The Laird's Captive Wife (7 page)

* * *

The next thing Ashlynn knew it was dawn. With the light returned all the detail of the strange room and the consciousness of her current precarious situation. As she recalled how it had come about her immediate dread was submerged by much keener sensations of sorrow and loss. For several minutes she didn’t move until, with an effort, she had forced back the negative emotions. They wouldn’t help her. She must help herself now.

Climbing from the bed she dressed quickly, trying to marshal her thoughts. Whatever happened she would not allow herself to be taken to Jedburgh or, God forbid, Glengarron. Having made her feelings clear on that score, she knew he would keep a close eye on her now so it behoved her to be careful, to make it seem as though she had bowed to his will. Having lulled him into a sense of false security she would await her opportunity to escape.

Presently a servant appeared with a platter of food and Ashlynn broke her fast. She had only just finished when the door opened again. Her heart skipped a beat to see the familiar figure standing there.

‘In good time, lass. We need to move.’ He glanced at the bed across the room. ‘I trust you slept well.’

‘Thank you, yes.’

‘Good. There’s a long ride ahead.’

‘You have no right to make me come along.’

‘Right has nothing to do with it. You’ll come along because it’s expedient.’

‘Not to me it isn’t. I don’t wish to go.’

‘But then we’re not discussing your wishes.’

If he was aware of her anger it was not evident, for his expression remained maddeningly unperturbed. Her fists clenched at her sides as she fought the urge to hit him.

‘I won’t go.’

‘You’ll go, lass—one way or another.’

The threat was plain and she knew it was not idle. He had the power to compel obedience. The expression in those dark eyes was deeply disquieting and she turned away from him, heart thumping, trying to think. Once across the border escape would become harder which meant she must get away before they reached it. In the meantime argument was futile and she would not bandy further words with him, but if Lord Bloody Iain thought she would tamely submit to his will he had another think coming.

Almost as if he heard the thought Iain’s voice broke in. ‘Dinna think of trying to run, Ashlynn. I’d find you again very quickly and then you might find my temper unpleasant.’

‘What difference would that make? Your temper is always unpleasant.’

The words were out before she was aware and drew down on her a look that caused her heart to miss a beat.

‘Put the matter to the test,’ he replied, ‘and you’ll discover a great deal of difference, I promise you.’

With that he took hold of her wrist in a vice-like grip and led her out to the courtyard. The cold air hit her for there had been a hard frost in the night and everything was rimed with silver. Around them men were already mounting. Robbie approached leading his own horse and a pretty chestnut mare.

‘Dougal told me to bring this for the lady,’ he explained.

Ashlynn wasn’t listening, her whole attention focused on the horse.

‘Steorra!’

Hearing her name the mare turned her head and whinnied softly. With tears in her eyes Ashlynn went forward to greet her, stroking the furry neck, utterly relieved that the horse had taken no hurt from her recent adventures.

Iain regarded them keenly. ‘I see you two know each other.’

For a moment all her resentment was forgotten. ‘Where did you find her?’

‘I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘My men found her wandering loose after the battle and brought her along with the horses we took from the Normans.’

‘I see.’

‘Will you mount, Ashlynn, or do you need my help?’

The bland tone didn’t deceive her for a minute, nor was the implication lost. Biting back the pithy retort that sprang to mind she lifted her chin.

‘That won’t be necessary.’

He watched her gather the reins and swing easily into the saddle. Then he mounted his own horse.

‘Let’s go.’

They rode at a steady pace and soon Hexham was far behind. To her relief Iain rode on ahead with Dougal and left her to the charge of the young man called Robbie. Though he cast sidelong glances at her from time to time, conversation was minimal. However, Ashlynn had no desire for it, her mind on other things. With every stride of the horse beneath her the feeling of desperation grew. Soon they would reach the border. Soon she would be lost. She could not allow herself to be sold into slavery or worse. Death would be preferable. Escape was a risk but a calculated one. All she needed was the opportunity.

* * *

It was a relief when the column stopped at noon and she could dismount and stretch her legs for already they felt stiff from the unwonted hours in the saddle. She wondered at these men that they showed no signs of the weariness she felt, or the cold either. As they led the horses to drink at the stream Ashlynn did the same, bending to scoop a handful of water. It was icy but it slaked her thirst. She was occupied thus when she heard a man shout. At once the cry was taken up and, straightening quickly, she looked round.

Half-a-dozen riders had just appeared round a bend in the road and almost ridden into the Scottish force. There followed a confused impression of helmets and mail and then startled voices and the clash of weapons. Moments later a small section of the Scottish vanguard was heavily engaged in combat and being cheered on by their companions who seemed to think it quite unnecessary to become involved. Recalling the fighting skill of the Scottish warriors, Ashlynn thought they were probably right. Far from showing any concern about the unexpected confrontation they appeared to be treating it as an amusing diversion. Certainly all their attention was focused on the scene. In that realisation she saw her chance. A furtive look around confirmed it. Ducking swiftly under the mare’s neck she grabbed the reins and vaulted astride. Moments later the horse was across the stream and cantering up the slope on the far side.

The fight was fierce and intense. Taken by surprise, the Normans were immediately at a disadvantage and, although they fought for their lives, were no match for the skill of their opponents. It had been an easy victory but it also raised other questions. Dougal came over to join Iain who stood surveying the slain mercenaries.

‘A small raiding party or scouts for a larger force?’ he asked.

‘Probably the latter,’ Iain replied. ‘The question is how large a force?’

Before the other could say any more, Robbie’s voice broke in abruptly. ‘My lord!’

Hearing the tone of alarm Iain turned quickly, his hand moving automatically to the hilt of his sword. Seeing no immediate threat he relaxed a little. Then his gaze went past Robbie and caught sight of Ashlynn’s retreating figure. He swore softly. Crimson with embarrassment, the young man bit his lip.

‘I’m sorry, my lord. I only turned my back for a moment.’

‘Damn it, lad,’ said Dougal, ‘could ye no keep control over a wee slip of a lass?’

‘I’ll go after her.’

Iain shook his head. ‘No, you stay with the rest. I’ll fetch her back.’

‘Aye, and give her a good hiding into the bargain,’ growled Dougal. ‘The wee fool deserves no less.’

‘I’ll deal with her,’ said Iain. ‘Meanwhile, get the men away. There’s no telling how big the rest of the Norman force might be and I can’t take a chance that would jeopardise our mission. Make for Jedburgh as planned. I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘Will you no take some men with you, my lord?’ the other replied. ‘It’ll be dark in another hour and there’s no telling how many more are out there, or where they are.’

‘I’ll be faster alone.’

‘Aye, perhaps.’

‘I’ll take good care.’

‘See you do.’

Iain turned and whistled for his mount. A few moments after that, he had guided the stallion across the stream and was heading the horse up the slope at a gallop.

* * *

Ashlynn reached the top of the hill and slowed a little, glancing over her shoulder. For a moment or two she could see no sign of pursuit. Then her heart missed a beat to see the rider on the dapple grey heading in her direction. It needed no lengthy study to work out who he was. Turning the mare’s head she urged her on. The land above the summit was open and dangerous for that reason: the grey was bigger and faster and in this terrain would overtake them soon enough. Looking swiftly round she spied some trees in the distance and headed for them.

By the time she reached the wood the grey was closing the gap rapidly. She needed somewhere to hide and soon. The path through the trees was narrow but though there was thicket on either side it was leafless and afforded no concealing cover at this season. Even as she took the information in the track forked. Forced to choose she went left. A hundred yards further on she realised it had been a serious error for the path ended abruptly in a narrow defile bordered on three sides by walls of rock.

Ashlynn turned Steorra and retraced her route but as she neared the main track it was to see Iain’s horse not a hundred yards off and closing fast. In a last desperate effort she urged her mount forward, conscious of the hoof beats behind thudding like her own heartbeat. However, though the mare was game her speed was no match for the bigger horse. Worse, the trees ended suddenly and the track came out into open land once more. Two minutes later the grey drew level and a strong hand grabbed the rein, drawing her horse to a gradual halt. Before a word could be spoken Ashlynn kicked free of the stirrups and leapt from the saddle. Then she ran, heading back for the cover of the trees in a last desperate bid for freedom. She had covered only fifty yards before a powerful arm swooped down. Moments later it drew her up on to the front of the saddle and locked around her. She fought the hold, struggling wildly. Reining the horse to a halt, Iain glowered at her.

‘Be still, you little hellion!’ Then, as the words had no effect. ‘Stop this now, Ashlynn.’

‘Let me go!’

‘You know damned well I won’t.’

Ashlynn twisted and slapped him hard. His jaw tightened and the dark eyes took on an expression that caused her stomach to turn over. Too late she realised that some unspecified line had been crossed and she was now in real trouble. Without another word he dismounted, dragging her off the horse after him. Ashlynn kicked and fought, cursing him roundly, managing only to deliver another ringing slap before she was thrown to the ground and pinned her there with a knee in her back. Iain glared down at his writhing captive.

‘By God, I’ll teach you to obey me, you little wildcat.’

‘Get your hands off me, you Scottish bastard!’

‘Scottish bastard is it?’ Iain drew a length of cord from the leather pouch on his belt. ‘Well then, I may as well live up to my reputation.’

Moments later she was bound hand and foot. Beside herself with fury, Ashlynn fought the rope even as she delivered a lengthy and blistering assessment of his character. Iain paused a moment and regarded his captive keenly.

‘It seems to me that you’re in no position to deliver insults, lass.’

‘You deserve every one, you black-hearted villain.’

‘Keep it up and I promise I’ll warm your backside with my belt, you contrary little besom.’

It had been on the tip of her tongue to say he wouldn’t dare but she choked the words off. The brute would not only do it but would enjoy it too. He had no sense of shame. Too late she was beginning to understand how he had earned his name. It was perhaps fortunate that she did not see the satisfied smirk that accompanied her sudden silence. A large hand hauled her upright. Then, adding insult to injury, he tucked her effortlessly under one arm and carried her to her horse. Moments later she was slung across the saddle like a sack of meal and tied there securely. After that he remounted and, having retrieved her horse’s reins, set off again. Incandescent with rage now, Ashlynn tested her bonds, but to no avail. They weren’t cruelly tight but they were fast. The brute had known exactly what he was about. The final humiliation would be returning thus to his waiting men. Almost she could hear their laughter.

However, Iain made no effort to retrace their earlier route but continued on his present course for another hour or so. To Ashlynn he spoke not at all, or she to him. For a while hot temper and a strong sense of grievance kept her from noticing the discomfort of her position. However, as the time wore on it made itself felt, and she began to repent of her earlier actions. Her bound limbs ached; the saddle pressed hard against her midriff and the chill was more apparent. More than anything she wanted to be freed from her bonds. If he would just cut her loose she would agree to ride anywhere he wished. Only pride kept her silent.

* * *

The light was going when at last the horses came to a halt before a small farmhouse. A man came out and, from his ready greeting, it was clear that Iain was no stranger to him. To Ashlynn he paid no heed at all. The two men exchanged a few words and, having directed his visitor to the barn, the farmer went indoors again. As Iain dismounted and led the horses toward the designated shelter, Ashlynn craned her neck to take a quick look around, now keenly aware of their isolated position and the fading light. Was this where he meant to rendezvous with his men? As yet she could see no sign of them and for the first time missed their presence. For all sorts of reasons she was aware of the old proverb about safety in numbers. Moreover, she was tired, sore and cold for with the approach of darkness the wintry bite in the air was pronounced.

When they reached the barn Iain led the horses to their stalls. Then he paused, surveying his captive. Ashlynn waited, silently willing him to cut her free, though still she could not bring herself to plead. He waited a moment more, then smiled faintly and untied the rope that held her to the saddle. Having done that, he untied her ankles and let her slide down. She stifled a gasp as her cold feet jarred on the hard ground and felt her legs buckle. Had it not been for his arm she would have fallen. It kept her upright while he dragged her across to some upturned barrels by the wall.

‘Sit down there and don’t stir.’