Surrender To Me (10 page)

“Well, it happens that you’ve stumbled upon me and my men availing myself of some fine MacFadden sheep.”

“Thieves,” Astrid muttered.

“We’re not thieves,” the dark-eyed man corrected. “Reivers. A fine Scottish custom. And we raid only that which belongs to the MacFadden clan, rot the lot of them.”

“Then you have no interest in us,” Griffin pointed out. “We’re merely passing through.”

The man shrugged. “Be that as it may, I find that you have
something
that interests me.” His dark gaze fell on Astrid again.

She did not miss his meaning. Nor did Griffin. His fingers tightened around her arm. “She belongs to me.”.

The leader tsked. “Yes. A wife. Inconvenient.” His hand moved to the blade strapped to his side. “I suppose I can take care of that bit of nuisance.”

Her fingers tightened around Griffin’s arm.

Gallagher gave her an exaggerated wink. “It should be an easy enough matter to rid you of your husband, lass.”

“You will do no such thing,” she announced, stepping around Griffin, a frisson of fear skimming her spine.

The Highlanders around her laughed as if she had uttered some extraordinary quip.

“Ah, Sassenach, what a gem you are.” The Highlander slid a deadly looking blade from the scabbard at his waist. “Choose your weapon,” he advised Griffin.

With a grim set to his lips, Griffin pushed Astrid out of the way. Tugging up his pant leg, he pulled an even deadlier looking blade from his boot.

Astrid stared at him in amazement as he turned to face the other man. Her stomach clenched.

Could he mean to fight in his condition? She could not allow him. With his recent head wound and freshly battered body, he could not stand up to such a contest.

She had to stop him. He had done enough for her already. More than enough. She would not accept his life as sacrifice for her. He would lose, die, and she would still be at the mercy of the Highlander.

Stepping in front of him, she ignored the feel of his hard stare on her back and announced, “I’m not his wife. He lied to protect me. I’ll come with you.”

“Astrid,” Griffin hissed, the sound sharp and furious.

The dark-eyed Scot smiled. “I see.” He shot Griffin an almost empathetic look. “Clever of you to lie. But not worth your life. You should thank the lass. You’ll live because of her.”

The leader turned to his men then. Sheathing his blade, he instructed, “Let’s move before Old MacFadden catches wind that we’ve been at his flock.”

Astrid turned and faced Griffin. His look of acrimony flayed her like a whip, leaving her bare and bleeding before him. She held his gaze, suffered his stare, willing him to understand, hoping he would. If not now, then perhaps someday.

“Could you not trust me?” he asked, his voice soft, wounding her more than if he shouted fiery words.

She blinked, her hand drifting to her throat, to the pulse there that suddenly thrummed wildly.

Trust him? This man? A relative stranger?

“Griffin, I…” she paused, wetting her lips, looking away from the hot accusation of his gaze.

“Dammit, look at me,” he hissed.

“I do you a kindness,” she whispered in a rush, facing him again.

Her words made his eyes darken with fury. “You forget,” he rasped, wiping the blood from his lip with a fierce swipe of his hand, “there is nothing
kind
about you.”

Stung, Astrid stepped away, startled to hear her own words flung back at her. “You are correct, of course,” she replied crisply, gathering her composure and wrapping her familiar reserve like a cloak about her.

“Yes.” He snorted. “I should have believed you when you told me.”

Lifting her chin, she confessed. “I’m not sorry. I won’t have you kill yourself over me.” She shrugged one shoulder.

The muscles knotted along his jaw. Hot fury burned in his eyes, reaching out to singe her. “We’re not finished, you and I.”

She shook her head. “Good-bye, Griffin.” The words caused a deep ache beneath her breastbone that she could not have anticipated. Even when Bertram had abandoned her she had not felt this way. Like a cord had been forever severed, a part of her ripped open…almost as if they had been bound. As Griffin suggested back at the inn. Absurd, but the pain of it was there.

The Scotsmen mounted, the jangle of harnesses and horses’ hooves filling the air. She held Griffin’s gaze, unable to look away, knowing this would be the last time she saw him—the intriguing man that made her feel as no one had, a woman to be honored, protected. The memory of the heat in his eyes before he kissed her flashed through her mind, a taunting farewell.

Lachlan Gallagher plucked her from the ground and set her before him on his horse. “There you go,” he murmured in her ear, “make yourself comfortable.”

She shivered as he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her eyes fixed on Griffin. He watched her with an intent expression on his face, eyes a pale, silvery blue that seemed to echo his earlier words.
We’re not finished
,
you and I
.

“Let’s be off, then,” the brigand at her back called out, his voice smug, grating as he nudged his mount to the front of the line, removing Griffin from her sight. But not from her mind.

His face stayed with her as they rode away. Even with one eye blackened and swollen, the memory of his rancor gleamed clear as lightning in a dark night.

Her belly twisted, knowing he thought she had failed him. Betrayed his trust. Even though she
knew
she had done the right thing in stopping him from gambling his life for hers.

She inhaled cold, stinging air through her nose and reminded herself it would not be the first time she had failed someone with pure intentions. Her sister-in-law still refused to speak to her.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll not rape you.” The brigand’s breath fluttered her hair as he spoke. “I’m not the sort to force a woman.”

“No?” Despite herself, his words allowed some of the tension to ebb from her.

“I’m a patient man. I can wait. You’ll grow fond of me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll soon forget him, little one.”

Astrid sniffed, deigning not to answer, and knowing that whatever happened, she would never forget Griffin—the first man to risk anything for her.
Everything
. The first man with whom she had dropped her guard. Even if only for a few mad moments.

He was not a man she
could
forget.

Hard hands tightened on her waist. “I’ll give you something else to concentrate on.”

“Unlikely,” she could not help biting out.

He laughed, sliding his hands around her waist, palms flattening over her belly. “You have fire. But it’s buried deep. I shall enjoy bringing it out of you.”

“Go to hell.”

He laughed again. “Oh, yes. You and I shall rub along very well.” His hands moved higher, his fingers tracing her ribs through her gown.

She closed her eyes, willing herself not to flinch, not to think about what—who—she left behind. Not to feel anything at all as his fingers inched higher and his voice rolled over her like a dark tide, blotting out all light, all hope.

T
hey didn’t travel far before they encountered a flock of sheep milling about in a grove, pathetic creatures that looked half starved and wore the same hungry look as the half dozen men standing guard over them, waiting for the return of the rest of their party.

The motley bunch showed no surprise at the sight of her ensconced on the saddle before their leader. They surveyed her with flat eyes and hard mouths that made her wonder if they frequently abducted women along with the livestock they reived.

Soon they were moving again, pushing a hard pace even with the flock herded before them. A harder pace than what Griffin had subjected her to. Squeezing her eyes shut, she told herself she would have an easier time if she learned not to think about Griffin anymore, to forget the look in his eyes when she had left. And most importantly, to forget all that nonsense of being
bound
to one another.

They climbed deeper into the mountains. The bite of wind and cold on her face honed to the sharpness of a knife’s edge with each passing moment. The air thickened, making it a struggle to draw its frigid density into her contracted lungs.

The brigand used her name freely when addressing her, as freely as the hand that held her about the waist, his fingers at times crawling over her torso or dropping to caress her thigh in a manner that set her teeth on edge.

And still she could not stop thinking of Griffin, worrying over his injuries, hoping he fared well alone.

That final look on his face replayed itself in her mind. She knew the look. Knew it as well as anyone could. In his mind, she had betrayed him. For whatever reason, he had appointed himself her defender, and she had failed to permit him to protect her. A sigh swelled up from her chest. She had done the practical thing. Perhaps he would come to see that later.

She forced her thoughts ahead, to her own fate. Once she reached their destination, she had to find a way out of this mess. She would appeal to the clan’s laird and pray he possessed the sense that Lachlan Gallagher lacked. Surely he would see it was one thing to steal sheep and another to abduct an innocent woman.

Astrid glanced around them. They moved up a particularly steep incline and she could not resist sneaking a peak over her shoulder. The sight only made her stomach squeeze.

“You’ll not see your man behind us.”

“I did not expect to,” she snapped, facing forward, sitting tall so that she did not lean back against him. Only too late did she even realize her reply signified acceptance of Griffin as
her man
.

“Even if he were not injured, these mountains aren’t for the faint of heart. Only a Highlander could maintain our pace. Don’t be looking for him to rescue you.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.” A moment of silence fell before he added, “Because if he were to come after you, I would have to kill him.”

She twisted around to study him, reading the truth in his gaunt features. “You think he will come,” she muttered, a touch of surprise in her voice.

His lips twisted and his dark eyes gleamed with a feral light, as if Griffin stood before him now, challenging him in some primordial contest to the death.

“Aye. I saw his face when you left him.”

So had she. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him.

He continued, “It may kill him, but he will not quit.”

She turned back around and mulled over her abductor’s words. True, Griffin had said they were not finished, but that had been pride and anger talking. Once he cooled off, once she was gone, he would certainly remember whatever it was that brought him to Scotland and return to his purpose. The fate of a woman he barely knew would not plague him, would not cause him to act rashly and risk his own life.

The grueling pace eventually sapped her energy and she could not stop herself from relaxing against the man behind her, from taking support in the length of him. Nor could she seem to stop from drifting off into a state of half-consciousness, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, eager to escape the rigors of the journey. She did not know how much time passed before a hard hand on her shoulder jostled her fully awake.

“We’re here.”

She blinked out at the dark, moonless night. As far as she could see,
here
appeared to be…nowhere.

Then she saw it. At first it seemed they floated on inky air, sinking down toward winking stars.

They left the wooded hills behind, descending onto flat terrain. Far ahead, hundreds of tiny lights flickered like stars in the night.

“Cragmuir,” he announced at her back, the pride in his voice evident as the outline of a castle took shape against the dark veil of night.

“Cragmuir,” she repeated, marveling at the stone edifice looming larger than life before her. Like something out of Arthurian legend.

A great drawbridge lowered over a moat that smelled of rot and refuse, the chains creaking in the night wind. Two men stood high on the battlements, cheering down at them.

The men in their party called back, the laughter and triumph in their voices mingling with that of bleating sheep.

“Sheep not being the only prize caught,” Lachlan whispered in her ear, the tips of his fingers brushing the undersides of her breasts.

She drew a hissing breath through her teeth and forced his hand down.

He chuckled against her cheek. “You’ll grow accustomed to my touch. Come to like it, I vow. I’ve had no complaints before.”

Griffin’s furious eyes flashed through her mind again, a burst of fire in a dark night, and she shoved down her misery. She chose this fate, and she would find a way out of it.

They thundered into the yard to the welcome of barking dogs and a burgeoning crowd of Highlanders. Lachlan dismounted and swung her down beside him, a hand circling her wrist like a manacle, forcing her close to his side as he dragged her through the keep and into a cavernous hall that resembled something out of the middle ages.

Several massive tables littered the room in no apparent order. An old man sat at one, enshrined in a great wood-carved chair. His blue eyes watched their approach with keen interest.

“Uncle,” Lachlan greeted.

“Nephew,” the older man—Gallagher, she presumed—returned, “I see by your grin that your mission went well.”

His hand flexed on her wrist. “Very well.”

The volume in the hall intensified as the rest of the men spilled inside behind them. Serving girls poured into the room, carrying trays and trenchers, beaming smiles on their faces.

Her stomach clenched at the smell of fresh-baked bread and roasted pheasant.

“And what have you there? A present for me? Something else you stole from MacFadden.”

“Sorry, uncle. This prize is mine,” Lachlan declared. “A reward for successfully completing my task.”

“Oh?” the older man asked, his voice a scratchy growl on the air as he lifted bushy brows. “Since when do you decide your reward? You’re not yet lord and master here.”

She tugged anew on her wrist, deciding now the best time to plead her case, while the uncle appeared to be hovering between favor and disfavor with his nephew.

“I belong to no one! I was abducted! Taken against my will.” She fastened a beseeching gaze on the clan’s laird. “Please, sir. Surely you can see such an uncivilized act is a poor reflection on you and your people. I am an innocent traveler in your land. Your nephew viciously beat my traveling companion and—”

“Och, a Sassenach?” The old man shook his head in disapproval, the rest of her words lost on him. His gaze skimmed over Astrid in new estimation, as if his nephew had brought home a serpent. “Why would you want such a creature?”

“She’s different—”

“Aye, she is that. Trouble, she is. Not a sweet Scottish lass that can keep her tongue behind her teeth and show her man proper deference, to be sure.”

“Uncle,” Lachlan chided, his voice knowing, “I don’t recall my aunt being a reticent woman—”

The old man’s eyes softened at the mention of—presumably—his wife. “Nay, she was not.”

“Well, perhaps I want the same thing for myself.”

“And you would compare her to your dear aunt?” He flicked a large, gnarled hand Astrid’s way.

“Pardon me,” Astrid interjected. “So that there is no mistake here, let me clarify that I’m a hostage.”

“A hostage, eh?” Gallagher mused. “In that case, what sort of recompense shall I demand for your release?”

“Uncle,” Lachlan broke in, his voice a whine.

His uncle waved a hand to silence him, eyes still trained on her. “And,” he added, “to whom shall I make these demands? Family? Friends that might miss a fine Sassenach lass such as yourself?”

Astrid considered what he was asking of her. Should she give up the names of her friends? Certainly Jane or Lucy would pay whatever ransom request these Highlanders made. She had resisted prevailing upon them before. But had the time come to put her pride aside and take their help?

“Yes,” she admitted. “I have friends. Extremely wealthy, important friends that would care a great deal to have me safely returned.”

“Interesting.” The laird combed fingers through his scraggly beard.

“Uncle, she is mine,” Lachlan insisted.

“Ah, hell, man. Would you cease thinking with that twig between your legs. If you’re to take my place someday, then you better start thinking like a laird and put your people before your own needs.”

A sudden commotion erupted at the front of the hall, drawing the attention of the laird and his nephew.

Astrid turned to watch as a small crowd of Highlanders advanced on them, nearing the head table. Grumbling and foul curses filled the air, gaining volume as the men reached them.

A sudden hush fell over the ragtag group. They parted, revealing an imposing, tartan-free figure in their midst. Even battered and bruised, he stood heads taller than most of the men, his carriage erect, proud, eyes a deep, glittering blue.

Astrid’s heart seized in her chest. A sob rose in her throat that she barely caught from spilling into the suddenly charged air. He had come. Unbelievable. She took one step forward.

Lachlan growled at her side, his hand clamping down on her arm. “What are you doing here?”

Griffin trained his gaze on her, his eyes blistering with hot accusation. Not once did he glance at the man who addressed him. After a long moment, his drawl rose strong and defiant over the hall. “I’ve come to claim what is mine.”

A breath shuddered through her.

“Lachlan,” his uncle demanded, “who is this?”

“My name is Griffin Shaw.”

Astrid looked nervously to the clan’s laird, knowing he held their fate in his hands. The old man’s eyes flitted over Griffin in hard-eyed scrutiny. “The lass belongs to you?”

Griffin and Lachlan answered simultaneously.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Lachlan sneered. “A man who cannot hold on to his woman, does not keep her long in these parts. You lost your right to her.”

“I’m here now,” Griffin stated, his hand moving toward the knife at his side. “And I’ll cut down any man that tries to stop me from leaving with her.”

Astrid closed her eyes in one tight blink. What on earth was he doing here?
Bloody fool.
Did he have a death wish? He should never have come. She could not even fathom how he managed to show up only moments after them. In his condition, he should have barely been able to stay mounted.

“You’re welcome to try,” Lachlan bit out, his own hand moving for the blade strapped to his side.

“Enough,” the laird growled, his bushy beard moving about his lips as he spoke. The older man’s keen blue eyes assessed Astrid. “Can’t see what’s worth getting so excited over.” His gaze roamed her and Astrid stiffened her spine, meeting his stare with her frostiest expression. “No meat on her at all. And that dark-eyed gaze of hers could chill a man to the core.”

Astrid did not to flinch, accustomed to reaping such judgment. Especially from men. It was what she had come to expect…what she in fact had cultivated over the years. “She’ll fill out nicely with proper feeding,” Lachlan assured.

Proper feeding?
As if she was some kind of pet?

Emotion burned darkly in her chest and she struggled to control it, shove it back to that place deep inside where feelings hid, where she kept them bottled and suppressed so she could go about the world with stoic resolve.

Lachlan’s gaze cut to Griffin as he added, “
I
know how to nourish my women. In and out of bed. Something the lass here will soon learn for herself.”

Griffin bared his teeth in a snarl and lunged forward.

Several men stepped in his path to restrain him.

The old man laughed a rusty sound. Leaning back, his massive wood chair creaked from the pressure of his girth. “Appears he takes exception to that, Lachlan.” He cocked a reddish-gray brow at his nephew, his blue eyes intent and serious. “I see only one solution.”

Lachlan turned to assess her, his dark gaze moving over her slowly, thoroughly, before swinging to Griffin, spending little time considering his bruised and ravaged face before saying, “You want her? Then take her back, my friend. If you think you can.”

Griffin nodded resolutely. “If I win, she’s mine. We walk out of here unharmed.” He swiped a hand through the air. “No one gets in our way.”

“Aye. On my honor.”

Griffin’s mouth twisted, the crimson tear in his bottom lip deepening. “I’ll have to trust that counts for something.”

Lachlan’s eye twitched, the only indication that he took offense. He set her from him, handing her off to one of his men hovering nearby. He pulled back his rangy shoulders in a stretch.

Angry breath escaped Astrid in a hiss. She yanked her arm free of her new captor and leveled her coldest stare on him when he looked ready to snatch hold of her again.

“This has gone far enough,” she declared at Lachlan’s back as he moved toward Griffin. Ignoring her, they moved to the center of the great hall. Everyone cleared out of the way. She shot a frustrated, desperate look at Griffin. “I’m not a bone to be fought over. I’m done with being treated like property!”