched. Ever since the ceremony at Father
Paul’s cottage, they seemed to treat her with greater respect and deference,
and she felt included by their language switch.

This ribbing comment brought a raised eyebrow from
Robert. His stubble had turned into a week’s worth of scruff, which he rubbed
thoughtfully with his hand. “Aye, mayhap, George,” he replied. “And in exchange
I’ll kindly ask you to bathe. Your stench is chasing away any game we might
catch and eat.”

The men laughed heartily around their makeshift camp.
To Alwin’s shock, even Robert quirked a smile, which transformed the hard lines
of his face into a mischievous handsomeness.

Unsure of what brought about the change, Alwin
approached Burke, who stood smiling a few feet away. “Why are the men so happy,
Burke?” she asked softly.

“We are on Sinclair land now, my lady,” he said, his
eyes twinkling. “We are perhaps only a day or a day and a half’s ride from the
keep at Roslin.”

“Oh,” she replied. Her heart seemed to accelerate a
few notches. She wasn’t sure how she felt about their imminent arrival at
Robert’s keep. On the one hand, she longed for a hot bath, a meal, and a change
of clothes. Robert might as well have directed his rib about stinking toward
her. She was tired of only being able to freshen up her face and hands in the
icy waters of the streams they passed. Her dress was wrinkled, torn, and
stained, and she could feel her skin itching underneath the dirty cloth.

On the other hand, though, she was worried about what
would happen once they reached Roslin. Would she be able to get her farce of a
marriage annulled? Would Robert release her once her father and Raef Warren
paid him out, or would he keep her for any other uses he could devise for her?
She wasn’t sure what to make of the swirl of emotions she felt at the thought
of Robert putting her aside or sending her away. It would mean she could be
free of his control, but she would no longer get to see those pale blue eyes or
have his scent and warm arms wrap around her.

She also didn’t know what the other members of the
Sinclair clan would think of Robert bringing home a brand new English bride.
Would they hate her? Would they treat her like a pawn or bargaining chip, just like
Robert? What if—she swallowed hard—what if there were another woman who would
loath her for her new position as Robert’s wife?

She told herself she was being silly and childish,
getting herself all worked up over something she had no control over and
couldn’t know until they arrived. But based on what Burke just said, that would
be sooner rather than later.

Robert’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We have a
stop to make, lads,” he said, the smile fading from his face and his voice
turning serious. The men’s smiles slipped too, and they nodded and prepared to
break camp. Alwin looked questioningly at Burke, but he had already begun to
turn away to ready his horse for the day’s ride.

Alwin wouldn’t get her answer until that evening, when
their party veered off their course and began to approach a small farmstead in
the distance. She was about to ask Robert what was going on when she realized
that all the men had fallen into a stony silence that she sensed should not be
broken. They rode on for an hour this way, drawing ever closer to the farm.

When they were perhaps one hundred yards away, the
door to the farmhouse opened a crack, and a little blond mop of hair poked out.
The door closed, then was opened again, but this time a woman stood in the
doorway, with the blond head peaking out from behind her skirts. When they were
only a few paces away, Robert dismounted silently, along with all the other
men. He seemed to completely forget about Alwin, his eyes trained on the woman and
boy in the doorway. Alwin slid down from Robert’s massive warhorse and crept up
behind the group, peering around their shoulders.

The woman called out to them cheerfully, saying
something in Gaelic, but her eyes quickly scanned the group of men before her.
Alwin watched as the woman’s eyes widened and fear seemed to rise in her when
she could not find what she was looking for.

“Liam? Liam?” she said, her voice hitching higher with
panic.

“Mara…” Robert began softly. He began to speak in
Gaelic, but before he had gotten far, the woman screamed in agony. She
collapsed to her knees in the dirt in front of the door, clutching Robert’s
shirt. He lowered to his knees as well, and wrapped her in his arms as she
screamed and sobbed and thrashed against him. The men stood around them with
their heads bowed and eyes lowered, some unabashedly wiping at the tears that
flowed freely down their cheeks.

The little boy next to Mara didn’t seem to understand
what was happening. He was perhaps four years old at most. He began to tug on
his mother’s sleeve, confused and frightened. Mara, lost in her grief, did not
see or feel him.

Without realizing what she was doing, Alwin pushed her
way through the giant Highland warriors to come to a halt in front of Robert,
Mara, and the boy. She too went to her knees, scooping the little child into
her embrace. He let her hold him, but began speaking in Gaelic in a high and
frightened voice. Not knowing how to soothe him in his own language, Alwin
began to sing softly in English. She sang a lullaby that her mother had taught
her as a child about a little girl chasing a cow in a meadow. It had always
helped her nod peacefully off to sleep as a girl. As she reached the end, she
started over, all the while slowly rocking the boy. Gradually he went limp in
her arms, gazing up at her face with bright green eyes.

She didn’t know how long she had been crouching there
with the boy in her arms, for the song had created a kind of hypnosis in both her
and the child. She thought of her mother, of the pain of losing her, of all she
still wished she could have taught her before she died. This boy would have to
go through the same thing, but with his father, who was buried in an unmarked
grave somewhere in the wilderness.

Glancing up, she realized that darkness had fallen.
Mara still cried and Robert still held her, but her screams had turned into low
moans that were becoming less and less frequent. Finally, she released her
clenched hands in his shirt and laid a hand on her face, as if feeling herself
to make sure she was still real. Slowly, Robert helped her to her feet.

“Who will watch over Mara and little Danny for the
night?” Robert said, his voice like sandpaper.

Instantly, George and another man stepped forward.
While the other man walked Mara into her little farmhouse, George came over to
where Alwin was crouched with the boy in her embrace. Gently, George lifted
Danny from her arms and carried the near-sleeping child inside. Alwin saw the
soft light of a candle being lit through the window, but knew that the cheery
light would do little to ward away the pain of the family’s loss tonight.

She tried to stand, but her legs had grown cold and
stiff from hours of crouching, and she nearly toppled over. Suddenly, Robert
was at her side, holding her up with his strong, warm hands around her waist.
He turned to glance over his shoulder and gave orders to his men to make camp a
half mile away from the farmhouse, far enough to give the family privacy but
close enough to be of help if they needed it. As the men moved off to the west
of the house, Robert and Alwin were left alone.

Exhaustion slammed into her body, and she felt like
she would come to pieces at any second. She tried to suppress the tears that
seemed to bubble up out of nowhere, but she knew it was a losing battle. She
had always been quick to tears—it was simply her way of expressing any intense
emotion, whether it was anger, frustration, or, as was the case now, pain and
sadness. She was not embarrassed about her response—she knew her tears didn’t make
her weak—but she had to admit in the corner of her mind that she had shed more
tears since meeting Robert than she thought possible. Why did this man seem to
tap straight into her core, either raising her ire and frustration, or
uncovering her deepest sorrow? Would she ever shed tears of joy in his
presence?

Tears started streaming unchecked down her cheeks, and
her legs wobbled again. Not caring about the consequences of her actions, she
threw her arms around Robert’s neck and pulled their bodies together. She felt
guilty for demanding more of him after he had given so much to Mara, but longed
to feel his warmth, his aliveness, against her. He responded, circling his arms
tightly around her and squeezing her so hard that she couldn’t breathe for a
moment. She felt a drop of moisture on her forehead, where his chin was pressed
to her hair, and drew back slightly. In the light of the half-moon, she saw
that a tear had rolled down his cheek as well.