Sins of the Highlander (A Highland Erotic Romance) (15 page)

A scratch at the door woke Aileen from a fitful sleep. Niall had appeared in her dreams. He’d been in trouble—possibly fighting—and he’d fallen, clutching his side, calling her name. Even now, the timbre of his call resonated through her, making the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end.

Jannet shifted on her pallet nearby.

With great effort, Aileen raised her hand to rub her eyes. Her limbs were spent—shaken and weak—as if she’d been the one in battle. As if she’d been the one who’d fallen.

What a horrible dream. She shuddered.

A woman’s sharp voice sounded beyond the door. “Lady Aileen!”

Aileen struggled to sit up, her senses suddenly on high alert. Her room was as dark as pitch. Who on earth would wake her at this hour, and for what reason?

“Lady, please come quickly! It’s the laird!”

“The laird?” Had John taken ill?

“Lady Aileen!” came the cry again. The door handle rattled, but Aileen had bolted it before she and Jannet had gone to bed.

“Please come quickly!”

Her heart in her throat, Aileen found her plaid and slung it over her shoulders, then slid her hand down the crack between her bed and the wall to find her dirk. She dropped it into a narrow pocket sewn in the inside seam. Just in case.

“Lady Aileen, who is that?” asked Jannet sleepily, finally roused by all the noise.

“Don’t worry, Jannet. I’ll see to it.”

In the dark, Aileen felt her way to the door. As soon as she unbolted it, someone from outside flung it open. Her legs still weak from the dream, Aileen stumbled backward, but as she fell, a man grabbed her arm and hauled her against his chest. His arms encircled her torso like steel bands, pressing her arms against her sides so she couldn’t move.

Even if she could move, it would be hopeless. More dark shadows surrounded her. Big shadows. Men. The woman who had called to her was gone—Aileen caught a fleeting glimpse of a skirt as she sprinted away down the passageway.

Aileen opened her mouth to scream, but one of the bulky figures shoved a wad of wool into her mouth.

Jannet cried out. “My lady?” But the men surrounded her too, and all Aileen heard were the sounds of a muffled struggle.

She twisted out of the man’s grasp and dove toward the dim light of the doorway. But another shadow appeared there like an apparition and grabbed her shoulders. He shoved her inside the room, stepped in and shut the door securely behind him before bolting it.

Aileen desperately looked for a way to escape, a way out. But there was nowhere to go. She was trapped.

Still, she was no goose. She’d never give in without a battle. She kicked and scratched, spitting against the gag. She elbowed a man in the gut, taking some pleasure in his groan of pain and subsequent gasps for air.

But she was no match for these men. She counted five of them—at least five, assigned to her alone. She could not see how many held Jannet.

One of the men wrenched her arms behind her back and bound them tightly so the rough ropes dug into the tender skin of her wrists.

Another man loomed over her. Instantly the men holding her slackened their grips, and she dodged once again for the door.

But the man above her was faster. As she tried to dodge around him, he caught her by the waist and pushed her, hard. She went reeling backward, straight into the arms of one of the original captors.

Though she couldn’t discern his features, the sickening mint smell washed over her.

Gilbert Dunbar.

“This ’un’s a wildcat, milord,” one of the men said.

“Indeed,” Gilbert said in his haughty way. He moved aside, gesturing politely at the door. “Well then, shall we?”

Aileen screamed against the gag. She would not move. They would have to force her.

A man prodded her back, but she cringed away, holding her ground.

With a hearty sigh, one of the men lifted her by her waist and slung her over his shoulder, clamping a steely arm behind her thighs so she couldn’t move.

As they filed out of her bedchamber, Gilbert leaned down to whisper into her ear. “You are mine, Aileen. And I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Chapter Thirteen

A stream of morning light blazed over Aileen’s cheek. Tentatively, she cracked open one eye. She lay on the bed of a wagon, on layers of plaids that didn’t do anything to keep her from feeling the jolt every time they hit a pothole or a bump. Every inch of Aileen’s body ached. Her movement was restricted to a few inches because her wrists were lashed to a cleat on the side of the wagon.

She blinked at the morning sun. By its position, she determined they were headed south, most likely toward Castle Aird, a modern castle Gilbert’s mother’s family had built, at Beauly.

She struggled to sit upright.

“She’s awake!” a man called.

The wagon groaned to a halt. Clomping hooves signaled a horse’s approach and she looked up to meet Gilbert’s eyes.

He looked resplendent this morning, high on his sidestepping gelding, dressed in black and haloed by the sun.

Oh how she despised him.

“Good morning, Lady Aileen. It is a pleasant one, is it not? I suppose we have come far enough south for that blasted Highland fog to clear.”

If Niall were here, would he defend her? Would he kill Gilbert to free her from his clutches?

But he
wasn’t
here, was he?

Blinking hard, Aileen pressed her back against the side of the wagon. “Why have you taken me from Ellandonan?”

Gilbert’s hand flew to his mouth in mock offense. “No sweet words for your future husband? Your future lord and master? Now that is rather rude, Aileen.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You are neither my lord nor my master, Gilbert.”

Gilbert chuckled. “But I shall be, and very shortly.”

“I ask you again, why have you kidnapped me? We aren’t to leave Ellandonan until our wedding.”

“You haven’t heard?” Gilbert rubbed his chin. “Now that is rather shocking. I thought he would have told you first. I imagine he would have enjoyed seeing your tears of gratitude.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why, Aileen, the laird has dissolved our betrothal.”

If she hadn’t been trussed to a wagon heading toward her enemy’s lair, she would have sobbed with relief. Instead, she merely stared at him, dry-eyed and angry.

Gilbert stroked the black mane of his horse and smiled down at her. “But I think it is for the best, Aileen. I really do. For who knows how long our good laird would have made us wait before we married? This way, we can be wedded—and bedded—within a matter of days.”

“I will never allow you to bed me, Gilbert Dunbar,” she whispered. “Never.”

The sound of his laughter tore along her nerves like a deadly sharp claw. “Oh honestly, Aileen. I was not aware you were so naive. After all, it’s really not a matter of ‘allowing,’ is it? I will take. Whether or not you choose to give.”

He spurred his horse and moved ahead, still laughing.

Aileen watched him go, quelling her instinct to struggle against her bonds, to scream for help, to use any means to try to escape.

Now wasn’t the time. Her temper could make everything worse. Whatever happened, Gilbert must not discover the presence of her dirk.

There was no way she’d get away from this many men with just her legs and her tiny weapon. But she’d keep the blade close, and hidden.

She’d strike when he least expected it.

***

Dim light filtered through the closed window shutters, but Aileen couldn’t estimate the time—morning and afternoon blurred into long hours of solitude. The air in this tiny tower chamber reeked of mold. Lashed behind her, her bruised wrists ached, her fingers stiff from so long bound in the same awkward position.

How long had it been? Her mind calculated sluggishly. Five, maybe six days by now. She thought the journey had taken three days, but she had been bound to the wagon the entire time, and it had rattled her mind so thoroughly, she couldn’t remember exactly how long had passed since they arrived at the castle.

Niall.
Her heart cried out for him in a constant, mournful wail. But he wouldn’t come to save her. He was far away in Edinburgh. He had left her, knowing she was destined for Gilbert Dunbar.

She would never forgive him for that.
Never.

She clenched her jaw, hating her heart for its weakness. For now, she must rely on herself—she must save herself.

Sliding her elbow over the ridge of the hilt of her dirk, Aileen’s lip curled. It would happen. Soon.

But to use her weapon, her hands would have to be untied. And for Gilbert to untie her hands, he’d have to trust her not to do anything rash.

Perhaps it might happen today.

The lock scraped. Aileen jerked her head up, expecting the friendly face of Mary, the maid who came in to bring her food and empty her chamber pot several times a day. Mary seemed sympathetic but, as every other servant in this place, lived in fear of her master and would do nothing to help Aileen.

But it wasn’t Mary. It was Aileen’s enemy.

Gilbert sauntered in, splendidly clad in a rich green jacket and fine wool breeches. Two of his men flanked him, their angry scowls firmly in place.

Aileen struggled to rise and then, using her feet, pushed herself backward, as far away from him as the little pallet would allow.

“Good morning, my dear.”

The small smile of victory on his face made her pulse flutter desperately, like a butterfly trying to escape the confines of her chest. Something was wrong. Something terrible was about to happen. And she only had one guess as to what it might be.

“Has the laird come for me yet?” Aileen already knew the answer to that question, but she asked anyway in a desperate attempt to buy time. Gilbert planned to touch her today—she saw it in the glint of anticipation in his eyes as they raked over her body. The mere thought of Gilbert’s hands on her body made her want to scream.

Gilbert waved his hand in the air. “We’ve been over this, woman. Both you and I know he won’t pursue you. Nor will that guardsman you seem to admire so much. You aren’t valuable enough.”

“I am the laird’s sister!”

Gilbert lifted a shoulder. “A half sister, if you remember. Born of a stepmother he despised.”

She tried not to flinch at that. It wasn’t personal, but she’d never been close to John. He was fifteen years older than her, and he and her mother had hated each other. Her mother had kept them separated as much as she could throughout Aileen’s childhood.

“He will come for me,” she said stubbornly. In truth, she had no idea whether he would come. What Gilbert said was true—her value to John had decreased to almost nothing once she announced her pregnancy. But she still shared the bond of blood with the laird. She was still his sister, for heaven’s sake. Surely that meant something.

Gilbert smiled and held out his hand. “Come,” he said gently. “The priest awaits. It is time for us to be married.”

“Never!” she shouted. And for the first time since the night of her capture, Aileen lost control.

***

In the morning after he returned to Ellandonan with Lady Margaret, Niall strode into the laird’s private chambers. The summons was no surprise, but he didn’t know what to expect. He did know one thing—no matter what the laird’s reaction to the demise of his men and the rescue of his daughter, Niall was determined to make his intentions in regards to Aileen crystal clear.

The laird faced away from him, staring out the arrow-slit window at a cloudless blue sky. Once past the threshold, Niall stopped, clasping his hands behind his back. “You called for me, sir?”

Mackenzie turned from the window, strode toward Niall, clutched his shoulders and pulled him into a firm embrace. Niall’s jaw dropped open at the sight of silvery tears streaking the laird’s face.

“Thank you for saving her,” Mackenzie murmured. “Margaret is the daughter of my heart.”

Awkwardly, Niall patted the other man’s shoulder. The display of fatherly affection constricted his heart. Would he ever have a child of his own to love?

It didn’t matter. If he had Aileen, it would be enough—more than enough.

“How is the lass?” The journey back to Ellandonan had been difficult. Nightmares had plagued her. Niall had employed a woman to chaperone her, but Margaret would have nothing to do with her. She panicked every time Niall left her sight. She only allowed him to leave her when her old nursemaid had come to comfort her last night, and even then, she had been reluctant to let him go.

“She is well. Recovering from the ordeal.” The laird’s lips twisted. “If the Earl of Dolphinton still wants her, he’ll have to come fetch her himself. And he’ll have to bring an army of Lowlanders with him for my daughter’s protection.”

Niall breathed a sigh of relief. “I am glad to hear she is recovering. She is a good lass, sir—she’ll make an earl a fine wife, I daresay.”

“Thank you.” The laird pulled back but still gripped Niall’s shoulders. “I shudder to think of what might have happened had you not come…”

“I only did what any honorable man would have done,” Niall said. Though he wasn’t a man of honor, not for the betrayal of his oath he was prepared to commit.

He looked into the laird’s eyes. They were light blue, like his daughter’s, and at the moment, as earnest as he’d ever seen them.

“Sir, before we continue, I have something I must tell you—”

The laird raised his hand to stop him from saying more. “Anything,” he said. “You may have whatever holding, whatever amount of money that you desire. As long as you don’t bankrupt me. Think on it carefully, Niall, for this is the only time I will make this offer.”

Niall’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides in a single, convulsive movement.

“Aileen Munro.”

The laird didn’t appear surprised. He released Niall’s shoulders and returned to the window, where he looked out at the clear morning sky, crossing his arms over his chest.