Captured by a Laird (5 page)

Damn it
. She must have escaped. He gritted his teeth as he envisioned the lady’s guards leading her through the tunnel.

He was about to open the chamber door to make sure it was empty when Brian, one of his best men, came down the stairs.

“Laird, I checked all the chambers while ye were in the hall,” he said.

David’s jaw ached from clenching it.

“There’s one door on the floor just above us that wouldn’t open with the latch,” Brian said. “Shall I break it down?”

David waved him aside and pulled the ax from his belt as he raced up the stairs.

“Open it!” he shouted and pounded on the door.

He did not wait. She could be escaping through a secret door this very moment. Three hard
whacks
with his ax, and the door split. He kicked it until it swung open, then stepped through.

At his first sight of the woman, his feet became fixed to the floor. He felt strange, and his vision was distorted, as if as if he had swallowed a magical potion that narrowed his sight. He could see nothing in the room but her.

She was extraordinarily lovely, with violet eyes, pale skin, and shining black hair. But there was something about her, something beyond her beauty, that held him captive. She was young, much younger than he expected, and her features and form were delicate, in marked contrast to the violent emotion in her eyes.

David knew to the depths of his soul that a brute like him should not be the man to claim this fragile flower, even while the word
mine
beat in his head like a drum. He had no notion of how long he stood staring at her before he became aware that she held a sword. It was longer still before he noticed the two wee lasses peeking out from behind her like frightened kittens.

Anger boiled up in his chest. Every Blackadder man in the castle who could still draw breath should have been here, standing between him and their lady. Instead, she faced him alone with a sword she could barely lift with both hands.

It was a brave, but ridiculous gesture.

There was no defense against him.

CHAPTER 5

Alison had started to scream when the blade of the ax split the door with a sound like crunching bones, but sheer terror closed her throat as the huge warrior who wielded the ax stepped through the splintered remains of the door. He halted just inside the room, his ax still raised as if ready to strike.

By his menacing stillness, she recognized him as the man on the black horse she had seen from the tower. This was the Beast of Wedderburn himself. Her heart beat so hard that the sound seemed to fill the room.

Dirks, a sword, and sundry weapons hung from leather belts and straps across his hips and chest. Unkempt hair of bronze and gold brushed impossibly broad shoulders that were covered in chain mail. What frightened her more than all his weapons were his fierce green eyes, which were fixed on her like a wolf that had found its prey.

Her daughters began to whimper behind her, and it tore at her heart.

“Stay back or I shall strike ye dead!” she shouted, holding the sword in front of her. She would die protecting them if she must.

“Drop the sword,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that reverberated in her belly and made her knees shake.

“Nay! I’ll not let ye touch us!”

“Drop it
now
.”

His ferocious green eyes stole the breath right out of her. She could not speak, so she shook her head.

He moved so quickly that she did not know how it happened. And yet her hands were empty, and he held her sword at his side. He had disarmed her as easily as he had taken her castle.

He stood so close to her that the wall of his chest filled her vision. She felt the heat radiating from his body. Terror gripped her as she waited to find out what he would do next, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop him. Would he slice her in two with his ax as he had the door, or would he force her to the floor and rape her in front of her daughters?

Alison squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for a quick death.

***

David stared down at the lady of the castle, a wisp of a lass whose head did not even reach his chin.

He prided himself on how carefully he had planned each step to avenge his father and to protect his family and clan. Blackadder’s widow had always been the key. And yet he had never given the woman herself much thought. Belatedly, he realized he was wholly unprepared to deal with her.

Hell, he did not even know what to call her. Not “Blackadder’s widow.” Nay, he would not call her by his enemy’s name, as if the dead man still had a claim on her. He had heard her Christian name before. What was it? Alison? Aye, that was it. Lady Alison.

He should speak to her, tell her what her fate was to be. Before he could form the words, she tilted her head back and opened her eyes. He was struck dumb, lost in eyes the color of violets. He felt as if he’d stepped into a warm summer day. He could almost feel a light breeze on his face, hear the birds singing, and smell the wildflowers on the hillside.

Good God, was he going mad?

“Please,” she said in a choked voice. “Not in front of my daughters.”

Her words jarred him from his trance.
Not in front of her daughters?
Did she think he meant to harm her? God forbid, that he would
rape
her?

He was insulted. While he had set out to create a fearsome reputation, he had never violated a woman, nor did he permit his men to do so. Yet this lass was clearly terrified of him. Her whole body was shaking.

He felt the need to reassure her. Instinctively, he lifted his hand to her cheek—and the lady crumpled at his feet.

Faith
, what had he done? The two wee girls sprawled on the floor beside their mother in a feminine heap of ribbons, glossy black hair, and silk skirts. They were crying, reminding him again of mewling kittens.

“Hush,” he told them, and knelt to feel Lady Alison’s pulse. “She’s only fainted.”

Christ, he’d barely touched her. This did not bode well. What would he do with such a delicate creature?

He heard a cough behind him and turned to find several of his men hovering in the doorway. Did they think he could not manage a senseless woman and two bairns alone?

“Secure the rest of the castle,” he ordered them.

When he turned around again, the older of the two daughters was glaring at him with her hand on her hip.

“My mother does not faint,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow at her, then shifted his gaze to her younger sister, who was sucking her thumb. Both were dark-haired and pretty, like their mother.

“Stand back,” he told them, and slid his arms under Lady Alison.

The older girl pounded on his shoulder. “Don’t ye hurt her!”

“I’m only carrying her to the bed,” he said, though he was not accustomed to explaining his actions. “I’ll not harm her.”

“Promise?” the smaller girl asked.

David took a deep breath and reminded himself that they were just wee girls.

“I will protect your mother with my life,” he said. “Just as I will protect you.”

Both girls’ eyes went wide.

“You’re my responsibility now,” he told them.

That silenced them for the moment. Carefully, he lifted Lady Alison from the floor. She weighed nothing at all, which made him feel like an ox, but her slight frame was soft and curved in all the right places. As he laid her down on the bed, his fingers brushed the side of her breast, and his throat went dry.

He had not expected the widow to be anything like this. As he looked down at her pale, perfect skin and angelic face, he was incensed at the thought of her sharing a bed with Blackadder, a dull, brutish man of nearly fifty. She must have been barely of age when she married the bastard. He imagined how she must have looked on her wedding day, fresh as a dew-kissed morning, with a soft glow in her cheeks.

And now, David was the brutish, undeserving man who would take her to bed.

After a long moment, he realized that the sounds of fighting had died. His men would be waiting for him to give them orders.

He pulled the coverlet over Lady Alison and checked her pulse again. It was strong and her color was returning. Yet she looked so fragile that he felt uneasy about leaving her.

He watched her chest rise and fall with shallow but steady breaths, then his gaze drifted to her parted lips. He shook his head, wondering how long he’d been standing beside the bed staring like a fool. By the heavens, what was wrong with him?

“You,” he said, pointing to the old woman who was huddled in the corner and had not made a single peep. “Are ye able to look after your mistress?”

The old woman nodded.

“Then do it.” He turned abruptly to leave, but halted when he saw the two girls, who were standing between him and the door holding hands. These two bairns were the heiresses of Blackadder. He had definite plans for them once they were of age—but he had no notion what to do with them in the meantime.

And judging by the size of them, the meantime would last for years. Ach, this was another gap in his plans. He’d helped raise his brothers, but he’d not been around little girls a day in his life.

“Your lady mother is fine,” he said, dropping to one knee to speak with them. “She only needs a bit of rest.”

The younger girl’s dark curls bounced as she tilted her head to the side and examined him with wide blue eyes. After a long moment, she said, “I’m hungry.”

David relaxed. Perhaps little girls were not so different from lads after all.

“Come, I’ll take ye down to the hall to get something to eat.”

When he started for the stairs, the younger girl startled him by slipping her tiny hand in his. He would need to watch this one closely, for the wee thing was entirely too trusting.

“Margaret, don’t!” her sister hissed, apparently sharing his concern, but she followed them down the stairs all the same.

Strange how a tiny hand could make the weight of his new responsibilities feel like a boulder on his chest.

CHAPTER 6

David’s reaction to Lady Alison irritated him more with each passing moment. His mood was already sour when he entered the hall with the two girls in tow and saw the serving women huddled together in a corner.

“One of ye go upstairs and see to your lady,” David told them. “The rest of ye bring us food and drink.”

The women looked at him as if he’d ordered them to kill their firstborn children. By the saints, these Blackadder women were easily frightened.

“Take a couple of these women to the kitchens,” he told Brian, who was nearest at hand, “and come back with some food.”

Brian returned a short time later. “There’s not a scrap to be found.”

“None?” Anger surged through David’s veins. Lady Alison was beautiful, but she was a poor manager of her household or they would not have run out of food so quickly. Her ineptitude was not, however, what made him furious.

He sent men to fetch their wagon of supplies from outside the gate. Soon after, he watched the two girls fall on their meal of dried beef and stale bread as if it were a grand feast.

Why in the hell did Lady Alison not submit sooner? If she had half the sense God gave her, she should have seen that holding out was hopeless. Instead, she let her household, including her wee daughters, go hungry out of pure stubbornness.

***

Alison dreamed someone had tucked her in, something no one had done since she was a child. In her dream, she felt safe. The feeling left her the instant she opened her eyes. For a long moment, she lay still, unable to pinpoint the source of her anxiety.

She bolted upright. The Beast of Wedderburn had been in this very room. The last thing she remembered was him standing over her, his hard green eyes drilling into her…and then he had touched her.

She ran her hands over her body, but she felt no blood, no injury. Her clothes were all in one piece. She looked around the room and saw only Flora, who was staring at nothing. Panic surged through Alison’s limbs.

Her daughters were gone. That vile man had taken her precious little girls.

“What has he done with them?” she shouted at Flora, but the old woman just looked at her with glazed eyes.

Alison leapt out of bed, and her vision went black. She held onto the bedpost to keep from falling and forced herself to take slow breaths until she could see again. Then she went to find her children.

Not fully trusting her legs, she kept one hand against the wall as she went down the circular stairs. The rumble of male voices echoed up the stairwell from the hall, but she heard no screams. She felt guilty for sleeping through the violence that must have occurred in the wake of the castle’s fall and grief for those she had not been able to protect. Had she been spared because of her noble status?

Or was her turn yet to come?

She steeled herself to find broken furniture and debauchery in her hall. The need to save her children gave her the courage to continue down the stairs on wobbly legs. When she reached the bottom, she surveyed the hall through the low, arched doorway. Her home was filled with scores of men she did not know, rough warriors with weapons tied to their backs and belts, but they were sitting at the long trestle tables in an orderly fashion that seemed so incongruous as to be bizarre.

She drew in a deep breath and stepped inside the hall. Silence fell over the cavernous room as every one of the Hume warriors turned to look at her.

When she saw Wedderburn in the laird’s chair at the high table with her daughters trapped on either side of him, a blind rage took hold of her. She tore across the room and stood before the high table, clenching her hands.

“Touch one hair on my daughters’ heads, and I’ll murder ye, I swear it.”

Wedderburn showed no reaction beyond a slight lift of one eyebrow. After a long pause, he spoke in a mild tone.

“That’s the second time ye threatened to kill me. I suggest ye not do it again,” he said. “As for your daughters, all I’m doing is feeding them.”

“Feeding them?” With the blood pounding in her ears, she was not certain she had heard him correctly.