The Highlander (12 page)

"Wait a minute," Wright said. "Something isn't right here. You said her cousin accompanied her aboard, then left the ship before it sailed. Why was she sent unaccompanied to England on a ship bound for Norway?"

"The French had nothing to do with that," the major said. "It seems the mademoiselle had plans for her life that did not include marriage to the Duke of Rockingham. She took matters into her own hands and planned her escape to Norway before her cousin could order her to England. The ship she boarded was never scheduled to sail to England."

Hastings nodded with sudden understanding. "And now no one knows where she is...
if
she is still alive, that is."

"Exactly," the major said, and raised his tankard.

The three men laughed and gave a toast to have the good fortune to locate the wench, or her body, soon.

^Eight

The Devil, having nothing else to do, Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue. My Lady, tempted by a private whim, To his extreme annoyance, tempted him. —Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953), French-born British writer.
Sonnets and Verse.
"On Lady Poltagrue, A Public Peril" (1923).

Complete Verse
(1991)

Sophie had been at Danegaeld a week, when she sat dejectedly on her bed. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner. She had not been outside since Tavish had brought her here.

Jamie had knocked on her door earlier to inform her he was going fishing, before he gave her the same instructions he gave her each morning when he departed. ' 'I will be back before the noon meal, lass. Stay inside and do not open the door to anyone."

She was feeling much better, which was probably why she was beginning to feel bored to her toes. Not particularly inspired to do much of anything, she decided to go down to the library to find a book to read and perhaps, if she was very fortunate, she might find one in her native tongue.

It was the first time she had really taken in the fine architecture of the magnificent lodge, and the lavishly decorated interior, resplendent with scalloped walls done in the ornate rococo style, ball finials and ornate urns.

From the window in the Banquet Hall, she could see part of the formal gardens of the park—what they called a
par terre
in France, as well as a courtyard.

Everywhere there were themes of hunting, feasting and the seasons displayed in profusion, yet they did not detract from the portrayals of Roman gods, Bacchus and Diana in the ceiling panels of the Banquet Hall.

Later, as she did a bit of snooping, she discovered that these were the same themes carried out in Jamie's own apartments.

By the time he returned, she had taken a thorough tour of the house and was walking in the
par terre
when he rode up on a gray stallion.

Her heart still beat with excitement at the sight of him. Would she always feel this way around him? She reminded herself that it really did not matter, for she would not be around him much longer. Soon, she would have to leave.

If the English were not yet looking for her, she knew they soon would be. In the meantime, she would have to consider her next move, and where she could go where no one would find her.

He had been her constant companion these past few days, and she realized now how much she had grown accustomed to being with him and, when he was gone even for a short while, how much she missed his powerful presence.

She was comfortable with him, and his absence in her life would leave a gaping hole she feared no one would ever be able to fill.

She brought her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun as she watched him ride toward her—a sight she would never tire of seeing.

Today, he had his hair tied back with the leather thong, and the wind had loosened a few strands giving him a look of raw masculinity. She noticed he wore his sword and that his pistols were in the saddlebow, and she wondered if he had taken these things fishing. Or, had he gone to the great house and found her missing, and brought them along to search for her?

The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile, which soon faded when she saw he did not smile back, but regarded her impassively. He pulled the horse to a stop beside her, folded his arms over the pommel and leaned toward her. "I thought I told you to stay inside, lass." "You did, but..."

He threw his leg over the saddle and was off his horse in an instant. He grabbed her by both arms, and gave her a good shake.

"When I give a command I expect it to be obeyed."

"Obeyed?" she repeated, totally shocked at his choice of words. "I did not realize you were the emperor."

"I am king of this lodge, and king of Mon-leigh Castle, and chief of the Graham clan, and anything I say in regard to any of those is to be obeyed."

"I am not one of your possessions."

"If I remember right, you don't know what or
who
you are. I do not expect you to understand everything I say to you, nor will I tolerate you questioning the decisions I make. Your role is to be submissive, nothing more. My word is law. Our clan has lived by that code for centuries. There is no other way. You will do well to remember that."

"I am not a member of your clan," she said, thinking this was not going at all the way she had hoped.

"As long as you are in my care, you are part of my household."

"Then it must be time for me to leave. I am feeling better. It is time I took care of myself."

"You will go when I give you leave to go, and not before."

"You can't hold me here against my will. I may not know who I am, but that does not make me a prisoner."

"Oh, but you are. You are my prisoner, and I will keep you here for your own good and personal safety until we unravel this mystery of who you are, where you have come from and how to contact your family. Now, stop being sullen. I am being more than fair by giving you this warning. Had you been a member of the clan, you would have been beaten."

She sucked in a breath. "You will never lay a hand on me."

"Disobey me again and you will see the way of it, lass."

"I suppose it is my fault for not realizing that the only way you can hold a woman is by keeping her against her will." She jerked her arms free and was about to turn around with as much drama as she could muster, and leave him talking to himself.

She never made it that far, for he grabbed her by the arms and prevented her from taking even one small step. He watched her through narrowed eyes for a moment, as if disbelieving what he heard her say.

She was aware that she truly was his prisoner, in every sense of the word, for he had all the advantages, and she had none, save the pitiful fact that she was a woman—something she thought he would honor, only when it suited him.

"One other thing," he began. "When I want to keep a lass, I don't have to make her my prisoner. Warming my bed is much more binding than leaving a lass locked in her room, yearning for the unattainable."

Yearning for the...
She had never been humiliated like this, and she toyed with the idea of slapping him, and would have, but she was not too certain that he would not slap her back so, instead of that, she said, "You are vile."

"Nay, lass, not vile...truthful."

She opened her mouth and then closed it, having decided it was in her best interest not to anger him further. It was much more effective, in her estimation, to remain sullen and quiet.

"You must realize you are no longer in France, and that in Scotland things are done differently. When I tell you something, I expect it to be obeyed. You might not like it, and you might not understand it, but you will do as I say. If you start to second-guess me, or go against my directives, it could be the death of either or both of us. This isna France, and we are no' in possession of so civilized a form of government. You are a lassie with a free spirit, and I admire that in ye, I truly do, but there are situations where a man must be in control, and that means ye will have to do as I say, like it or no'."

"All right," she said, obviously angry. "I'm sorry I came outside to get some fresh air...for
the, first
time since I came here."

"That is what I mean. You say one thing and believe another. What I am telling you is you must believe what I say, and trust in it with all your heart, no matter if you want to or not. It is your obedience I want, lass, not your apology. You will not set foot outside Danegaeld until you prove your willingness to carry out what I demand or order, without question. For your sake, I hope this doesna happen again, for if it does, I will punish you. Have no doubt about that."

She was thinking about kicking him in the shin when he said, ' 'Now, come here and I will give you a hand up and you can ride the rest of the way back wi' me."

"I prefer to walk...if I may have your royal permission."

"When ye find yer mark and stand on it, ye are a hard lass to move. Stick like a burr, you do."

She pointed her uplifted nose toward Danegaeld and began to walk.

He did not go after her, as she hoped, and that infuriated her even more.

By the time she reached the graveled drive that led to the lodge
_v
the sun was almost gone and it had begun to snow, and enormous, fat flakes fell slowly around her.

She pulled the sides of her borrowed cape closer together, thankful for the fur lining.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie ride toward the stables, but she did not turn to look at him, preferring to walk on with the snow melting on her face. She found herself wishing she would freeze, just to get her point across, but soon realized there would be precious little feeling of victory if she were a dead woman encased in a sarcophagus of ice.

Personally, she hoped he would sink up to his eyeballs in one of his soggy peat bogs. To think she had actually considered telling him the truth about her past and the reason she left France. Ha!

As if he would be capable of understanding anything except brute force. She smacked herself on the forehead. How could she be so stupid? How could she think him capable of either compassion or understanding? Sometimes she felt as if she were depriving some village of their idiot—she could be so
stupide...

He would not understand if she spoke of her own loneliness, or the death of her beloved father, any more than he would care to hear how her mother married again, and to a man who tried to use Sophie to gain favor with the king. What would he care that Rockingham gave the king lavish gifts and large amounts of gold, and how it made her feel to know she had been sold into the slavery of marriage to a man the age of her father, a man she despised?

No, she would not tell him of her lonely life growing up with only one brother who was considerably older than she, and the years spent in the convent where she prayed that one day she would find her own hero.

She knew he could not understand how she dreamed that he would be a man with long black hair and a strong profile inherited from his Viking ancestors; a man who would love and protect her, and keep her always by his side, because he saw her not as a chattel, but as his equal.

She felt the warm trail of tears that mingled with the cold, melted snow on her face. There was so much love inside her that she wanted to give to the man of her dreams, only now she understood that she had been wrong to think that man would be Jamie.

She came upon a fountain and stopped to look at the ice crystals that formed around the edges. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie come out of the stables and walk toward her.

She did not want him to see her like this.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, and cursed the Bourbon blood that ran in her veins, as well as the burden of unhappiness it carried with it.

Feeling the need to destroy something besides her hopes, she tore at the buttons at her throat and searched for the gold medallion around her neck. When her hand closed around it, she gave the fragile chain a hard yank and hurled it into the fountain, as if that one act could change who she was, and what she was running from.

She gathered up her skirts and ran the rest of the way back to the lodge, not stopping when she reached the staircase, but continuing up as fast as her legs would carry her.