Highlander's Ransom (4 page)

Perhaps the man didn’t think much of her now that the
arrangements had been made. Her cloak, at least, was stout wool with fur
lining, but probably wouldn’t be enough at night, especially if she were
sleeping on the ground. He couldn’t allow himself to think she was too foolish,
though, for she had surely had no idea when she departed (probably this
morning, if his memory of the location of the Hewett holding served) that she
would be kidnapped and spirited off to the Highlands to serve as a bargaining
chip in a war that she likely knew nothing about. Shock probably still
enveloped her for now, but Robert would have to keep an eye on her when it
started to wear off to make sure she didn’t freeze to death.

He sensed the tension in her as she tried to keep
herself rigid and separate from his body. That was difficult, given their
position. He could feel the curvature of her body from her slim shoulders to
the slight scoop in her lower back, and farther down, the softness of her
bottom against his inner thighs—and groin. He had also noticed the way her
waist curved inward pleasingly. The insides of his forearms brushed her sides
so that he could reach the reins. A vision of her face came to him, her high
cheekbones giving her a regal look, while her large grey eyes revealed both
fear and strength. Before he had clapped a hand over her mouth, he had also
caught a glimpse of full, rosy lips. And now, her long, soft brown hair,
tumbled and loose, was only inches in front of him at nose-level. Giving
himself an inward shake, he tried to analyze her looks from a distance. Aye,
she was a beauty, but that would only help him wield her against Warren and
Hewett.

He refocused himself on the task at hand. He and his
men would have to travel hard to reach the Highlands and avoid being trailed.
He could only hope that this lass, this
Alwin
, wouldn’t cause too much
trouble.

Alwin fought against exhaustion, trying to stay
upright. Although she had been too frightened at first to pay much attention to
her surroundings or how much time had passed as they rode, she had slowly begun
to come down from her panicked state. As she did, she began to chew on what was
to become of her in these men’s hands. It seemed unlikely that they would kill
her now; if they had wanted her dead, at least initially, they would have
killed her back at the road. Likely, they wanted to ransom her, but she wasn’t
sure if it was to her father or Lord Warren. She also didn’t trust that they
wouldn’t still harm her. As her captor had said, he made no promises regarding
her safety if she resisted. She also struggled to push away the thought that
they might harm her in…other ways. She had heard the stories. She knew what
these savages would do to innocent ladies they kidnapped. No one had yet made
any such move, but she was uncomfortably aware of her captor’s masculine
strength behind her. Although she tried to keep their bodies from touching, she
could feel the hard planes of his torso behind her, and the corded muscles of
his arms and thighs brushing her waist and legs.

She guessed that they had been riding at a steady and
swift clip for at least four hours. The already dim light of the day had
slipped into an eerie bluish glow, which was now turning black. She had
shivered for a while after her initial fear had ebbed, but now she seemed
beyond shivers, beyond cold. The horse’s stride beneath her had grown
monotonous, and she feared she would go into a trance of shock, frigidness, and
exhaustion soon. The man behind her gave no indication of his own fatigue, nor
did those riding around them. She wished she didn’t have to be so
embarrassingly close to him—she was a lady, after all—but then again his body
radiated heat, which she was grateful for. Although she refused to succumb to
the desire to lean into him, she no longer fought to create space between them.
She would do what was necessary to survive, she told herself.

It seemed as though these men weren’t going to harm
her, at least not right away. That thought buoyed her, and also gave her time
to plan an escape. Her mind was too jumbled with the events of the day to think
of details at the moment, but she was sure of one thing: she wouldn’t go
willingly with these savages. Although she was not so proud as to try to deny
her own fear, she wouldn’t let it rule her. She was stronger than that—or at
least she hoped she was. She had never had to face something like this before.
She could only pray that her spirit, which her father had tried to break her of
over so many years, wouldn’t fail her now.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the man behind her
let out a soft whistle and halted his stallion. He dismounted smoothly, then
reached up to pull her off his horse. When her feet hit solid ground, she
gasped and then groaned through the cloth covering her mouth. She hadn’t
realized just how numb her feet were, or how sore the rest of her was. She felt
like she was propped up on two wooden pegs, and she wobbled. Luckily, the man’s
hands stayed around her waist, steadying her. She looked up at him through the
darkness, but was met with a menacing frown and cold eyes. She tried to give
him her fiercest glare back, unwilling to be cowed by the threat in his
expression. Unexpectedly, he spoke.

“We stop only for a moment. You probably want to see
to your needs.”

She nodded, and he began to unwind the rope around her
hands. When they were free, she yanked off the gag over her mouth.

“Who are you? Where are you taking me? What do you
mean to do with me?” she demanded in a rush with more fire than she thought she
could have mustered.

His scowl deepened, and she wished for a moment that
she hadn’t spoken so rashly. Nevertheless, she refused to cower despite her
fear of the giant warrior before her.

“See to your needs,” he repeated curtly. “I won’t be
far off, so don’t try anything.”

She hesitated for a moment, but sensing that if she
didn’t hurry she would miss this opportunity to relieve herself, she turned and
hobbled awkwardly toward a copse of bushes. She registered that her hands were
free and that she would be out of sight of the men for a moment, but quickly
decided against an attempt at escape just yet. She would need more strength
than she had right now. With each passing hour on horseback, her chances of
escaping and finding a friend to aid her grew slimmer, yet to try to run now
would likely only involve her hobbling a few yards on her frozen feet before
being tackled and bound again.

With a sigh, she concluded her business and stumbled
back around the bush, only to find her captor looming in front of her. She
gasped in surprise, but quickly tried to mold her face into an unreadable mask,
as his was.

“We will ride through the night,” he stated. She
thought that was all he would say, but after a second, he spoke again.

“I am Robert Sinclair, Laird of the Sinclairs of
Roslin.”

Despite the darkness, Robert saw realization flit
through her eyes. She had likely heard of the Battle of Roslin, though he
imagined that her countrymen had a different version of events than he did. She
didn’t speak on the matter, though, so he wasn’t sure what she made of his name
and title. It was just as well. He wanted this to go as smoothly as possible,
and he hoped she wasn’t the sort to ask too many questions. He took her by the
elbow and drew her back to where Burke and the others were. He hadn’t yet
spoken his plan to his second in command, but he didn’t need to—not yet anyway.
Burke followed his thinking about taking the lass for ransom. They would need
to discuss the matter further, though, but not now. He still itched to put more
distance between them and Warren’s lands. The closer they got to the Highlands,
the safer they would all be.

He halted in front of Dash, his hand still wrapped
around Alwin’s elbow. She looked up into his face with a question in her eyes.
Hesitating for a heartbeat, he pulled an extra length of thick wool plaid from
his saddlebags and draped it around her shoulders. He had known she was
suffering from the cold, and for some reason he felt a twinge of guilt. That
didn’t mean anything, he told himself. After all, he was to blame for her being
here. Of course, Warren, the bastard, was also to blame for putting her in such
a dangerous situation, but Robert pushed his anger aside. Aye, he would be the
one dragging her along through the freezing night, and he could at least try to
ease her discomfort.

Without acknowledging the surprised look on her face,
he lifted her onto Dash’s back, then mounted behind her. He gave a signal to
his men, and they pushed forward once again into the darkness. The lass seemed
to try to stay alert for a little while, but soon exhaustion must have
overtaken her, for she slumped against his chest and slept.

Chapter 6

As the warmth at her back vanished, Alwin stirred. She
felt a pair of warm, strong hands pulling her downward, and she opened her eyes
slowly. She was standing in front of her captor—Robert Sinclair, she reminded
herself. Weak winter sunlight tried to break through the clouds overhead,
casting the grey light of mid-morning. The events of the last twenty-four hours
began seeping back to her. They seemed surreal and dreamlike in her half-awake
state. The man in front of her was very much real, though. She had been
enveloped in his warmth and scent all night, a constant reminder of his
awe-inspiring visage. She had dreamed of those blue eyes boring into her,
looking at her with icy anger and something else—something…She couldn’t put her
finger on it but it was…intense.

“We will rest here for a few hours,” he said, turning
from her to tend to his horse. His curtness frustrated her. Now that it seemed
she would be with him and his men for a while, she longed to know what they had
planned for her. He seemed to sense her eyes on him and turned back to her,
pinning her with a look before she could get her questions out. “Hold your
tongue or I will gag you again.”

“I will not,” she said heatedly. “You can gag me if
you choose, but I want answers.” She noticed then that he had dark rings under
those light blue eyes. She had slept, but he had not. She felt some of the fire
drain from her, feeling a fluttering of guilt that she had taken his plaid and
nodded off for hours while he rode. But why should she feel bad? He had brought
her along with him, apparently to use her for his own gain. She would take
whatever kindness he offered, and use it against him without remorse. Besides,
despite his lack of cloak, neither he nor his men seemed overly affected by the
cold, damp conditions. She steeled herself with that thought, and charged
ahead.

“Tell me where you are taking me, and what you intend
to do.” She refused to include his name or title, as it might indicate to him
that she respected him, which she didn’t.

He looked at her for a moment, considering, then
turned away as if she hadn’t spoken. Frustration and anger consumed her. He
sauntered over to one of his men, the one who had been at his side earlier, and
the two brought their heads together, speaking quietly in Gaelic. Alwin’s blood
boiled at that. Why did the man have to be so damned stony toward her? He
refused to answer even her most basic questions, and glared at her like it was
somehow her fault that he had kidnapped her. She was near screaming with
frustration for several moments, but then a seed of an idea began to grow. All
ten of the men surrounding her looked as weary as Robert did. They had all
fought in a battle the day before, then ridden hard through the night on high
alert. Several of them had already pulled out bedrolls from their saddles and had
settled themselves on the ground to sleep. She still stood in front of Robert’s
horse. He and his man had their backs to her now.

Feeling her rage turn into energy, she made a
split-second decision. She threw herself onto the huge warhorse’s back, wheeled
it around, and dug in her heals. In a split second she was crashing through the
forest in the direction she thought the road was in, hearing a commotion behind
her. Before she had gone twenty yards, however, a whistle pierced the air, and
the horse beneath her lurched to a stop. She nearly flew over the damned
beast’s head, but managed to hold on by flinging her arms around his neck.
Scrambling down, she bolted on foot, but knew instantly that she would never
make it. Hard hands plucked her from her feet in mere seconds. She writhed and
screamed, but was once again thrown over Robert’s shoulder as he marched back
to their makeshift camp.

He dumped her unceremoniously on the ground, to the
chuckles of the group of men. Their laughter at her helplessness brought hot
tears of shame to her eyes. Before she realized it, Robert was back in front of
her with the rope and gag again. Without meeting her eyes, he retied her aching
wrists. She raised her chin, despite the tears streaming down her face. As he
fastened the cloth over her mouth, he said “You’ve got spirit, lass, I’ll give
you that.” The faintest hint of respect touched his voice, but it abruptly
changed to cold steeliness. “But know this: you will not succeed in escaping
me.” Nodding toward the horse that stood patiently awaiting his master’s
instructions, Robert continued. “Dash follows my command, and you would do well
to do the same.”

Stepping behind her, he pulled the saddle from his
horse’s back and carried it toward to her. He dropped it next to her, then to
her horror began tying her already-bound wrists to the saddle’s pommel. The
enormous leather saddle, sized for the giant warrior and his steed, would be
far too heavy for her to drag behind her if she attempted to escape again.
Seeing the dread in her eyes, he said, “I think you get the idea, lass.”