Mad for the Plaid (19 page)

But here, sitting across a fire in a harsh Highlands winter, they were equals. She was glad she'd met him under these circumstances, dire though they were.

Ailsa finished her porridge and put down her plate as Rurik rode back into camp. Gregor arose to take the guard's horse, and Rurik joined them fireside.

“What did you find?” Nik asked the guard.

“It is steep, more so than yesterday. We'll have to dismount and lead the horses in places.”

Stewart grunted in agreement. “It's likely to get worse after we pass Loch Glascarnoch. We have to travel along the slopes of Beinn Dearg, and I hear 'tis straight oop and down in places.”

“Wonderful.” Gregor sat back beside Ailsa, wincing as he did so.

Her gaze found the prince once again and she wondered that he didn't seem the least stiff from their journey. His physical strength was exceptional. Stooped beside the fire, his breeches stretched over his thighs in a way that showed his muscular—

“An impressive specimen, isn't he?” Gregor's voice was quiet so that only she could hear.

She flushed, but managed a shrug. “Keep your friends close . . .”

He grinned. “And your enemies closer. Always good advice.”

Stewart arose. “I'll relieve MacKean and send him for breakfast. We should leave when we can.” Without waiting for the others to voice an agreement, he lumbered off.

A few moments later, MacKean arrived and the porridge pot was emptied. Afterward, Ailsa and Gregor took the dirty plates and cups to the stream to wash. By the time they returned to camp, everything had been cleared away, the fire stamped out and covered, and the bedding neatly tied behind the saddles.

She noted that the prince's and Rurik's bedrolls had far thicker furs than the others. Was Oxenburg even colder than Scotland? “Guid lord, what a frigid clime must that be,” she muttered to herself.

Gregor, who'd brought St. George to her, raised his brows. “What clime?”

She explained her thoughts and he glanced at the bedrolls with a considering gaze. “Rurik told me it's mountainous there. It would explain why they don't seem the least daunted by this journey.” He nodded to where Nik stood talking to Rurik. “Not to be rude, but I keep asking myself, why is
he
here? And if the prince
is
going to be here, why did he arrive the way he did?”

“What do you mean? He cares aboot his grandmother.”

“So why didn't he bring his guard? If our grandmother had been abducted and I had an entire squadron
at my command, you can wager your last farthing that I'd have raced to the rescue with every able-bodied soldier I could find. I'd ride at their head, sword drawn, and ready to fight.”

Ailsa looked over St. George's back at Nik. She remembered now how he'd arrived at Castle Leod to begin with, an entire squadron escorting him and his grandmother for her visit. “That does seem more princely. Instead he snuck in, disguised as a groom.”

“And with only two men to assist him. I wonder if he really wishes to find the duchess.” Gregor grimaced. “I sound like our grandmother, don't I? Always seeing the worst in everyone.”

“You sound nothing like Edana—you have nae made a single comment aboot how anyone is dressed.”

Gregor laughed.

“I think he cares for his grandmother; I've seen it in his eyes. So he must have his reasons,” she continued. “The question is whether he'll share them with us.”

MacKean called for them to mount up, and Gregor sighed. “Here we go.”

He bent and cupped his hands, and Ailsa let her cousin assist her into the saddle.

She almost cried out as her sore muscles met the stiff saddle, but she managed to swallow it. Which was a good thing, for at that exact time, the prince and Rurik rode past on their way to the back of the line. As he went by, Nik's eyes locked with hers and he inclined his head, a devilish half smile on his lips.

She nodded and quickly tore her gaze away, even that small, casual encounter making her heart sputter.
She would solve the mysteries that surrounded this man no matter what it took.
But cautiously, for I've no wish to be caught in his charming trap.

As Gregor mounted his own horse with a grimace of pain, she said, “Thankfully, we've only a few more days' travel to reach Greer's camp. 'Tis but a short distance to the road from there, and it will not be so grueling then.”

“I hope so.”

“Dinnae fret. Greer and Douglas have nae been sitting idle, so we'll have a better idea of what's ahead.”

“Douglas is with Greer? He's a big brute. He makes Stewart look like a mouse.”

“Aye. He might come in handy when we go to deliver the ransom.”

Gregor started to say something else, but MacKean lifted his arm and they were on their way, filing one by one into the deep forest, the gray sky watching.

Chapter 11

That day, they rode from dawn till dusk, forced by the steepness of the terrain to lead the horses much of the way. When night began to fall, they hurriedly set up camp beside a small mountain loch. Nik watched Ailsa all day, admiring her fortitude. Even Rurik was stiff from their exertions, and he was a man of iron strength. Everyone complained but Ailsa.

And yet Nik saw the tiredness in her eyes and realized she was as exhausted as the rest of them. She almost fell asleep during their early-evening meal, and after picking at her food, set it aside and then eagerly climbed into her bedding.

She was asleep the second her eyes closed, and Nik watched her while the others sat around the fire and told tall tales of their hunting prowess.

She intrigued him, this earl's daughter with the heart of a warrior. If there was an easier but slower route, she chose the harder one. If there was a question to be faced that might assist them in some future moment, she charged at it without a blink. If there was a difficult or distasteful chore that had to be done, she went about
it without complaint and with a stubbornness that brooked no argument. Contrary as it was, the stronger she seemed, the more he felt the need to protect her.

Thus it was that this morning he'd risen well before her, and had stoked the fire and made tea. He'd watched as she'd arisen, sore and aching, tears rising when she stood, swiping them away in the hopes no one had noticed.

They all had, though—every jack man of them. Nik knew from the surreptitious looks the others had sent her way.

When they'd readied to leave, Nik had to fight the urge to pull her up in front of him on D'yoval, that she might rest against him for at least a portion of the day. She would fit perfectly against him, her head tucked under his chin.

But he knew she would scoff at such an offer. He was learning a lot about this woman, things that could be useful during their future negotiations.

Now they'd reached a less steep but narrower section of the trail, and had been forced to ride much of the afternoon single file, which was not to his liking. He wanted to talk to her, find out what had given her such fortitude.

He fixed his gaze on Ailsa's back, her dark blond braid swinging in a most beguiling manner. The sun had finally banished the clouds to allow a flood of pale winter sunlight to filter down through the branches of the swaying pines. Since it was no longer shivery cold, the snow now melted in earnest. They were plagued by water dripping from the tree branches, and occasional
clumps of snow that fell on heads and shoulders. At times, the trail itself was obliterated by melted rivulets that trickled together to form small streams.

As the afternoon went on, they had to dismount time and again and lead the animals over slick rocky inclines. Much like the day before, it was slow, grueling work. From where he rode near the end of the line, Nik watched in appreciation as Ailsa doggedly scrambled up the trail leading St. George. Even his grandmother, with her deep love of the unconventional, could not have faulted Ailsa's stalwart efforts.

She was a damned good rider, too, and dealt expertly with her mule-headed animal. St. George remained calm even on the most uncertain terrain, and never once balked. He did better than high-stepping D'yoval, who disliked the slick trail and had to be reminded more than once who was in charge.

By late afternoon, they were all muddy and tired, everyone showing signs of exhaustion. Earlier on, Ailsa and Gregor had been talking to one another, teasing and joking, while Stewart and MacKean had talked about hunting and the signs they'd seen as they rode. But as the sun sank, all conversation withered.

It was now two hours before sunset, and they were fording a shallow stream one at a time, the snowmelt pure and cold as it rushed over mossy stones before disappearing down a narrow gully. As Nik guided his horse out of the water, he caught sight of Ailsa swaying the tiniest bit in the saddle, one hand fisted into a ball and pressed into her thigh.

St. George must have felt her waver, too, for he
pulled up and then looked back at her, as if questioning what she'd meant by such a motion.

Nik's jaw hardened. “We will camp here,” he announced.

Everyone pulled up and looked back at him with varying expressions of surprise.

“Now?” Stewart asked, his brows tight with disapproval. “There's at least two more hours of daylight.”

“My horse will go no farther.” Nik flicked his gaze from the redheaded Scotsman to Ailsa and then back.

Stewart's sharp gaze went to his mistress and he gave a nod. “Then we should nae press him.”

“But—” MacKean began.

“The animals need the rest,” Stewart said firmly.

Ailsa frowned. “But we're nowhere close to where we hoped to make camp.”

MacKean, after exchanging a look with Stewart, shrugged. “If the horses need the rest, then we cannae continue.”

“I fear we were overambitious in our pace,” Nik agreed.

“Then we stop.” Mackenzie rubbed his lower back. “I, for one, am glad.”

Ailsa bent to pat St. George's thick neck, concern on her face. “I suppose we'll only lose an hour's travel, if that. Greer will have to wait.”

“He has nobbut else to do than that,” Stewart pointed out in a prosaic tone.

Nik stood in his stirrups and looked around, pointing into the woods. “There's a clearing just through that line of trees. It seems level, so hopefully it will do for camp.”

“We will go there, then,” Stewart said. “'Tis guid to set oop camp a wee bit early anyway, as the wood is wet and 'twill take a bit to start a fire.”

Mackenzie brightened at the mention of a fire. “That would be lovely.” He looked back at Nik as if to say something, but then his gaze moved on to the trail. The younger man's brows knit. “Where's Rurik?”

Nik looked behind him, not surprised the bearded guard was nowhere to be found. “He must have held back to make certain we weren't followed.”

MacKean turned his horse and came down the trail to pull abreast of Nik. “Your mon was there when I looked, fifteen minutes ago or so, so he cannae be far. I'll find him and let him know we've stopped to set oop camp.”

“Good. The rest of us will head for the clearing and—”

The sound of a horse churning wildly up the trail caused everyone to turn.

Rurik appeared on the trail, his face grim, his horse lathered. “Brigands.”

MacKean cursed.

“They've been closing in for the last two miles. I rode slower and slower, to separate them from the rest of you. They followed, thinking I was still with the party.”

“Bloody hell,” Mackenzie muttered, eyes wide. Behind him, Ailsa's face had paled.

“Where are they now?” MacKean already had his rifle out and ready.

“I waited until a curve in the trail blocked me from
their sight, and then I guided my horse into the woods and waited for them.”

“Och, you challenged them by yourself, eh?” MacKean looked impressed.

Rurik's teeth flashed in his bearded face. “They were very surprised to see me.”