Bride of the Black Scot (5 page)

Backing away, she stared at him, unable to speak. There was
something about what she had just seen—something that was both terrifying and
exciting. She had thought this man dangerous, but she realized now, with
absolute clarity, that he was far, far more dangerous than she realized.

“You are appalled?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“That was the most barbaric thing I have ever witnessed.”

“Perhaps, but they would have done the same to me, mistress,
if given the chance. It is the way of the clans.”

“It was still uncivilized.”

His look was direct. “I spared the third man, did I not?”

Her throat was too dry to respond.

When she did not speak, his brows narrowed. “You should not
judge that which you know nothing about,” he said.

Speechless still, she stared at him. In the moonlight he had
been a thing of beauty: the strong angles of his face; the play of firelight on
his dark hair. She did not realize the man she teased with reckless ease was
such a mighty warrior.

Her first thought looking at him in the bright light of day
was that she had jumped into water way over her head.

Dumbstruck, she allowed Angus to give her a leg up. The
moment she was in the saddle, she collapsed in a weak heap.

Stephen rode up beside her. “Perhaps your speechless state
is a sign of wisdom,” he said.

“Every man has his weak side,” she said in her defense, then
urged her horse forward.

“Aye,” he said softly, “and you may prove to be mine.”

At that moment, Edith came charging forth on her small pony,
looking a bit worse for wear, her hair flying about her face, bonnet askew.
“M’lady, are you all right?”

“I am fine, Edith,” Juliette said. Then seeing the concern
on Edith’s face, she smiled and said, “Truly.”

“Oh, m’lady, when I saw him riding back with you…his sword
all bloody…oh, my heart fair dropped to my feet. How many of them were there?
Did they touch you? I have never seen such a bloody display of vengeance. I do
hope you turned your head away, m’lady. It wouldn’t do for a lady of your
breeding to witness such barbaric acts as blood drawing I must—”

“
Silence!
”

Stephen Gordon’s voice ripped through the air and echoed
through the trees beyond. Juliette started to say something, then thought
better of it.

Stephen looked at Edith’s slack jaw, then at Angus. “If she
so much as opens her mouth, gag her.”

“Aye,” Angus said, showing no emotion when Edith snapped her
mouth shut.

Soon they were on their way again, Juliette taking the place
Stephen assigned her, to ride beside him on her own horse this time. In spite
of what he said about gagging Edith, Juliette found she could not be quiet. Perhaps
it was simply a way to ease the stiffness from her body, or to keep from
thinking about the bloody scene she had witnessed earlier. “How much farther?”
she asked Stephen.

“To where?”

“To Craigmoor Castle, of course!”

“Four days ride…more or less.”

She sighed in exasperation. “And where exactly is Craigmoor
Castle located?”

“Near the village of Craigmoor.”

Juliette gritted her teeth and prayed for patience. It would
not do, she supposed, for her to knock him from his horse. In truth, she was
ready to throttle the man. “And where, pray tell, is the village of Craigmoor
located? Is it near the coast?”

“In Scotland, you are never more than forty miles from
water, lass.”

She nodded. “Thank you for that interesting bit of
information. I shall try to remember it, for I am certain there will be many
times when I will want to pass such enlightenment on to others.”

He didn’t say anything, but that didn’t bother Juliette. She
had spent half of her life being ignored by her father and her younger sisters.
“Are you going to tell the Black Scot about the MacBeans?”

He gave her a suspicious look. “How do you know they were
MacBeans?”

“Just before we stopped, you said we were in MacBean
territory, so naturally I thought…they
were
MacBeans, were they not?”

“Aye, they were MacBeans.”

“Were they after me?”

“They tried to take you, did they not?”

“Yes, but did they come looking…particularly for me?”

“Aye, I told you about that before. They would have seen the
taking of you as a good way to humiliate me, nettle the King of England and
fill their coffers with ransom money.”

“Oh…ransom. You mean they wouldn’t have forced me to marry
the leader of the MacBeans?” she asked, remembering what he had said earlier.

“You sound disappointed, lass. Want me to call the man
back?”

“Don’t be foolish. I was merely curious, that is all. It is
easy for you to be jocular.
You
would not be the one forced to marry a
MacBean.”

“Dinna fash yourself, lass. I ken if you had given them as
much trouble as you have given me, they would have returned you before
nightfall. You are a troublesome lass.”

“You have told me that before, m’lord.”

“And you talk overmuch.”

“Well, at least
I
answer questions,” she said, giving
him a direct stare and not caring if he noticed.

He noticed, but he didn’t say anything. He simply sat mere,
with his back to the sun, staring back at her as if he were trying to figure
her out—as if a man could figure out a woman by looking at her. Now, looking at
him
was a different matter entirely.

She found herself momentarily absorbed in the way the sun
seemed to highlight the black tones of his hair and turn them to silver. The
hard elegance of his face, however, needed no sunlight to hold her attention.
It was difficult to ignore a mouth that offered such sensual promise, eyes that
touched her with such heat. Her gaze drifted to his mouth and seemed content to
stay there. Enraptured, she recalled the feel of those lips against hers.

“Alexander MacBean is already married,” he said,
interrupting her reverie.

The blissful memory was shattered and she could not hide her
disenchantment. She sent him an irritated look.

He had the gall to look taken aback. “You are no
disappointed, are you?”

“No, of course I’m not. I am not such a dolt, m’lord. If I
must marry, I much prefer marriage to the Black Scot.”

“You have never met him. How do you know you prefer marriage
to him?”

“I like his name.”

Stephen choked. “His name? You would marry a man because of
his name? A man with a reputation like the Black Scot?”

She scowled. “Not even the devil is as black as they paint
him. Besides, I am marrying a man simply because the king ordered me to. Now, I
don’t see that liking his name is any more ridiculous than that. At least I
know there will be
one
thing I like about him. Besides, you told me that
he looks a great deal like you, did you not?”

“Aye, I did.”

She nodded. “Well, suffice it to say that that pleases me.”

He grunted. She recognized a skeptical sound when she heard
one, but she stubbornly remained quiet.

That didn’t seem to deter him, however. “An intriguing name
and a fair face…you dinna ask for much in a husband, I ken.”

“Oh, I hope for more, but until we have met, I know only
what you tell me. Please, will you tell me more about him?”

“Lady Juliette, you are a great deal of trouble.”

Juliette sighed and looked off, speaking softly. “Yes, I
fear that is primarily the reason I am here.”

Stephen threw back his dark head and laughed.

Juliette watched him spur his horse and ride ahead of her.
When he gained Angus’s side, he slowed down beside him, leaning low over his
saddle as he spoke. If Stephen’s words had any effect upon him, Angus did not
show it. As far as Juliette could tell, his face was as blank as the white
cliffs of Dover.

A moment later Edith’s pony came trotting along, slowing
down as it drew even with Juliette’s.

“That black devil seems to enjoy your company, m’lady,”
Edith said.

“Sometimes,” Juliette said, looking wistfully at Stephen’s
broad back. “I don’t know why, but I keep having the feeling that he is playing
games with me.”

“It is a man’s way. They act that way ’til the day they
die.”

Juliette took a deep breath. “Stephen Gordon is a perplexing
man. He is like a gem with many facets.”

“I don’t know about facets,” Edith said, giving him the once
over, “but he is a handsome devil, even when naked as the truth.”

A slow smile stretched across Juliette’s face. “Especially
then,” she said, and they both laughed.

Just when Juliette thought she would never get off the back
of her horse, Stephen announced that they would stop for the night and make
camp.

With a weary sigh, she slid from the saddle and collapsed
into a weak heap the moment her booted feet touched the ground. Angus, who
happened to be passing by, gave her a yank, hauling her to her feet.

“Thank you,” she said.

Angus walked on, saying nothing.

“Faith! The man is as dumb as death,” Juliette said.

“A man’s silence will never betray him,” Stephen said.

Not having known Stephen was nearby, Juliette jumped, her
hand coming to her chest. It riled her to have him sneak up on her like that,
and she put a little venom in her words. “Neither will it gain him a friend,”
she said.

“Dinna be so quick to judge, lass. He will be there when you
need him. What better definition of a friend is there?”

Juliette shrugged and walked off, not liking the way she
always seemed to come out looking like a fool. She hated it…really hated it
when a man got the upper hand. His words came back to haunt her.
Silence
will never betray him…

Stephen, she thought, might have a point.

A short while later, she watched one of the men called
Dougal spread tartans upon the ground for her and Edith to sleep upon. Scots
made camp in a strange way, Juliette noted and could not help commenting upon
it. “Where are the tents?”

Dougal looked at Stephen.

“I suppose he doesn’t speak either,” she said.

“Only when he has something to say,” Juliette and Stephen
said in unison. Then Stephen grinned and said, “We dinna use tents.”

“What if it rains?”

“Roll up in your tartan.”

“Now, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you are English.”

“Well, don’t go blaming the rain on the English,” she said,
suddenly remembering something. She frowned, staring at the tartans spread upon
the ground. “I thought the king outlawed these.”

“He did,” Stephen replied.

“But you are using them.”

“Only when the English are no around,” he replied.

As Juliette thought about that, she watched Angus disappear
into the darkness, just behind a stand of pine trees. She noticed Stephen start
off in the same direction. “Where are you going?”

“To catch some fish.”

“You are going fishing? Now? In the dark?”

“The fish dinna mind. Do you?”

“No, of course not, but fishing in the dark…”

“You are hungry, are you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you ever stop talking, lass?”

She smiled. “Only when I sleep.”

He almost smiled. Almost. “Ah, blessed relief. I pray that
is true,” he said, turning away and disappearing into the darkness, the sound
of his voice drifting back to her. “Relax, lass. I willna be gone long.”

“Ah, blessed relief,” she echoed and heard his soft chuckle.

After he left, Juliette sat beside the small campfire,
watching the men tether the horses, build a fire and spread their tartans on
the ground. Edith came to sit beside her, inquiring if the one called Angus
ever said anything. “Only when he has something to say,” Juliette replied. “Did
he speak to you?”

“After a fashion,” Edith replied.

Juliette was surprised by that. “Well, what did he say?”

“He said I should be cropped, for I had no need of ears.”

“Well, at least he said something. That’s a start, I think.”

“You really think so, m’lady?”

Juliette smiled. “Of course I do. He certainly won’t talk to
me.”

Edith seemed pleased by that, looking in the direction
Stephen and Angus had taken earlier. “Where did they go?”

“Fishing for our dinner.”

“Good. I am starving to death. I was wondering if they were
going to feed us, or torture us. I have never ridden such an uncomfortable
animal. God’s teeth! That horse is nothing but backbone.”

“Backbone seems to be something all Scots have in common,”
Juliette said.

“Whether they be two-legged or four,” Edith added.

Juliette smiled, looking off into the darkness.

“I cannot help admiring such strength,” Edith said in an
enraptured way that told Juliette she was thinking of Angus. Then catching
herself, she stammered and said, “Of course Stephen is a strong man as
well…strong and seemingly wise for his years.”

“I reserve judgment,” Juliette replied. “It remains to be
seen whether he is more Samson or Solomon.” She rose to her feet.

Edith watched her but made no move to get up. “Where are you
going?”

“I think I shall see how the Scots catch fish.”

“Mayhap m’lady hopes for another glimpse of the naked
truth.”

“One takes one’s blessings where one finds them,” Juliette
said with a shrug, following the same route Stephen and Angus had chosen
before.

The burn lay quite close to camp. Juliette heard the low
murmur of voices before she left the residual light of the campfire.

A moment later, Stephen’s voice reached out of the darkness.
“Hearing you approach makes me wonder how the English ever perfected the sneak
attack.”

“It is wiser to be heard and recognized than to be shot for
sneaking,” Juliette replied.

She saw the dark outline of two shapes sitting on a boulder
that the burn seemed to curve around, its surface spangled with moonlight. Just
as she reached them, Angus came to his feet. Stephen handed him two fish,
strung through the mouth and gills with a length of string. “You’d better see
to these,” he said. “I ken I am about to be talked to death.”

“Aye, talk gushes like water from the Sassenach lass. I ken
all the English are smitten by Aaron’s rod,” Angus said.

“We are a friendly lot,” Juliette replied with a shrug,
looking at Stephen.

“Have you no heard, lass, that silence catches a mouse?”

“I thought to inject a few currants of conversation into
this tasteless gruel of existence.”

He laughed. “Well then, lass, sit yourself down. Angus has
left the spot warm for you.”

She glanced in the direction Angus had taken. “Had he known
that, I am certain he would have stood the entire time.”

“Win his trust and you will have a strong ally.”

“Faith! I think it easier to catch leviathan with a hook
than to win that man’s favor.”

Stephen laughed and Juliette sat upon the spot Angus had
warmed, watching Stephen roll up a piece of string with a hook on the end of
it.

“Do you ever use a rod?” she asked.

“No. I learned at a young age that a rod is nothing more
than a stick with a hook on one end and a fool at the other.”

“When I was young, I tried to learn how to tickle fish, but
I never mastered the art. My father said the water was too clear.”

“Aye, fish are tickled best when the water is muddy.” He
finished rolling up the string and put it in his pocket. “You are close to your
father, I think.”

“Yes. My aunt says it is because I have no mother, but I
think it is because my father is such a wonderful man.”

“When did you lose your mother?”

“When my youngest sister, Ellen, was born.” Her look turned
wistful. “You were fortunate to have known yours for such a long time.”

“How do you ken I knew my mother for a long time?”

“Because, in spite of the sadness in you, there is also a
gentleness…a patient understanding of women that could have only come from a
mother’s love.”

“Maybe it is because I have always been a lad who was fond
of the lassies,” he said.

“No, it is much deeper than that,” she said, seeing that her
words made him uncomfortable. It was proof that she had spoken the truth.

He looked at her strangely.

“Is something bothering you?” she asked.