Highlander's Ransom (9 page)

“Robert?” she said softly.

He jerked slightly, presumably at her use of his given
name. She realized that it was the first time she had spoken it. He let his
eyes fall to hers, waiting.

“What did you say to Liam as he…when he…” She had been
forming the question in her mind for hours as they rode, but now she couldn’t
seem to get the words out. She stopped trying and simply held his eyes, holding
her breath and hoping he wouldn’t be angry with her for the bold question.

After a while, he spoke, and his voice was soft and
low. “I told him that Mara and little Danny, his wife and son, would be well
cared for. I told him not to worry, and that he could be at rest and find peace
at last.”

Alwin exhaled and nodded. She felt the tears springing
to her eyes, but forced herself to swallow them back. She had to be strong. She
couldn’t let herself get lost in her own grief and burden Robert and the other
men with the need to coddle her.

He seemed to read the struggle on her face, and a
light of admiration came into his eyes. He said no more, and she turned around
to face forward again. Unexpectedly, though, he suddenly let go of the reins
with his left hand and wrapped his arm around her middle, pulling her back into
his chest. She gasped at the contact and his firm hold around her waist, but
then sank into the warm hardness of his chest, letting herself draw strength
from him. After a while, she felt her eyelids grow heavy, and she succumbed to
the weariness clinging to her. The last thing she remembered before slipping
off to sleep was the feel of him letting his nose brush the top of her head and
inhaling deeply in her hair.

The rocking of the horse’s motion suddenly stopped,
and Alwin felt herself coming awake. She blinked a few times in the bright
morning sun. There were still a few white and grey clouds lingering, but much
of the sky was blue, and judging by the sun, it was about an hour after dawn.
The countryside had changed while she slept. Earlier, they had been riding
through dense forest, but the terrain had turned more mountainous and rugged,
and while trees still abounded, she saw more rock outcroppings and clumps of
heather.

She felt Robert dismounting behind her, then he
reached up to pull her down. He looked haggard. There were dark smudges under
his blue eyes, which were hazy with fatigue. It looked like he had been
dragging his hand through his black hair, because it was disheveled. The
stubble on his face darkened his jawline. He clasped her around the waist and
brought her off his horse, and she noticed that the other men were dismounting
also. It was then that she caught sight of the cottage in front of them. A look
of uncertainty crossed her face and she looked to him for explanation.

“We will rest here for a few hours,” he said,
exhaustion straining his voice.

“Do you know these people?” she asked hesitantly.

“We are safe here. We have put enough distance between
ourselves and Warren for the time being, and my men and the horses need rest.”
He didn’t mention himself, but obviously he could use some sleep and a meal as
well, she thought. “Stay here,” he said as he turned away and walked toward the
cottage.

Robert rubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear
his mind. It was just fatigue that was making him feel so scrambled and out of
sorts, he told himself. It wasn’t the smell of roses in her hair and skin, nor
was it her eyes, which he had thought were grey. Then just now when he had
stood on the ground looking up at her perched on Dash’s back, she had opened
her eyes with the morning sky behind her, and he had realized that they were
actually blue-grey, the same color that the Highland sky over Roslin so often
was. The lass seemed to be coming to trust him. She no longer struggled against
him or sought to escape, and had allowed him to embrace her last night as they
rode, sleeping undisturbed against his body. He grimaced internally as he
imagined what she would think of him in a few hours’ time when his plan was
complete.

Reaching the door to the cottage, he knocked lightly.
A moment later, a wrinkled and slightly stooped man opened the door.
Recognition filled the old man’s eyes, and he extended his arm to Robert.

“Laird Sinclair! What can I do for you, my son?” he
asked, his voice only slightly weakened with age.

“You are kind to offer your assistance, as usual,
Father Paul,” Robert said with a weary smile. Many a time on his travels
between the Highlands and Lowlands, he had stopped by this cottage with his men
for a hot meal or a place to sleep. “We could use a place to rest, and I have
another request as well.”

“I will provide you with whatever I can,” Paul
responded without hesitation. As a man of God, he did not involve himself in
the battles between the English and Scottish, but several of the Highland
chieftains, Robert included, had always made sure that Paul was protected and
looked after. He belonged to a long generation of Highland priests, whose
ancestors had worked with generations of Lairds to care for the Highlands and
its people.

“I would like you to perform a wedding ceremony,”
Robert said levelly. “For me,” he added with a bit more difficulty.

Paul went into a coughing fit at that, but quickly
regained control of himself. “And who is the lucky bride?” he asked, managing
to sound relatively calm.

“That lass over there,” Robert said, pointing toward
Alwin, who stood next to Dash looking a little unsure.

“Ah. I can see what has changed your mind about
marriage, then,” Paul said with a chuckle, bobbing his head approvingly at
Alwin’s beauty. A band of sunlight was resting on her hair, highlighting the
dark gold streaks in the soft brown tresses. Even from several paces away, he
could see both the blue and the grey in her inquisitive eyes, which stood out
against her pale skin. She still had his plaid wrapped around her slim
shoulders, and for some reason the sight of her in his clan colors tugged at
him. For a moment, Robert let himself drink in the sight of her.

He gave himself a little internal shake, trying to
refocus. Not wanting to explain everything to Father Paul, Robert gave a curt,
“Aye. But she is English, so she won’t understand the Gaelic ceremony. Burke
will speak in her stead, though.”

“English, eh?” Paul frowned and scratched his balding
head.

“It is probably best if you do not ask, Father. Before
the ceremony, I would like to catch a few winks and freshen up. We won’t be
staying long.”

“Yes, yes, of course Laird. Make yourselves at home.”

Robert nodded, then turned to his men, who eagerly
awaited word that they could unroll their blankets and sleep. With the go-ahead
from Robert, the men tethered their horses around the back of the cottage, then
tromped inside to the fire-warmed interior. There was enough room on the floor
for all ten of the men to lie down, and within minutes the sounds of soft
snores and deep breathing filled the cottage. Alwin stood waiting outside as
Robert tied Dash, then he beckoned her to enter the building.

It appeared that the inhabitant of the cottage lived
alone, but the inside was spacious, warm, and tidy. Robert guided her to the
side of an old man who was moving about the small kitchen, pulling ingredients
and utensils together in preparation for a meal. “This is Paul,” Robert said
simply to her in English. She nodded and started to introduce herself, but
Robert stopped her with a raised hand. “He only speaks Gaelic, so he won’t
understand, but he knows that you are a guest of ours,” he said.

“Very well. Please thank him for his hospitality,” she
said to him. He said something in Gaelic to the older man, who bowed his head
and smiled at her. Robert guided her away and through the piles of sleeping
warriors on the floor. Toward the back of the room, a ladder led up to a loft.
She climbed up, with him following behind her. At the top of the ladder, she
saw that this was where their host slept. The ceiling was too low for her to be
able to stand upright, so she remained on her hands and knees. A mattress
rested on the ground in one corner, and a few personal items, including several
books, covered a low table next to it. Alwin hesitated, feeling like she was
invading the kind old man’s space.

“It’s alright, lass. Paul always lends us his home
when we pass through this area,” Robert said from behind her. “You can take the
mattress, and I’ll sleep here on the floor.”

A look of horror must have transfixed her face, for he
said with a wicked gleam in his eye, “Unless you want to share the bed?” She
shook her head furiously and felt her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. “No
thank you.”

He snorted, but seemed too tired to tease her further,
and instead wrapped his plaid around his shoulders and lay down on the wooden
floor in front of the ladder. Within minutes, she could hear his even breathing
and knew he was already asleep. She crawled over to the bed and laid down on
it. It was wonderful to stretch out on a mattress, a luxury she didn’t think
she’d ever take for granted after a day in a bumpy cart and more than two
riding on horseback, sleeping on the ground or upright in the saddle when she
could. She too drifted off to the hushed sounds of sleep that filled the
cottage.

Chapter 14

An hour later, judging by the slant of the sun through
a small rectangular window in the loft’s wall, Alwin woke feeling surprisingly
refreshed. She had slept more than the other men by virtue of getting to lean
against Robert, she reminded herself, stretching. She sat upright and noticed
that Robert still slept deeply. Not wanting to disturb him, she crawled across
the floor as quietly as she could, but stopped when she reached him. He had
positioned himself lengthwise across the loft so as to completely block the
ladder. She cursed silently. Did he think she would try to run away again? She
surprised herself by acknowledging that she hadn’t considered it once since
Raef Warren’s attack. She felt safe with Robert, Burke, and the rest of the
men, she realized. She wouldn’t let herself trust Robert all the way, since he
still hadn’t told her his plan for her, but she no longer feared for her life.
Though she was still a captive, she was coming to see that she would be treated
decently.

That was something she would have to think more on
later, she told herself firmly. Right now, she just wanted to see to her needs
and perhaps have a bite to eat. Slowly, she eased one leg over the sleeping
giant blocking her path. Next she placed her hands on the opposite side of him.
Just as she began drawing her other leg over his body, he stirred and mumbled
something. She froze, unsure if he was waking or not. His eyes remained closed,
so after a second, she continued to bring her body to the ladder’s side of the
loft. Once there, she climbed down wrung by wrung, and at the bottom, she
carefully tiptoed between the warriors covering the floor. She noticed that
Paul, their host, was still working in the kitchen on what looked to be taking
the shape of a stew. She nodded to him, then eased out the front door and into
a copse of bushes next to the cottage. Coming back through the cottage door a
few minutes later, she considered returning to the loft, but decided against
it. Crawling back over Robert’s large and muscular frame would be challenging,
and, she admitted to herself, she was beginning to find it difficult to be in
such close physical proximity to him. She was a lady, and it wasn’t proper that
contact with his ruggedly handsome form brought about a fluttering inside her
stomach.

Instead, she made her way to the kitchen where Paul
was chopping carrots and tossing them into a large caldron on the table next to
him. Knowing that he wouldn’t understand her if she spoke, she remained silent,
but picked up a second knife and joined him in preparing the stew. She thought
it odd that this man didn’t speak any English. Their two countries had been at
war for so long (and, she knew, it was mainly England invading and trying to
control Scotland, not the other way around) that she assumed that most Scots
had at least been exposed to English. Then again, he was older and perhaps
wanted to live undisturbed by political struggles. And although she didn’t know
exactly where they were, she knew they were far from any road. This remote area
may have remained blessedly untouched by invasion and war. Either way, she
found it easy to remain working next to him in an amicable silence.

Once their chopping was done and the caldron was
nearly full, the two of them managed to maneuver it to the hearth a few feet
away and hang it over the fire. Alwin sat watching as the old man stirred the
stew, occasionally adding this or that herb. As the smells of the food, the
warmth of the fire, and the sounds of sleep soon blended together, she felt
herself slip into a lazy haze of relaxation. She didn’t know how long she had
been sitting like that, but finally she glanced at one of the windows and was
surprised to see the sun sloping toward the mountainous horizon with the light
of late afternoon. She shook herself from her daze and stood, smoothing her now
wrinkled and dirty dress. Thankfully, it was brown, so the mud and dirt she had
accumulated over the last few days didn’t show as clearly. Crossing out of the
cottage door once again, she walked over to a small stream on the far side of
the building and went about freshening herself up. Who knew when the next
chance to do so would come, she thought to herself as she went about replaiting
her long hair. When that was done, she scrubbed first her hands and then her
face in the icy stream. She couldn’t do anything about her dress, but smoothed
her hands over it again in an attempt to press out a few of the wrinkles.