In the Highlander's Bed (11 page)

Gordon said, “After I’ve seen to my horse, I’ll write the letter to Colster. Brian, rest up. Once I have it written, you shall be my messenger.”

“Yes, Gordon,” Brian answered.

Snapping his fingers for Tad to follow, Gordon led Tempest to the far side of the camp. They’d set up stables there, roping off paddocks for the grazing of fifty or so horses.

Gordon usually groomed his horse himself. Back at Nathraichean, Laird MacKenna had lived a lord’s life. There had even been servants for the servants. At the time, Gordon had questioned the need for so many attendants, but he’d kept those questions to himself, until MacKenna betrayed them all. The laird had stolen what money the clan had and run off to Italy to save his hide from the English, leaving the rest
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of them to pay the price. Even innocents, like Fiona.

So, Gordon no longer trusted those who thought of power and money. He took care of his own horse, his own clothes, his own wants. In turn, these tasks gave him quiet moments alone to worry over the hungry mouths that needed to be fed…and the fear that his little army would be crushed by the English.

Gordon dropped Tempest’s reins to the ground. The horse stood while he removed the saddle. Tad plopped down on the ground with a wide yawn. A flock of birds flapped into the sky, chased by another of the many dogs in the camp. Tad stood, but didn’t chase.

“Go on,” Gordon said, knowing the wolfhound would enjoy the exercise.

Tad flashed a dog grin in his direction and took off after the others, sailing across the ground, his powerful legs easily catching up with them.

Tempest was happy to see him go and nudged Gordon as a way of showing his approval. He gave his horse a rare flake of hay. Tempest had carried two riders and earned the treat.

While he worked, Gordon started to frame in his mind the letter he would write to Colster. He was interrupted a few minutes later by the approach of two men, one as tall as the other was short. Tall Angus was a leather worker. Matthew was known for his incessant complaining.

“We need to talk to you, Gordon,” Angus said. “Matthew is not paying me for repairing his shoes last week.”

“Repairing them?” Matthew repeated. “Look here, Gordon. I’d do better work if my hands were all thumbs. I’ll not pay for what the man hasn’t earned.”

These were petty grievances, but they could split the clan apart if not addressed. Gordon wanted to hand this task of listening to complaints to someone else, but so far none of his men showed either the talent or patience for it. The few times he had given the task away, it ended in disaster.

“Do the repair again, Angus,” he said with heavy sigh. “And pay him half before he starts,” he told Matthew. “If not, then you both lose.”

“Yes, but—” Matthew started.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Gordon said, cutting him off. “You came to me for my verdict and there it is.

Be done. And, Angus, you know how Matthew is. Don’t do anything for him if you don’t want to hear him complain.”

“Aye, Gordon,” Angus agreed. He turned and left. He wasn’t happy with the verdict. It meant more work for him.

“He’s lousy at what he does,” Matthew had to grumble.

“You hired him,” Gordon answered.

Not liking the response, Matthew stomped away.

Gordon looked at Tempest, who had watched it all while munching his dinner. “They are both fools.”

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Tempest seemed to nod in agreement, and Gordon had to marvel that his closest allies, the ones who knew his mind halfway at all, the ones he trusted the most, were a dog and a horse. “What does that say about me?” he asked Tempest.

The animal’s response was a soft nicker.

“You are right,” Gordon answered. “At least I have some distance now from Constance Cameron.

She’s a handful…but you can’t help but admire her.”

Tempest snorted.

“Come down,” Gordon said. “She has spirit. She’s not afraid to speak her mind.” He gestured with the curry comb he held. “I wish Fiona had that spirit. I wish she was stronger, like Constance.”

Tempest glanced back at Gordon as if to say he knew better, and Gordon couldn’t help chuckling.

“You’ve caught me,” he told the horse. “Another day spent with her on my lap and it wouldn’t be you I’d be riding.” He began rubbing Tempest down. “And that is why I needed to hand her off to someone else.

Colster wouldn’t like her rogered by some Scot bastard.”

Although he wouldn’t mind bedding her, he thought. Constance wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. She’d be the same in bed. Unbidden images of the sparkle of defiance in her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the swell of her breasts came to his mind.

“Oh yes, it is a good thing I passed her off,” he confessed just as a cry went up in the camp.

“She’s escaped! The English lass escaped!”

The alarm made Gordon turn. Old Rae was hobbling toward him, and Gordon swore before asking,

“How?”

The older man was out of breath. As soon as he could manage, he said, “My wife was fixing her a bite to eat, and when she turned her back on her, the lass pushed her down to the ground and then ran out the door before I could even believe what was happening.”

“Did you untie her hands?” Gordon wanted to know, fearing the answer.

“Aye. She couldn’t eat with her hands tied,” Old Rae said. “And such a biddable lass, how did we know she would leave? She was as sweet as a cherry when we first took her in. Said she was frightened, and my heart ached for her.”

“Your wife should bat you over the head,” Gordon swore.

Thomas came running to join them, followed by others. “We’ve started the search for her,” Thomas reported. “She can’t go far.”

“Don’t count on it,” Gordon said. “She’s smarter than the lot of us. Organize the men. Fan out and start looking through every tent, every hut, every box and barrel in the place. And search the forest, too. We must find her.”

The men hurried away to carry out his orders.

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But Gordon didn’t join the search.

No, he’d wait right there with the horses.

His earlier erotic thoughts of Constance vanished with the onset of his temper. He’d thought she’d given up that nonsense about running away to America. It was too dangerous a journey for a young woman alone.

However, if she wanted to make Edinburgh in three days, she needed a horse—and she was bold enough to try and steal one.

Gordon turned Tempest into the herd before moving toward the center of the grazing horses. He knelt among them. Tad came loping back to join him, obviously aware that something was amiss.

“Lay still,” Gordon ordered. The wolfhound stretched out beside him, his head down. He’d remain that way until given the command to rise.

Shouting could be heard throughout the camp.

Gordon let them carry on. The more noise, the more confident Constance would be that she knew where everyone was.

A cramp started in his left foot. He was just about ready to stand and shake it out when the horses paused from their grazing.

A few lifted their heads. Others returned to eating but were watchful.

And then Gordon saw her. She’d stolen one of Emma’s shawls and thrown it over her head to hide her hair. The tartan around her shoulders covered her fine dancing dress.His tartan, he noted. She’d not given it back earlier.

That she would attempt an escape didn’t shock Gordon. What did surprise him was how she ducked under the rope paddock with the ease of a young boy, grabbed a hank of the mane on the nearest horse, and hoisted herself up onto the animal’s back.

She was going to ride the horse without a saddle. All the way to Edinburgh.

He had to admire her courage, and was tempted to let her do it just because she’d be saddle-burned for weeks. Not to mention the fact that the horse she’d chosen so hastily was an aged mare they all called

“the Bitch.”

Actually, it was Constance’s modesty that proved her undoing. She took a moment to rearrange her skirts so she wasn’t showing as much shapely leg. Her attention was on the task at hand and the shouting in the camp. She never even heard him make a sound until he came up beside her and said, “Going somewhere?” in the mildest of voices.

She let out a yelp of surprise.

The sound startled the Bitch, who was ready for a fight. The mare pinned her ears and bucked.

Constance went flying right for Gordon. The two of them fell to the ground, but the Bitch wasn’t done
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bucking.

Gordon tried to avoid the mare’s hooves while protecting Constance with his body.

Tad rose with a snarl and began barking at the horse. The dog’s attack gave the Bitch a target for her anger. She kicked out at him, but Tad moved to the left, drawing her away from Gordon and Constance.

Unfortunately, the bucking and Tad’s barking had riled up the other horses, who started running. For a second it was chaos. Gordon anticipated being trampled at any moment. He jumped to his feet, half carrying, half dragging Constance to safety on the other side of the rope fence.

Everyone in the camp heard the noise and came running from all directions.

Fearing for his dog, Gordon leaned over Constance’s body and commanded, “Tad, come back here.”

The dog immediately came to his side just as Thomas and Brian arrived.

“What the devil?” Thomas said, and caught up short when he saw who Gordon had.

Constance was the worse for wear. Her skirts were hiked up over her knees, she’d lost a shoe, and apparently her mouth was full of dirt because she made a face and spat it out.

Ignoring a pain in his side, a sign that the Bitch might have caught him with a hoof, Gordon stood and brought his captive to her feet by lifting her with one arm. “She was attempting to steal a horse.”

“You could have been killed, Gordon,” Thomas said, a comment quickly seconded by the growing number of people gathering around them.

“We need to calm the horses before they run through the fencing,” Gordon said to Brian, who turned and barked an order at some boys to see to the matter.

Meanwhile, a grumble of anger rolled through the crowd. They weren’t pleased with Constance.

“Emma hurt her wrist,” Sarah Kimball self-righteously informed Gordon.

“You should have seen the way she acted,” Old Rae said to the others, as if to justify losing their captive. “She’s wicked. Maggie was right!”

“Let me have her,” Thomas said, his eyes hard. “I’ll school her in manners. We’ll tie her up in the center of the camp, the same way the English treated the Widow Harrell. Do you remember what they did to that old lady, lads?”

“No,”Gordon said, drowning them all out before matters grew out-of-hand. “Colster doesn’t want her abused. We’ll treat her with respect.”

“He’ll never see a mark on her,” Thomas promised, the intent of his threat clear.

Constance was still too disoriented from her wild escape to realize what was being said, and Gordon knew he had to act fast before his clansmen decided her punishment for themselves.

“Give me that lead line,” he ordered Jamie Allen, an eleven-year-old lad, standing closest to the rope he
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wanted.

The boy handed it to him, and Gordon retied Constance’s hands. He then tied the other end of the rope to his left wrist. He raised his wrist and hers for all to see. “There. Let’s see if she can escape me.”

“Are you going to keep her with you all the time?” Thomas asked.

“Aye, day and night,” Gordon answered.

“And where will she sleep?” Emma Reivers wondered.

“With me,” Gordon said.

Eight

Constance was still a bit dazed after the fall from the horse—but Gordon’s words brought her to her senses. “I will not!” she informed him.

She was overruled as the Scots burst into cheers. “She’ll learn her lesson now,” Thomas called out. He emphasized his meaning with one of the crudest gestures Constance had ever seen.

Her temper swept aside any fear she might have felt. No one spoke of a Cameron woman in that manner. They were descended from earls, and if they weren’t, she had learned a long time ago how to defend herself.

Gordon didn’t respond to the cheers or any of the comments. Instead, he turned and began walking off, expecting her to docilely trail in his wake.

Well, he was in for a surprise, she thought, digging in her heels. She only had one moccasin on but an oak tree would move before she would.

But he’d tied her hands differently this time. The bonds tightened as he walked, painfully squeezing her wrists, and she had no choice but to follow, her first steps a stumbling skip to keep her from being pulled flat on her face.

The Scots roared with approval.

Constance hated them for that. Of course, she’d already been angry at the lot of them before attempting another escape. Her pride had been stung by Gordon’s callous passing her off to the Reivers as if she was of no consequence. It had felt like a betrayal, because she’d been cooperative. She’d even reconciled herself to the idea that she would miss theNovus sailing. Yet then he’d handed her over, dismissed her as if she meantnothing to him.

And it was that last that had made her decide to run. Of course, she didn’t want to examine her motives too deeply. She wasn’t certain if she’d decided to try and reach Edinburgh because she was a captive or because Gordon had rejected her.

Butnow she didn’t want anything to do with him.

Her fingers were turning red. The binds didn’t loosen just because she was forced to follow him. Then again, she thought, Gordon didn’t care. He hadn’t even glanced back.

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