The Highlander's Defiant Captive Page 2
Strong arms encircled her. "No’ so fast, lassie."
"Please…" she said, despising how weak she sounded. But so far impertinence had gained her nothing. "Let me go. I've done ye no harm. Just dinna…dinna take me away with ye."
His silence gave her hope that humility had succeeded where overt resistance had failed.
"It's too late, lassie." He sounded almost regretful. "I've got ye. I intend to keep ye. Too much is at stake to set you free."
"If it’s money ye want, my father will pay to get me back."
"Your father?"
Her tone hardened. "Och, ye ken just who I am. My father will pursue ye to the ends of the earth for what you've done. Ye invite more strife than you can imagine, Mackinnon."
"I dinna ken about that. I'm blessed with a powerful vivid imagination."
How on earth did that manage to sound suggestive? She hid a shiver. "Then ye must ken nae sensible man would take on the Drummonds like this. The theft of the laird's daughter is an insult my father will never countenance."
"Whisht, lassie. The deed is done. Ye willnae talk me out of it."
"Ye can still let me go."
"No, I cannae." He urged the horse to a trot that jolted her uncomfortably against his body. She’d give anything not to touch him, but crushed together on horseback, it was impossible to avoid contact.
"You’re facing a world of trouble," she said, as her tied hands dug into the horse's thick mane.
To her surprise, that summoned a deep chuckle that vibrated through her back in a disturbing fashion. "Och, ye dinna have to tell me that. I knew ye were trouble the moment I set eyes on you."
That wasn’t what she meant. She referred to armed reprisals from her family. But she seized the opening. "Then take the easy road and release me."
"The easy road isnae always the best. I'm sorry, lassie."
"No, you're not," she said bitterly.
His answer was to urge the big horse into a smooth gallop that at least was easier on her than the jolting trot.
Mhairi closed her eyes and told herself she wouldn't cry. She was a Drummond, and Drummonds were brave and stalwart. She especially wouldn't cry in front of this mongrel of a Mackinnon who wasn't fit to lick her father's boots.
But as the horse settled into a long run westward through the hills, grief and terror twisted her stomach into painful knots. What horrific fate awaited her at the Mackinnon stronghold?
Chapter 2
Callum reined Kelpie to a stop in a small glen. Around them, the strange shadowy twilight of the north glowed through the summer night. "Are ye tired, lassie?"
The girl in his arms didn't respond. She hadn’t responded to any of his remarks. Not that he’d exactly been chatty as they galloped across the hills toward Achnasheen. He’d been too busy keeping his horse on track, his captive safe in the saddle, and his attention behind him, in case the Drummonds came in pursuit.
"My father will see that you die in agony and disgrace," she said coldly. She’d been quiet so long, the sound of her voice startled him. "It will be my immense pleasure to watch ye suffer."
"Your father has to catch me before he can fulfill your gruesome fantasies," he said dryly.
"By now, they’ll ken I'm missing."
He dismounted and turned to lift her from the saddle. She wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to tug on his wound. He hoped to hell it didn’t start bleeding again.
When she staggered, he caught her arm. Her contemptuous gesture as she jerked free spoke volumes for her courage, if not for her prudence. He already knew she was brave. She hadn't screamed or cried. Even when she tried to appeal to his sympathies, she’d spoken more like a captive queen than a humble prisoner.
Humble? He doubted this fiery lass knew the meaning of the word.
She was a proud wee thing, and even their short acquaintance told him that she was used to following her own will. At twenty, most girls were married, mother to a bairn or two. Only the fact that she was the Drummond's darling child, the comfort of his old age, had saved her from being wed long ago.
"Aye, but people would only note your absence when they sat down to supper. The folk at Bruard are used to the chieftain’s daughter running wild."
"Ye seem to ken a lot about what goes on in my father's house."
He ignored the snide comment. "Their first thought will be that you're lost in the hills."
That elicited a scornful snort. "As if I’d get lost. I've been roaming those hills since I was a wean."
He shrugged and led the horse across to the burn to drink. "Nonetheless, I doubt they'll think you've been taken until they get my message."
The girl might try to run, but with her hands tied and her legs stiff from hours in the saddle, he doubted it.
He should have known better than to underestimate her.
A muffled grunt behind him made him release Kelpie's bridle and stalk over to where Mhairi struggled to rise from the hollow where she’d stumbled.
"That was foolish," he said mildly, taking her arm and hoisting her to her feet. He ignored how she wriggled to break his hold.
"I willnae stand by and let ye…use me without doing my best to get away."
Callum didn't argue with the accusation. She’d learn what he wanted of her soon enough. Better that happened once he had her safely locked away in Achnasheen.
"Where would ye go? You have nae idea where ye are."
"We've ridden west. I just need to use the moon to find my way home."
"We’re well into Mackinnon land, lassie. Not a soul here will offer a Drummond the hand of friendship." He hauled her across to a hummock. "Sit down."
"No."
He shrugged. She was spoiling for a fight. He couldn’t blame her, even if he had no intention of entering into a slanging match. "Then stand. But we’ve got a good few hours of riding before we get to Achnasheen. Ye might appreciate this chance to rest."
"I willnae sit beside a Mackinnon."
If his plans came to fruition, she’d be doing more with a Mackinnon than just sitting beside him. "Brave words for someone who's spent the last few hours cuddling up against me."
She'd held herself as stiff as a board until exhaustion had her drooping onto his chest. When she forgot to fight him, she was soft in his arms. Surprising how natural it felt to hold Mhairi Drummond in his embrace. He hadn't cooked up this desperate scheme for his own pleasure, but a laddie would need to be blind to miss how perfectly the name of Bonny Mhairi fitted her.
She was so pretty that the first time he saw her up close, his heart had stuttered to a stop. The small slender body, the skin as white as a swan's wing, the bright blue eyes flashing defiance. And her wild mass of rich red hair tied back in an untidy plait. As they rode, that hair had tickled his neck. It was as silky as it looked, and he'd had to fight the urge to bury his face in it.
"Well, let me put it this way—I willnae willingly sit beside a Mackinnon."
My God, she was headstrong. The stinging cut on his arm proved that this was no pliable lassie, eager to cooperate out of fear of her captor. But Callum couldn't help admiring this wildcat who spat and hissed at him. In truth, she’d need her courage before she was done.
"Och, lassie, if that's how ye feel, you'll get awfu’ tired before you're done at Achnasheen," he said dryly.
The light was bright enough for him to gauge her expression. She looked calm and intractable. Odd that her beauty held no hint of softness as she glared at him. He was used to easy lassies who were all generosity and acquiescence, no sharp edges.
"Dinnae ye dare mock me, Mackinnon." Loathing dripped from her low words. "It’s a braw thing you've done, snatching a couple of innocent women away from their home and terrorizing them. By heaven, the bards will be writing ballads into the next century about your unsurpassed valor."
A short laugh escaped him. "Are ye trying to shame me into taking you back?"
The fierce expression didn't ease. "I wouldnae waste my time, when I know ye ha
ve no shame."
"You're damn free with insults for a lassie tied up like a calf for market and a long way from home. Are ye no’ afraid at all?"
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. He waited for more braggadocio, but her answer surprised him. "I’m nae fool, Mackinnon. Only a fool wouldnae be afraid."
He frowned. "I said ye were safe. I promise you’ll receive treatment meet for your name and status as a chieftain's daughter."
Her contempt for that statement was clear. "Aye, and I'm to pay attention to the biggest liar of a lying race telling me another lie?"
"I'm generally considered a man of my word," he said gently.
"For a Mackinnon, ye probably are," she snapped.
He gave another huff of appreciative laughter. "A smart woman might wonder if a more conciliatory attitude could improve her chances."
It was her turn to shrug. "You'll do whatever ye want to me, nae matter what I say."
Sadly for her, it was true. "It might go easier on ye if you dinnae fight me every step."
"I'll fight ye to my dying day, you bastard."
Callum hid a sigh. He had a grim feeling she meant it. "You're no’ what I expected."
"You are," she snarled.
He ignored that. "The stories I heard said ye were blithe and kind." Those tales of her good nature had led him to imagine that the Drummond heiress was a sweet little nonentity. He couldn’t have been more wrong. This girl – woman – was made to lead armies.
"If you're disappointed, ye can easily return me to my father."
Callum subjected her to a long inspection that swept from the top of her ruffled head to the delicate feet peeping out from under her ankle-length skirts. He let himself smile. "Och, lassie, I wouldnae say I'm disappointed. No’ by a long shot."
To his surprise, her expression froze and she faltered back. "I cannae stop what's going to happen," she said in a flat voice. "But ye have made a lifelong enemy, Mackinnon. I’ll have my revenge. Whatever misery you bring down on me, I will rain down on ye a hundredfold."
Her threat should sound absurd. She was unarmed and in his power, not to mention a foot shorter than he was.
But he heard the implacable promise in her voice and wondered not for the first time, whether this scheme would succeed. Even if it did, was the price he—and she—paid worth it?
She’d been brought up to hate him, and his antics today hardened that hatred into immovable loathing. How could he expect anything else? But even as her fire and defiance made his heart stir, the sensible part of him couldn't help recognizing that the frightened, insipid creature of his imagination would be easier to handle. This cat had claws, and she intended to use them to draw his blood.
Hell, she'd already drawn blood. First honors in their battle definitely belonged to the Drummond lass.
Too late to alter his course. But he could see that troubled waters lay ahead.
He caught her arm and brought her over to where Kelpie nosed at the lush grass. After a stumble, the girl came with him. He could tie her to a tree, but something in him flinched from playing the bully. Although if he said that to her, she’d tell him it was too late for him to worry about that.
"Threats are easy to make," he said, as if he dismissed her words. "Are ye hungry?"
"No," she said in a sullen tone.
"Well, I am." Keeping hold of her arm with one hand, he unlaced his saddlebag.
"Kidnapping defenseless women must build a grand appetite," she said snidely.
He gave her credit for keeping up the fight. Carrying the saddlebag, he pulled her back toward the hummock again. "If you're no’ careful, I'll gag ye."
"Go ahead. I dinnae care."
He sat down and tugged her down beside him. "If I did, it would deprive me of your sweet conversation."
She came down with a bump that made her breath escape in a puff. "If ye want sweet conversation, kidnap a Mackinnon lassie."
"Och, they're no challenge."
Callum waited a moment to see whether she meant to defy him and stand up again, but she remained put. She stared into the distance, the pure, delicate features set with disdain.
The lassie should look tired and powerless. She looked like a chained goddess. The shadows under her eyes only set off their rich sapphire color. The pointed chin stuck up at a determined angle, and those sweet lips were set in an unyielding line. Before he took her from the meadow, he’d seen her smiling. He wished she’d smile again.
Not likely.
He on the other hand must look a complete villain, unshaven and covered in blood. Before they ate, he needed to wash. He rose and crossed to the burn, keeping an eye on his captive. After her last futile attempt, she must know that with tied hands, any escape was doomed. But she was a frisky wee thing, and he didn't discount how furious she was. She was likely to try to run, if only to inconvenience him.
He kneeled beside the stream and rinsed his hands. The cut on his arm needed attention, but it could wait. It still stung like the devil, but at least it hadn’t started bleeding again.
The Drummond girl refused to look at him when he returned and rummaged in the saddlebag for the simple fare he’d brought. He produced oatcakes, some cheese, and a flask of ale, and put together a rough meal.
He held out an oatcake and cheese. "Here."
"Ye can take that and stick it…"
"Mistress Drummond, ye shock me," he said before she could finish. Then in a coaxing tone, "Come. Eat. Drink. It's still a way before we reach Achnasheen."
"I will accept nothing from your hand," she said coldly.
His lips tightened, although he had enough pride himself to recognize that he’d be no more tractable as a prisoner. "In that case, you'll end up damned peckish before you’re done."
She didn't reply. For a moment longer, he kept the food extended toward her. When she didn't take it, he shrugged and ate it himself.
Mistress Drummond was similarly dismissive of the offer of ale. But when he rose after his makeshift meal, she cast him an embarrassed look. "I want…"
He could make her say it, but he felt a hint of sympathy for her plight. He jerked his head toward some bushes. "Go."
She held out her bound hands. "I cannae…"
He regarded her suspiciously. After her last escape attempt, he was loath to free her hands. "You’ll manage."
"Not with these skirts." Her tone was impatient. "What do ye think I’m going to do? Fly back to Bruard?"
With a sigh, he reached to untie the cord and watched as she crossed to another clump of bushes, this one at the edge of the woods growing in the shelter of the hill. Heaven forbid the stubborn wench should take his suggestion about anything, even where she relieved herself.
It took Callum a few moments to see to his own needs and check Kelpie, who had endured hard riding tonight. When he put down the horse’s hoof, it struck him that the girl seemed to be taking a long time.
"Mistress Drummond?"
A suspiciously long time.
"Mistress Drummond?" he asked again more loudly, even as he cursed himself for a gullible fool. Now he had a good idea why she’d chosen the bushes close to the thick wood.
He strode across to where she been. A quick glance told him she was long gone.
A pox on it, he couldn't fail. Not now. This was his only chance to achieve his aims. If the Drummond heiress made her way back to Bruard Castle, he'd never get another opportunity to snatch her.
Even worse, she was a long way from home and a thousand dangers loomed along her way. How she’d laugh to know he was sick with worry over her wellbeing. How she must be laughing now at what a buffle-headed nodcock he was to let her play such a trick.
He’d never find her in the wood, not in the middle of the night and with the ground beneath the trees as dark as a pit in Hades. But the hills around them were bare. If she broke out of the trees, he'd see her all right. And she was a stranger to this country, while he had the advantage of knowing the ground.
He spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry over the still air. Likely the lassie was too smart to believe he’d give up so easily, but luring her into a false sense of security could work to his advantage.
He rose into Kelpie's saddle and guided the horse up the hillside to the west. Once they dipped out of sight, he galloped across the ridge to the path leading east.
There was a cave at the pass, giving a view over the glen, including the wood and the braes. Bonny Mhairi had chosen the worst place to disappear, at least from her perspective. From his, the terrain was perfect for trapping a runaway. Cliffs lined the glen, apart from the one path leading through it, the path he’d pretended to take. Once she broke away from the trees, the girl had few options.
Of course, she could have got through the pass before he noticed her gone, but she'd need to be fleet as Atalanta to manage that.
No, he was willing to wager his clan's future on his captive hunkering down in some hollow in the wood. Come daybreak, she'd venture out and make her way back to her home.
A faint admiring smile curled his lips as he led Kelpie into the cave and settled down at the entrance in wait.
Chapter 3
As the hours rolled on, punctuated by the rumbling of her empty stomach, Mhairi had plenty of time to regret her proud rejection of the Mackinnon’s food. A night in the forest also reminded her that she'd left home dressed for a sunny afternoon, not for the chill that descended after the sun went down this far north, even in summer. She struggled not to think about how warm she’d felt crushed up against a brawny chest.
She'd heard her captor swear when he discovered she’d scarpered. Recalling his angry frustration had provided a modicum of warmth through the night. She also heard him talk to that great gray brute of a horse about heading home to put together a search party. At first, she’d been convinced he was trying to trick her into making a dash for it, while he lay in wait.