His Wild Highland Lass (2 page)

"Stolen."

"On my lands?" Ronan wasn't sure he believed her. But if thieves had stolen her horse, he would rectify that at once.

Her eyes narrowed a bit, reminding him of a wild cat that lived in these woods. "I dinna know where your lands begin so I know no' if she was stolen on
your
lands."

He smiled at her tenacity. "When then?"

"Last eve."

"Have you traveled far since then?" Ronan was trying to determine just where the brigands were, if she spoke the truth.

"I…" She lifted her chin. "I walked from dawn yestermorn until gloaming yestereve."

Which meant she no doubt had not walked very far and in any event, she would have been traveling across his land at the time her horse was stolen.

"From which direction did you come?"

She motioned northwest.

"What did your horse look like?"

"She is a red roan, her legs, tail, and mane, a rich red, and her body much lighter in color. She is named Milis."

Sweet
. Ronan should have known a lassie would call her horse by such a name, if she did indeed own one. "You are lucky that no one stole anything else from you, lass."

Her face turned a light red and he hoped he had embarrassed her enough to make her realize just how dangerous it could be for her traveling alone like that.

"Where is your escort?"

She didn't answer, giving him a disgruntled look as if he had no right questioning her. Ronan didn't know what to think. "We will take you to our keep, and you can stay there until we find your horse."

"Nay!" She spoke so sharply, Ronan raised a brow at her in surprise.

Alban chuckled. Ward tsked. Up until now, they had been quietly sitting atop their horses and he'd almost forgotten they were there.

"I will be on my way. My thanks to you just the same." She wasn't moving from her defensive stance, feet spread for balance, her dirk held in a manner that showed she knew how to handle it, and she was clearly ready for a fight.

It was past time to take the lass back to the keep and learn more about her. Ronan gave her one last chance to cooperate and then he'd take matters into his own hands, though he wished to do this in a more agreeable way.

"Sheathe your dirk, lass, and you will ride with me. We wish you no harm." Ronan wanted to give her the choice, allowing her to remain armed so she felt safer, though he knew it was a risky decision on his part should she turn on him.

Stubbornly resisting the notion, she shook her head.
Bloody hell.
He really didn't want to do this, not when she was afraid of him and what he might do to her. Her slight trembling told him everything.

He lunged forward. Before she could react, he swung his sword, connecting with her dirk with a
clang
. He struck hard enough that it sent her dirk flying. He believed, now that he had proven to be the mightier foe and she was unarmed, she'd give up her quest to rebel against his directive. He was wrong. Her expression was first one of surprise, her eyes widening and her lips parting. But then she glanced at the ground, looking for where her weapon had landed.

He couldn't believe it!

He knew her intent before she dove for her dirk. But he couldn't react quickly enough. He wasn't about to allow her to arm herself again. He dropped his sword, needing both hands free and lunged for her. Tackling her, he took her down, her back cushioned by the wealth of leaves, and planted his body on top of hers.

She grew very still then, and he smiled. "If you had done just as I asked, we wouldna be like this, now would we, lassie?"

***

Sorcha was fuming mad and scared witless as the braw Highlander pressed his body on top of hers. She felt his staff growing against her belly the longer he remained between her legs. He was beautiful, his dark brown eyes swimming with lust, his long brown hair hanging about her face as she looked up at him, panting for breath, trembling, despite wishing to show he didn't frighten her one bit. But he did.

After dealing with her sister's husband, the vilest of creatures known to womankind, Sorcha did not trust this man. At first, she had feared they were the same men who had stolen her beloved horse, but she assumed she'd traveled far enough from that location that they wouldn't have found her. And if they had stolen her horse, they most likely would have had her horse in tow and remarked on it.

"I am no' going anywhere," she growled, furious that he just stayed there, as if he meant to pin her there forever.

She feared, too, that this man would not let her go. That he would force her to travel with him to wherever he lived. He appeared well-dressed, not in ragged clothing, and she had to admit he smelled pleasingly of pine, leather, and man. Which meant he had to have bathed recently and he wasn't some ruffian.

The man with the lightest color hair spoke up. "Mayhap you should check her over for more weapons."

The other man grinned. "I would do it for you, Ronan, if you so choose."

Ronan smiled. "What say you, lass? Do I need to search you to learn if you have any more weapons hidden anywhere on your person?"

Ronan couldn't help but enjoy the feel of the bonny lass beneath him, all softness and sweetness. Except when she'd threatened him with her dirk. Then she wasn't quite so sweet—but the softness, aye, heavenly. Her eyes were rounded with surprise and this close up, he could see the amber flecks highlighting the forest green color. Beautiful. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, right before she tried to unsettle him from his pose.

"You willna be successful, lassie." Ronan sighed. "Now, as I have said, you will stay with me at Dunloch castle until I say otherwise. Suffice it to say, you will remain unarmed."

Smiling amiably at the lass, he began to climb off her. At once, she glanced in the direction where her dagger had been. She was a bonny lass without anyone to protect her, and he could understand her concern. But he would not dally with her any longer, as much as he enjoyed the closeness they now shared.

Snagging her arm, he rose quickly to his feet, pulling her with him, then noticed Ward had dismounted and was holding her dirk
and Ronan's own sword. Ward handed Ronan his sword, and he quickly sheathed it.

"You looked to need a hand with the wee lassie."

As if she were a bairn, when she had way too many curves for that. Or that Ronan couldn't have managed her all on his own.

Getting in on the business, Alban dismounted and joined them. "Allow me to hold her while you mount." He grinned at Ward. "While our dear brother holds onto her weapon."

Ronan had considered lifting her to his horse, but he could envision her seated upon it, kicking his horse's flanks, and leaving him behind.

Ward shook his head. "I should have known why Alban took so long to dismount and join us. So that he could hold onto the lass."

"Keep a tight hold on her." Ronan handed her over to Alban. "I suspect she is ready to bolt. Yet she would not get far." He said so only for her enlightenment in the event she truly thought she could escape him and his brothers.

When Alban had her in hand, Ronan climbed onto his saddle and his brother handed the lass up to him.

"My bundle is over there." She motioned to the leaves and Alban went to search for it.

"I have got it."

"Your name, lass?" Ronan tightened his hold on her and waited for his brothers to mount their horses.

"Sorcha."

Ronan considered her golden hair.
Radiant.
Her name suited her.

"Coming, Ward, Alban?" Ronan tried not to enjoy feeling her against his body. Since the first contact he'd had with her, his body had only reacted even more. He headed back to the castle, her soft backside rubbing against his shaft that was growing by leaps and bounds.

"I am no' traveling the way you are going," she said. "I will be late returning home and…and my clansmen will believe you have stolen my horse and taken me hostage. They will seek a swift revenge."

He fought chuckling. "Really? Pray tell which way were you heading?" Ronan thought to humor her because the direction she had motioned to was not in the direction where the Chattan lands were.

When she didn't say, he noticed Ward grinning, amused at the tale the lass had spun, but Ronan worried about the reason she was out here alone. "If you had a horse to begin with—"

"You doubt my word?" Her words were sharp and antagonistic.

"Lass, you couldna have traveled days without an escort, with or without a horse. 'Tis no' that I dinna believe you about the horse, only about the place that you have come from."

***

Sorcha had the greatest urge to jump right down off Ronan's horse, but she knew if she didn't injure herself in doing so, she'd still never get far. And the effort would prove futile. She had wished that Ronan had put her on his saddle, and the other brother hadn't taken hold of her instead. She would have ridden off. She knew they still would have stopped her, but she desperately wanted to show these men, the laird, in particular, that he had no power over her. Even though, for now, he did.

Her situation couldn't get any worse, she thought. The weather had been agreeable, sunny, and comfortable during the day, much cooler at night, but her brat had kept her warm. Her feet were sore from all the walking though. And she hated the men who had stolen her horse. Their talking had awakened her early yesterday before first light, and she had feared they'd find her hiding place. When they found Milis, they had searched for Sorcha for some time before they gave up and led her horse away.

Sorcha was still thanking God they hadn't discovered her while she had been sleeping in a tree where she thought she'd be safe from four-legged and two-legged beasties. She had worried that someone might attempt to steal her horse if she happened to run across men like that, but she'd been lucky for a couple of days at least. And she'd had no other choice.

She hated that they'd taken Milis. Loving her sweet and gentle horse, Sorcha prayed whoever bought her would care for her the same as she did.

As soon as the horse thieves had departed the area, their torchlight fading until she could no longer see it or hear their horses' footfalls, she had waited for a good long while, listening, making sure no one was waiting for her to return to the site where her horse had been. Unable to see anything in the dark, she had managed to climb down, but she'd stumbled and fallen so many times, she'd bruised her knees. She was just lucky she hadn't torn her garments. Finally giving up on the venture, she had found another tree to climb. Though the first branch she had reached for had snapped off in her hand, and she had feared someone would hear her.

After walking half the day, with a heavy bundle that included another wool
léine
and an extra chemise, hard cheese, harder bannocks, and oats for making porridge, she had finally stopped for a brief respite. Trying to gather water at the loch to make her porridge when the sun was too high in the sky had been a mistake. She should have remained hidden in the forest until dusk. As soon as she'd glimpsed the men near the standing stones, she'd raced into the forest, but not quickly enough.

When Ronan said which clan he was laird of, that didn't bode well. She was far enough from the MacNeill clan that she was certain her brother by marriage would not suspect she was here. But since the clan of the Daziel did not get along with the MacNeills, she feared saying how she was now related to them.

Against her will, she sat in front of the laird, feeling the heat and hardness of his body, the way he was reacting to hers, and she wanted to move away from him. And tried to, but he only tightened his hold on her.

"Quit your squirming, Sorcha." He sounded as if he was suffering.

She
was suffering! With the sun shining down on them, his body pressed so indecently against hers, and the heat radiating between them, she was burning up. She thought she might melt into a puddle on his saddle if she didn't get away from him. Not to mention thinking about the way he had so indecently lain between her legs! And she'd felt his staff growing then, too. In fact, she believed him to be just as aroused as then. Except this time he was pressing it against her back.

She saw no sign of his castle and hoped that it wasn't far or she really would expire, especially with as little sleep as she had last eve.

"My brother, Ward, is on our left. My youngest brother, Alban, is riding to the right. You know who I am. Now, tell me who you really are."

He would not know where she belonged if she didn't tell him which clan she came from. Mayhap his people hadn't fought the MacNeills in a very long time, and she might be all right. But she didn't want to risk it.

She didn't tell him who she was as she closed her eyes and settled into the rocking rhythm of the horse's easy gait. The heat surrounded her as she listened to the hooves pounding the ground in a melodic way, soothing, as it had been when she had escaped Craigly Castle and her ogre of a brother by marriage after she had traveled far enough and no one had caught up with her.