The Highlander's Outlaw Bride Page 3

  “She kneed you?” Bray’s disbelief changed to admiration and he chuckled.

  “She couldnae get much leverage, as close as she was. But ’twas enough.”

  The girl jerked from his grip, eyes flashing her ire. “Let me go. I will fare much better on my own than in yer care.”

  “Much as I would like to, I cannae turn ye out unprotected.” Ignoring her squawk of protest, Conn scooped her into his arms. He faced Bray, easily controlling the girl’s struggling attempt to get down.

  “We need to get back to camp before young Gillis comes looking for us.”

  Bray nodded his agreement.

  “Put me down!” The girl beat vigorously on Conn’s chest and he nearly dropped her in surprise.

  “Wheesht, lass, dinnae worry. We will get ye home.”

  “I have never seen a young woman try so hard to remove herself from your embrace. This must be a first for you, mon ami.”

  “True, but the lass is a bit addled from her swim.”

  The lass tweaked the hair on his chest with a vengeful twist of her fingers and Conn yelped. She glared at him. “Dinnae make a jest of me! I dinnae need yer help.”

  “’Tis but a bit of fun, lass.” Conn tried to reassure her, but her eyes sparked with mutiny. His temper slipped a notch.

  “Fine.” He let her slide to the ground, careful to support her as she wobbled on her injured ankle. She put a hand out for balance and lost her grip on the plaide. Conn hid his grin but not his interest as she lunged toward a nearby tree, grabbing at a low limb to keep from falling. She inched to the far side of the tree, putting the trunk between them.

  With great forbearance, Conn checked the urge to say I told ye so. He stepped around the tree and faced her, holding the plaide out for her. She snatched it from his grasp and yanked it about her shoulders. Conn folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me where ye need to go.”

  Glimpses of fear, indecision and frustration crossed her face. Finally she released a deep breath of resignation. “I have a camp on the other side of the burn.”

  “Good. Now, come with us. We will let young Gillis know where we are going, and Bray and I will take ye to yer camp. Agreed?”

  A slow nod was all the agreement she would concede.

  Chapter 4

  Warily, Brianna settled the laird’s plaide more securely about her as protection from curious eyes and the bone-chilling mists swirling through the trees. Young Gillis hadn’t been exactly pleased to give her his only change of clothing, but he’d been too wide-eyed with surprise to argue forcefully. Holding his plaide open, the laird had used it to shield her as she slipped into the breeches and shirt, tottering awkwardly on her uninjured foot as she dressed.

  She fingered the loose-fitting leine. Though Gillis appeared to be a few years younger than she, his clothes were overlarge and hung loosely on her. They were definitely better than wearing nothing beneath the plaide, though she regretted leaving her gown behind on the other side of the pool. She eyed the two other men, swiftly dismantling their camp. At least she didn’t have to resort to wearing one of their shirts. It would likely fit her and Gillis both—at the same time.

  She closed her eyes and dredged her memory. The laird told her she’d fallen into the pool and nearly drowned, and he had saved her. Though the details were a bit fuzzy, she remembered the feeling of helpless terror as she sucked in her first mouthful of water. She also remembered—quite clearly—the feel of his bare skin against hers, and she took a deep breath as sudden heat slid through her body.

  Firmly pushing aside her wayward thoughts, she steeled herself for more important things. Surely, one of the Douglases had noticed she had not returned to camp. By now someone should be looking for her. A nagging suspicion that Bray and the laird could be in league with the sheriff went through her mind, but it was obvious young Gillis was not one of the brutish guards they’d dealt with in Glenkirk. He was nothing more than a ghillie seeing to the others’ needs. The older two were easy-going and almost kind, when they weren’t teasing her; certainly not of the same stamp as the sheriff’s men. Were it not for her swollen ankle, she’d have escaped the paukie pair by now. Wee scunners, the both of them. St. Andrew bless the lasses who fall for the rogues.

  The men moved quickly, gathering their belongings and saddling their horses. Brianna worried her lower lip as she weighed her decisions. Should I lead them to the camp or not? If my belief these men are not in league with the sheriff is wrong, I risk betraying them all.

  She gingerly touched the cloth the laird had wound about her injured ankle and winced at the jolt of pain. Resolute, she realized the decision had been taken from her. She needed help, and prayed her instincts were right.

  * * *

  Gavin knelt beside the coals, stirring the embers back to life. Mist swirled about the camp as moisture from the nearby burn wafted upward in the pre-dawn air. Ewan and Duncan rode into camp, the clop of their horses’ hooves deadened on the thick carpet of leaves. Tossing his stick into the rising flames, Gavin met the men, encouraged by the exultant looks on their faces. It was time for some good news.

  Ewan slid from his horse and tossed the reins to Duncan, greeting Gavin with a hard clout to his shoulder. It was only a moment before the other Douglases rose from their plaides and surrounded them, eager for news.

  “The steward said King Robert should be at Troon within the week.” Ewan was unable to contain his broad grin. “And they will allow Lady Brianna leave to stay at the castle unmolested until her plea is heard.”

  He cast his gaze around the small camp, his look of satisfaction replaced by a puzzled frown. “Where is the lass?”

  Gavin, distracted from making plans to break camp, took a moment to look around. His mouth went dry. “Mayhap she slipped off for a moment.”

  But he had been on watch. He should have known if she was not in the camp. It was true she’d left earlier in the evening, and though he’d not seen her return, he’d spied her form curled beneath her plaide before he turned over his watch. Had she left again?

  He strode quickly to her plaide. It was still there, rumpled and bunched on the ground. At casual glance it appeared she still slept beneath it. But standing directly over the fabric, it was obvious she was gone. Gavin’s heart leapt with alarm. Could she have stepped unnoticed into the surrounding trees to tend her personal needs? Clinging desperately to that hope, he hesitated, not wanting to intrude unnecessarily on her privacy.

  The moments passed and he abandoned his concern for Brianna’s modesty.

  “Spread out. Find her.”

  Instantly the others disappeared noiselessly into the forest, aware the sheriff’s men could be nearby. But as the moments passed, their desperation to find Brianna exceeded their need for caution.

  “Gavin!”

  He turned at Rabbie’s shout, following the sound to the burn, where they had filled their water skins the night before. Rabbie met him partway up the trail, his face leached of color, a damp gown dangling from his none-too-steady hands.

  “’Tis the gown I stole for the lass.” His voice cracked with emotion.

  “Where did ye find it?”

  Rabbie pointed down the trail. “Near the burn, hanging in a tree. Do ye suppose she washed it and willnae show herself because…”

  The burly man’s face reddened. Gavin took the gown. “I will deal with it. Find the others. I will have her back anon.” With more reassurance than he felt, he watched Rabbie hurry up the trail to join the others. He turned his attention to searching for signs of Brianna, scanning the wooded area. The early morning sun cast its light through the trees, the resulting shadows almost darker than the night itself. He reached the water’s edge and held the empty gown at arm’s length.

  “I am the only one here, lass. The others have gone back to camp. ’Tis safe for ye to come out now.”

  He waited, straining to hear the least sound to indicate where she was, but the forest remained eerily silent except for the merry sou
nds of the tumbling water. Cold sweat broke on his forehead, sprang beneath his arms.

  “Come, now, lass,” he wheedled. “Ye must get dressed. We are ready to break camp and head to Troon.”

  Dread settled hollowly in the pit of his stomach. Even a completely modest young woman would have called to him, told him where to place the gown so she could retrieve it. Brianna was stubborn and impetuous, and not unnecessarily modest. Even so, she would not keep him waiting like this. He must face the truth. Brianna was gone.

  He scanned the ground for footsteps around the burn. Rabbie joined him and they swept the area for tracks leading away from the water. A short distance upstream, the burn narrowed, and they forded the creek, making their way to the opposite side of the pool. Here, scuffed marks showed clearly in the damp earth. Small, bare footprints, occasionally overset by two sets of larger feet, one bare, the other shod, told their story. Only the larger feet led away from the burn.

  He lightly touched the soil around the imprints. “These are deeper—as though carrying a weight.”

  Rabbie nodded. “Aye. I fear the lass encountered someone here at the burn and he or they carried her away.”

  The two men exchanged glances. Wiping his fingers on his plaide, Gavin rose. They quickly followed the trail over a small ridge to a recently deserted campsite.

  Gavin grunted. “We must get the others and come back. It should be light enough by then to follow their trail.”

  They were rapidly mounted and arrived at the site a short time later. Rabbie dismounted and searched the area for any indication of the direction Brianna and her captors had gone.

  He struck the earth with his fist in frustration. “The ground is too hard to show a clear trail. And there have been at least two other groups of riders to cross their trail this day.”

  “Aye, having to duck into the trees each time the sheriff’s men approach is costing us time.” Ewan faced Gavin. “Do ye think we should split up?”

  “I think ’tis best we separate and cover as much ground as we can. Pair up and meet back here just before dusk.”

  “Do ye not think we will find her before then?”

  Gavin wheeled his horse away, keeping his doubts to himself.

  * * *

  Brianna stared at the empty glen where she had laid her cloak only hours before.

  “Is this where yer camp was, lass?” The laird glanced about in some confusion.

  The remains of the fire had been damped down and carefully covered, the area around it swept clear. Were it not for the trampled grass where the horses had been picketed, she would have been hard pressed to recognize the site.

  Why did they leave without me? Her stomach dropped. Her protectors were gone. Had they met with some misfortune? Had the sheriff’s men stumbled across them? Nae, the site would show the marks. Dragging her gaze from the deserted campsite, she glanced at the man beside her. At the look of sympathy in his eyes, she squared her shoulders and carefully hid her dismay.

  “Aye, but no matter. I can fend for myself.”

  “Brave words from a brave lass, but I have no spare horse to leave with ye, and yer ankle willnae be better for a couple of days.” He touched her shoulder in a compassionate gesture. “Ye will be safe with us. We will see ye safely home.”

  Brianna dropped her gaze, thinking furiously. What if we chance upon the sheriff? If the price on my head is enough for him to betray his promise, then what my fate? She tested the strength of her injured ankle, but it did not bear the strain. She had no choice. Without knowing the extent of their chivalry, she was at their mercy.

  Chapter 5

  The young woman twisted before him in the saddle. “Do ye live far from here? I know Bray doesnae.” She gave a dimpled grin to the Frenchman. “And Gillis is from Glasgow. I wonder if ye would rather be heading home now?”

  Conn flinched at the question, but gave no sign he would answer. She had chatted with Bray most of the morning, quite a contrast from the mutinous silence he’d gotten from her the night before. She apparently was quite capable of expounding on a multitude of subjects. He wanted to admit he admired her views, her interest in so many things. But since he’d placed her before him in the saddle, the only view he’d been able to consider was the one revealing itself to him from beneath her ill-fitting shirt as she twisted and turned with each animated gesture. A tempting view of soft, luscious curves and a shadowed valley between drew his eyes and warmed his blood.

  He shifted his seat as she slid a bit to the side.

  “Be still,” he growled, jerking her back against him. The contact of her lush body against his sent shock waves through him, and he swore under his breath. He had only himself to blame for the mess he was in. He’d rescued the lass from drowning and was fairly sure he regretted his actions. Though she refused to give him her name, something drew him to her, mocking his decision and taunting his self-control. Her scent, the feel of her swaying against him with each step Embarr took, even her persistence was driving him to the brink of madness.

  He’d tried hard to deny bringing her along with them was for his benefit as much as her own, but the truth was, he simply did not want to let her go, and damned if he knew why.

  “We would take you to your home if you would but give us direction, cherie,” Bray observed. His voice sounded kind, but his attitude bordered on exasperation.

  “She has pointed us in nearly every direction on the compass,” Conn grumbled, shifting his weight once more as the lass again swiveled in the saddle.

  “I think I am quite lost,” she informed him. Her pert smile did not quite conceal the dark shadow of uneasiness. What was she hiding?

  “May I get down?”

  The question jolted him from his thoughts and he pulled Embarr to a stop. Grabbing the girl around her waist, he lowered her slowly to the ground, feeling her stiffen as her injured ankle took her weight. Straightening, she walked with pained hesitation deeper into the woods.

  “Why do you not speak with la mademoiselle?” Bray asked. “She is charming and delightfully well-informed.”

  Conn scrunched his face into heavy thought, refusing to let Bray see how much he enjoyed listening to the lass’ comments. It was better to keep a distance between them—for her sake, of course. “She doesnae matter to me past her safety. I dinnae need to know more about her than where her home lies.”

  Bray hooted with laughter. “You are disgruntled that she will not give you her name, and mayhap even resentful she speaks more freely with me.”

  Flashing Bray a sneer of contempt for his assessment, Conn grunted, “See if ye can drag her name from her if ye wish.” He shrugged. “I care not.”

  “Do you think she will run?” Bray’s voice was casual as he turned his attention to the spot where the girl had left the trail.

  “She willnae get far on that ankle. I will give her a few moments and see if she comes back on her own. It willnae be hard to catch up to her if she doesnae.”

  Gillis groused his own opinion. “Why is she with us? She has my best shirt.”

  Conn ignored the complaint. Personally, he rather liked the way the thin fabric slid across her full breasts. He’d certainly never spared the garment a second glance when Gillis wore it.

  “Because our laird is unwilling to turn the girl loose to her own ends,” Bray answered, his voice mocking.

  Conn shot the man a look of irritation. “She isnae capable of taking care of herself. Since I first laid eyes on her, she has been trouble.”

  “In trouble, or just trouble, mon ami?”

  Conn winced. “Both.” He abandoned the conversation, searching through the trees for a glimpse of silver blond hair. Leaves swayed gently in a breeze, but he saw no sign of his faerie princess.

  “Shite.” Nudging his horse forward with his heels, Conn reined him off the trail into the brush. He swatted slender limbs aside, ducking their whip-like recoil as Embarr made his way through the trees. Ahead, dappled light glinted brightly, the sight gone in a
n instant. Conn peered at the spot, holding his stallion in place. Several yards away, a limb swayed, dipped. A low gasp reached his ears and he urged Embarr forward.

  The lass shot him a murderous look from her undignified sprawl on the ground. A long, narrow scratch raked her cheekbone and a hank of her glistening hair snarled on a branch.

  “Going somewhere?” He swung down from his saddle, towering over her. “Given yer ability to get lost crossing a burn, ye would do better to stay close to the trail.”

  She slapped his hand away and rose, dusting her bottom with one hand as she limped to Embarr’s side. Without a word, she endured his assistance as she mounted, keeping a wall of indignant pride between them as he climbed up behind her. He reined Embarr back up the trail to where the others waited. Ignoring Bray’s raised eyebrow, he urged them on with a curt nod.

  His eyes drifted downward, past the rumpled fabric of the lass’s shirt. He wondered why she hadn’t fought him, why she had yielded after only a token fit of anger. She swayed with Embarr’s movements and her back brushed his chest, setting him ablaze. He burned to slide his hand along her curves, push aside the coarse linen leine. See her undressed and passionate in his arms. But he had no right to her. He had no right to anything but her well-being. There were many more important things to occupy his thoughts. Days, perhaps weeks would pass before he could satisfy his curiosity about the young woman he was about to deliver to the king, and no certainty he would ever see her again. He wasn’t sure he liked it. In fact, he was fairly certain he didn’t.

  * * *

  Brianna eased back against the laird’s broad chest, trying to deny the thrill running through her as their bodies touched. For hours she’d ridden literally in his arms, and though she’d escape in an instant if given the chance, she was no longer ill at ease with the man. Quite the opposite, in fact. She found him fascinating.

  She liked his joking comradeship with his friends, so different from her dead husband’s blustering attempts to best everyone around him, and was growing used to his teasing way with her as well. She admired the way he sat his horse, the calm authority he portrayed. He had also proven himself honorable, unlike Laird MacLaurey’s absent son who assuaged his purportedly broken heart amid foreign skirts and taverns. Thanks to his lack of concern, several months had passed since Laird MacLaurey and her da had signed the betrothal, with no sign of him honoring the contract. Not that she wanted to be the unfortunate woman who married the loun, but since the laird died and all help cut off, she understood the need for a strong alliance.