A Promise Given (10 page)
A shudder wracked her body. She'd been unwise—aye, and foolishly so!—to taunt
him. Ian was no longer the young boy she had teased and challenged so oft. He
was, she admitted, a formidable man, a warrior, powerful both in his presence
and his strength. It cost her greatly to admit it, but she feared his anger. She
had no one to protect her, she realized with a pang, naught but her wits.
Nay, Ian was not a man to trifle with, for indeed, she might well pay the
price for her recklessness. Though she liked it not—though she willed it not—her
very life was in his hands.
Her mind raced on. Why, the wretch might well choose to beat her for her
insolence! She hated his power over her, yet she sensed he was not a man of idle
threats. If she would defy him, she must be prepared to pay the price. And so,
she thought bitterly, she must learn to guard her temper… and her tongue.
You are wrong
, whispered a voice in her mind.
He would never
deign to harm you. Indeed, you forget that he defended you against your
father.
Unbidden, Sabrina's fingers crept to the bruise on her cheek. Once again, she
felt the whisper of his touch there.
Does this hurt you
? he'd asked.
Sabrina released a long, slow breath. His tone had held no malice, his eyes
naught but concern. Mayhap she should not have turned from him so, for her
behavior had angered him. But she did not want his tenderness, his gentleness,
not when he had stripped from her all she ever wanted.
His voice tolled anew through her mind.
Virgins are such trouble, you
see. They know not how to kiss. They know not how to touch. Where to touch… and
when.
A pondering frown lined the smoothness of her forehead. She lay back down,
drawing the blanket up over her shoulders. What had he meant by that? Could it
be there was more to lovemaking than she had thought? She had a rudimentary
knowledge of the act, given her by Margaret many years ago.
The thought was unsettling—much as he was unsettling. Her gaze drifted toward
the flap of the tent.
However it had been achieved, she had what she wanted. Her new husband was
not in her bed, nor was he likely to be in the future. She wanted none of
him. He wanted none of her. She should have been well pleased…
A nearby howl from without nearly sent her scrambling for the entrance. It
was only with the most stringent of efforts that she restrained herself. Her
gaze darted to and fro. Firelight danced eerily behind the wall of the tent;
were it not for its meager light, she might have indeed fled.
In time, she slept. But her sleep was fitful, and she woke in the morning as
cross as her husband.
His greeting was spare and cool. "I suggest you hurry, Sabrina. I'm anxious
to be off."
Sabrina hurried through her morning ablutions. She would have liked to
dally—ah, if only she dared!
The next two days passed much as the first. Ian was determined to make up the
distance they'd lost the day they wed, so he set a grueling pace. There was
little speech between any of them. Ian was distantly aloof with her. By noonday,
Sabrina’s back began to ache. Her bottom grew sore, for she was unused to so
many hours in the saddle. Early in the evening, they stopped to water the
horses.
Sabrina slid from the saddle with Alasdair's assistance. Her legs protested
their burden. Hot needles sliced through her calves. Alasdair caught her when it
seemed her legs would give way.
Sabrina smiled up at him. "Thank you, cousin."
Alasdair smiled down at her. Unlike Ian's, his eyes were kind and filled with
warmth.
"I'm weary of sitting," she said lightly. "Will you walk with me,
Alasdair?"
He offered his arm. "If it pleases you, certainly." She placed her fingertips
upon the sleeve of his shirt. As they began to stroll along the edge of the
stream, Sabrina could feel Ian's gaze boring into her back, but she paid no
heed. She straightened her spine and ignored him as he'd been wont to do to her
throughout these past days.
They rounded a bend in the stream. Here the waters flowed bright and
inviting. As they stopped, Sabrina glanced at Alasdair. He was eyeing her with a
mixture of reserve and something else, something she could not identify.
She tipped her head to the side. "What is it, Alasdair? Is there something
you would ask of me?"
He hesitated. "Pray forgive me if I intrude, but I merely wondered… is all
well between you and Ian?"
So he'd noticed the coldness that simmered between herself and Ian. She gave
what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. "Considering the circumstances of our
marriage, as well as can be expected, I suppose."
Alasdair touched her shoulder. "If there is aught I can do—"
Sabrina shook her head. "It's too late for that," she found herself
confiding. "It's just that… that Margaret would have made a far better wife to
Ian than I. She readily accepted the marriage and—" It was her turn to hesitate,
for what could she say?
"And you have not," he finished for her.
Sabrina sighed. Before she knew it, it was tumbling out. "I- I was pledged to
another," she admitted. "My father did not know of it—he would not have
approved. And so he—"
"He made you wed Ian."
She nodded. All at once she felt perilously near tears.
Alasdair squeezed her shoulder. "I know Ian as no one else knows him. He can
be harsh, I know. His father's death changed him, I fear. But do not despair.
Oh, I know this will be of little comfort, but sometimes we must make our own
opportunity. Give it time, Sabrina. Give it time."
Sabrina’s throat was clogged tight. Alasdair was so kind, so sweet. Her heart
ached. If she had to marry a man other than Jamie, why couldn’t it have been
someone like Alasdair?
"You are right," she said, dashing away a tear. "But I am not meek and
biddable. And I fear that is the kind of wife Ian wishes. That is why Margaret
was so much better suited to him than I."
The makings of a smile had begun to appear, but all at once Alasdair frowned.
"Perhaps you are wrong, Sabrina. Mayhap this means nothing, but… I once saw Ian
and Margaret quarreling."
Sabrina's slender brows shot up. "Truly? What were they arguing about?"
"I could not say. I did not wish to eavesdrop, so I quickly retreated, to
leave them in private."
Her spine prickled, as if in warning. “How odd," Sabrina murmured. "I don’t
recall the two of them ever having a disagreement, even when we were
children."
Alasdair looked uncomfortable. "I should have sworn they were arguing, for
their voices were raised. But… mayhap I was mistaken."
Was he? A sudden, startling chill ran the length of her. All at once she
recalled the first kiss they had shared. It was the very next day Margaret was
discovered missing… God's wounds! Had Ian murdered Margaret in order to marry
her?
She dismissed the notion almost the instant it crossed her mind. She was not
beautiful like Margaret. Why, the very idea was preposterous!
Just then there was the crunch of stones beneath booted feet. Sabrina raised
her head in time to see Ian striding toward them.
"There you are," he said to his cousin. "I thought you might ride ahead and
find a place to stay for the night."
Alasdair inclined his head. "Certainly."
Sabrina had gone very still. Her gaze followed Alasdair's departure until he
disappeared from sight. Sabrina gathered her skirts in her hands. "If you will
excuse me—"
Deliberately he barred her way. "Nay, wife, I will not."
His mockery kindled a ready indignation. But he stood so close she had to
crane her neck to see him. "And
why
not?"
"Because I wish to avail myself of your company."
To torment me, more like
! The retort stung the tip of her tongue.
She had to bite it back.
His gaze had yet to leave her. "You and Alasdair seem to have much in
common." His tone was ever so pleasant.
His expression was not.
She ran her tongue over her lips, all at once nervous without quite knowing
why. "I am fond of him," she said slowly.
"So I see." His eyes glinted. "Alasdair has a way with the fairer sex. I
pray—for both your sakes—he does not trespass where he should not."
Sabrina mocked him openly. "First you warn me against Jamie. Now Alasdair.
What, milord! Could it be you are jealous?"
"You are mine, Sabrina. Your loyalty belongs to me. I'll have it no other
way. It will be no other way."
"And I am to obey?"
"Aye. I am your husband and you will obey me."
His arrogance knew no bounds. "And of course I have no say in this."
It was his turn to mock her. "Ah, but I forget. You’ve a mind of your own,
don't you, wife?"
Sabrina jerked when his hands suddenly descended on her shoulders.
His laughter grated. "Why so skittish? You are like a mare whose master has
not yet ridden her."
Sabrina flushed. Was he being deliberately crude? She did not know.
"I know of but one solution," he went on. "We must begin anew the task of
getting to know one another. Now then. Stay with me while I bathe."
It was not a request. It was an order. He released her, only to tug his shirt
over his head.
Sabrina gaped. In but an instant he'd turned and shed the rest of his
clothing. Was the man mad? She stared at spare, round buttocks as he walked
calmly into the stream. When he was halfway across, he turned to face her.
Sabrina had already sat down hard upon the bank.
He called to her. "Will you join me, wife?"
Wordlessly she shook her head, unable to do more.
The sight of him stole her voice—her very breath. Her stomach quivered
oddly.
His chest and belly were matted with dark, curling hair. She stared
helplessly where the water lapped at the downward crease of his hips. His back
had been to her as he walked away; she had caught nary a glimpse of the part of
him that proclaimed his manliness… and, oh, but she was surely as wicked as Papa
had always claimed… her curiosity was such that she wished she had…
Her arms were braced on upraised knees. She licked her lips. Her gaze
strayed, only to return. The compulsion to look at him was overwhelming. It was
as if some unseen power had caught her in its grasp. His body was a thing of
beauty, leanly sculpted with muscle, all raw power and grace.
He turned and cut cleanly through the water in a shallow dive. When he
surfaced, he began to swim parallel to the shore. The ripple of muscle in his
chest and arms declared his virility with a potency she could not deny.
There was a sudden, swift movement beside her. Sabrina glanced sharply to her
right.
Four bearded men stood before her, their clothing muddied and grimy. The air
of menace which clung to them was such that it sent terror winging through her
veins.
The tallest of them grinned. "Greetings, my lovely one.”
Sabrina bounded to her feet. The men spread out so that they circled her. She
tried to dart between them. Pawing hands grabbed at her. A rough hand cupped her
breast. She lunged away and whirled, only to confront another.
A twisted leer revealed stained, yellowed teeth.
"Ian!" Her scream rent the air, cut off by a hard arm that threatened
to crush her ribs as she was snared like an animal in a trap. Something hit her
squarely between the shoulder blades. She fell to her knees, dazed. A shout
seemed to come from a long distance away. She raised her head just as Ian
emerged from the stream.
But one of the men was waiting. Even as she tried to cry out a warning, he
brought a wooden club down upon the back of Ian's head.
Ian crumpled forward without a sound.
She would have run to him, but a meaty hand grasped the back of her neck and
held her where she was. Another seized her hands and bound them tightly with a
cord of leather. He left a length hanging free. With this he dragged her to her
feet.
"A beauty, is she not?" This came from a burly red-head.
"Oh, aye. A man would kill for one such as her, eh?" This came from one who
was thin as a sapling in winter, his beard straggly. There was a burst of harsh
laughter as their eyes cut to Ian. Sabrina nearly cried out, for she could see a
trickle of blood oozing down his temple. Mother of Christ, was he dead?
The men were English, from the sound of it—and reivers, from the look of
them. Sabrina's eyes swept frantically all around, searching for Alasdair. But
alas, there was no sign of him.
"You are a long way from the border lands," she said clearly. "Go back where
you came from and leave us alone!'
“Ah, but we've developed a taste for fair Scottish maidens," chimed the
fourth man. He stepped before her and clamped her face between his hands. Hot,
wet lips carne down on hers.
Sabrina nearly gagged. He smelled of unwashed flesh. His breath was as foul
as rancid meat. She tried to wrench away, but he held her firmly. His tongue
thrust between her lips. Sabrina reacted instinctively, biting down hard on the
offending invader.
A yowl of pain erupted. The man 's face contorted into a mask of rage. He
drew back his fist to strike her.
"Nay, Henry! The order carne from the tall blond with long, matted hair, the
one who had tied her hands.
The man named Henry scowled, but he dropped his fist. "But, Edward, the wench
needs a lesson in manners!" He touched a finger to his mouth. It came away
bloodstained.
"Yes, but you’ll not be the one giving it. I've another purpose in mind for
her."
Sabrina's blood ran cold. What purpose? What did he mean?
He gestured to the stout, burly one. "Roland, search their things. They may
have jewels hidden."
"Aye, Edward." The burly man scurried to obey.
They tugged her back to the place where Ian had tethered the horses. Roland
rummaged through the pouches slang along the animals' flanks. “It’s mostly
woman's clothing," he said disgustedly. "There's nothing of value here except
the woman. And the horses."
"And we shall have all."
Sabrina took a deep breath. "Let me go," she said coldly. "Else I promise,
you will pay the price."
Edward sneered. "And who will save you? Your noble swain there? He's
dead!"
"Nay!" She cried out in heartfelt fervor. "He still lives."
"Was he your husband?"
"Aye! And he-he will hunt you down!"
"I think not, lady."
"He will," she cried. "He wields his sword with the greatest of skill, for he
is the mightiest warrior in all Scotland! And he will have your heads for
this!"
The four of them laughed uproariously. Sabrina glared her ire. "You
bastards," she said feelingly. “You are the scum of the earth, the veriest
rodents—"
Edward twined his fingers in her hair and jerked her face to his. "Cease!" he
commanded.
Sabrina spit in his face.
For one terrifying instant, she feared fit would be her last. His lips drew
back over his teeth. Sabrina quaked inwardly, but she was determined not to show
it.
Hot breath struck her like a blow. "Your fairness saves you," he hissed
through his teeth. "Were it not for that, I would see that you joined your lover
there." He stepped back. "Find me something to gag her with," he said tersely.
"Then let us be off."
Almost before she could draw breath, a filthy cloth was stuffed into her
mouth. She was heaved up onto the saddle before him. Wildly she thrashed,
desperate to free herself in whatever way she could. She grabbed his leg and
succeeded in nearly unseating him. He swore and stopped the horse. Leaping down,
he seized her arm in a bruising grip that nearly wrenched her arm from its
socket. Earth and sky spun crazily as he dragged her down.
She was stunned when he loosened the bonds at her wrists, but it was only to
jerk them behind her. The cord was wound around her wrists, even tighter than
before. She bit back a cry of pain as he gave the cord one last vicious
jerk.
She was flung facedown across the saddle this time. How far they traveled,
she couldn't say. Each step of the horse drove the air from her lungs so that
she could scarcely breathe. When he urged the horse into a gallop, she thought
she would surely die.
But her mind was filled with thoughts of Ian—indeed, her only thought was of
Ian. She prayed that he yet lived.
Darkness blanketed the land when they stopped. By now it was clear that
Edward was their leader. He dragged her from the horse, then rubbed a length of
hair between his fingers. Sabrina jerked her head away. She cared not that her
glare revealed her every thought. He grinned.
"Ah, a bit more compliant now, eh, wench?"
The others had gathered round. "We can sell the horses,” the red-haired one
said. "But what about her?"
The thin one clapped a hand to his groin. He undulated wildly. "I've a
yearning to poke deep into a Scots honey pot," he said crudely. "A throw of the
dice and we’ll see who 'as her first."
Sabrina paled.
"Nay, I say!" Edward's glare silenced the lot of them. "The Earl of
Northumberland will pay handsomely for a wild one such as her. But not if she's
been used by the likes of us." His gaze skipped to Roland. "Put her in the cave
where we cannot see her," he growled. "She tempts us all too greatly. And bind
her feet as well."
"It is good as done," Roland said gruffly.
Sabrina tried to fight, but it was no use. She was still dizzy and sick from
the ride. Her struggles were pitiable as he wound a length of cord around her
ankles. Picking her up, he dragged her into a cave etched deep into a rocky
hill. He left her lying on the damp, cold surface.
She eased to a sitting position, but it was difficult with both hands and
feet bound. The cord around her wrists cut into her tender skin, but she had
gone beyond pain; her hands were numb.
Panic spiraled within her. She sought desperately to quell it. Her heart
began to pound with thick, dull strokes. She strained to see into the darkness,
but it was all-encompassing. The interior was black as soot, cold and dank. Her
scream was trapped in her throat. She longed to run headlong from the cave. She
stumbled upright, that very intention high in her mind, but it was no use. Her
feet were bound so that she couldn't walk. She lost her balance and fell
heavily, bruising her shoulder.
Hot, burning tears scalded her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
The darkness threatened to smother her, swallow her up in an endless void. She
could not think. She could not breathe. Her breath came unevenly, first slow,
then fast. Fear clutched her insides. She lost all sense of time and place. It
was as if she'd been hurtled back to the time when Papa had locked her away deep
in the bowels of the keep.
"You thought I would never know, didn't you? You were to spend the morning on
your knees in the kirk, in silence and prayer. Yet where were you? In the
stable!"
"Papa," she cried. "Papa, I beg of you—"
"It will do you no good to beg! Mayhap now you'll obey, lassie!”
"Papa, please. I am sorry, truly I am. I shall do as I’m told, I
promise.”
"Bah! You are wicked, child. Wicked as sin. You must be
punished…”
The door slammed shut, leaving her in the dark. She sank to the floor. It
was fan who had told him. Ian who had promised he would not… Oh, she would hate
him forever…
It was a sound that drew her back to reality. She knew instinctively that a
long time had passed. Her eyes snapped open. She shivered and shivered. Even her
fingertips were cold. Her mouth was bone-dry from the gag. She fought spiraling
fear anew, for the cave was still as black as ever. In time, she told herself,
morning would come. She had only to wait. But then
they
would come, the
English reivers—an enemy, just as the darkness was her enemy.
Nay.
Nay
! She told herself staunchly that she must remain calm. She
would find a way to escape her captors, even if Ian was dead…
Ian
. Her heart squeezed. A jagged sob caught in her chest. However
much she resented this marriage, she did not wish him dead…
Shouts drifted on the still night air. The hair on the back of her neck
prickled. Something was different… A wavering light appeared to her left. She
heard shuffling footsteps. A hulking shadow hovered over her. Sabrina blinked,
for the light hurt her eyes.
It was Roland. He pulled her up. Sabrina scrambled back as she saw that he
wielded a dagger. But he only used it to slice through the cord around her
ankles. "Come," he ordered. "Edward wants you."
She winced as she got to her feet. Pain like shards of steel shot up her
legs. Sabrina was half-pushed, half-dragged from the cave. Roland shoved her
toward Edward.
A small fire burned, casting its meager light in a small circle. The thin man
stood several paces distant from Edward. The fourth was nowhere in sight. The
thin man swayed, and it was then the overpowering stench of ale reached her
nostrils.
A tall form stepped from the shadows.
It was Ian.
Her heart pounded, this time in sheer relief. Her cry of joy was muffled by
the gag.
Above her, Edward spoke. "You are prepared to pay well for the return of your
horses. What about the woman?"
Ian spared her nary a glance. "I want the horses, not the woman. Indeed, I'll
count myself well rid of her.”
Sabrina's eyes flew wide with shock. Clearly Edward was stunned.
"But… she said she was your wife."
"And so she is. But I've decided I've no use for a wife."
"Then you've no objection if we sell her to the highest bidder?"
"None at all."
Sabrina made a choked sound of outrage. Edward glanced at her…
A mistake that cost him his life.
The light from the fire caught the glint of shiny metal; the next instant
found Ian's dagger buried deep in his throat.
The thin man screamed a name. "Bedford!"
"If Bedford is the one who watched over the horses, he'll not be along."
Ian’s tone was mild. "His dagger lies deep in his breast."
The thin man turned and fled into the darkness.
With a bellow of rage, Roland lumbered toward Ian. Ian sidestepped him easily
and seized his head from behind. There was a twist of his hands and then a
sickening crack.
Roland slumped to the ground without a sound. His head lay bent at an odd
angle from his body.
It was over in a matter of seconds. Sabrina's eyes were huge. The swift
efficiency with which he'd dispatched her captors stunned her. She felt a tremor
of part admiration, part fear that she had married such a man.
Striding toward her, he tugged the gag from her mouth. Sabrina struggled for
speech. "You—you killed them," she managed at last.
"Aye." There was a glint in his eye. "I do, after all, wield my sword with
the greatest of skill. For am I not the mightiest warrior in all of
Scotland?"
"You—you heard," she gasped. "You… you were awake!"
His smile was totally unrepentant. And indeed, Ian was enjoying the moment.
His chest swelled with a manly pride. He had saved her and surely she would be
obliged to show her gratitude. But her response was not what he'd expected.
Her eyes glowed with a burning hatred. "Why didn’t you come sooner? May the
devil take you! You could have stopped them… They put me in the cave, Ian. They
put me in the dark!"
Ian was stunned into silence. Her eyes were wild, her tone high-pitched and
hysterical. She tore into him then, pounding his chest, cursing him, her fists
flailing madly.
"Sabrina!" He tried to subdue her, but she possessed a strength borne of fury
and something else—something he did not yet comprehend.
"
Sabrina
!" His regard sharpened. A chill prickled the length of his
spine.
She gave no sign that she heard, but continued to fight him with all her
strength. Ian had no desire to hurt her, but he had no choice. He closed his
arms around her and forced her to the ground, pinning her beneath him with the
weight of his body. She cried out and twisted beneath him, until at last she had
no strength left with which to fight him.
"Sabrina," he said softly.
Her eyes opened, wide and dark with pain. A finger beneath her chin dictated
that she look at him. Only then did he glimpse the tear stains on her
cheeks.
He spoke quietly, willing her to listen. "Aye," he said again. "I heard you,
Sabrina, but I was dazed by the blow. They took our horses. I had to follow on
foot. There were four of them and but one of me. The one called Edward… I heard
what he said and I knew you would not be harmed. So I waited until the one who
guarded the horses slept. The other three were in their cups. Had I attempted to
rescue you earlier, I might well have been slain. That is why I waited." He
paused. "Do you understand?"
She nodded, her lower lip tremulous. Then all at once her face crumpled.
Her fingers twisted into his shirt. "But they put me in the dark," she
whispered again. "They put me in the dark!"
The dry sob she gave cut his insides like a knife. She did not weep—indeed,
Ian decided grimly, he almost wished she would. Instead she turned her face into
his neck and shuddered. Ian gathered her close and rose with sudden
decisiveness. He knew that to remain any longer would only prolong her fear.
Within seconds he rode off, his wife cradled in his arms, her mare tethered
to his stallion.
The moon had just begun its descent in the sky when he spotted the blaze of a
fire just ahead. He rode further and saw Alasdair's gray stallion. He gave
thanks to God above that his cousin had chosen to make camp here, rather than
riding further to the north and west. Sabrina was limp in his arms, yet some
unknown sense told him she had not slept.