Page 7 of Jack (Highland Outlaws #1)

I sabella’s heart raced as she lifted off the saddle.

For a brief moment, she felt suspended in air while they presumably leapt over some obstacle in their path, a fallen tree or rock.

Inwardly, she cursed the blindfold and the hand gripping her waist but fear stayed her tongue. A knot of tears lodged in her throat.

Her heart pounded, and her limbs felt heavy with fatigue as she tried to pay attention to the surrounding smells and sounds, hopeful they might hold a clue as to where she was being taken, but the strong man holding her dominated her other senses.

His breathing, loud and hot in her ear through his mask, muffled the birdsong and the clomp of the horses’ hooves.

She could smell his body, rich and woody and not unpleasant.

His scent curled around her, wicked with persuasion.

The urge to lean back into his chest grew stronger and stronger, yet she stiffened her spine and shook her head, determined not to give in.

As if he could sense her thoughts, he shifted his hand from her waist to her stomach and splayed his fingers wide, pressing her against his torso.

She gasped. Even through layers of kirtle, tunic, and surcoat, she could feel his muscles shift and move as they rode.

Never had she been so intimately acquainted with a man’s body.

The heat of his fingers swept down her hip and gripped her thigh. The world around her seemed to go silent except for the beating of her heart and the labored breathing of the man behind her.

“Don’t do that,” she scolded and grabbed his hand, pulling it back up to her waist.

“Sorry, Princess,” he murmured.

His husky voice sent a shiver up her spine. Drawing a deep breath, she summoned her courage. “Return me to my father. He will reward you when I tell him of how you saved me from those bandits.”

“Those men were not bandits,” he began, his masked lips grazing her ear. “ We are bandits. Those men were murderers and rapists.”

Instantly, tearing fingers and leering faces flooded her mind. She swallowed hard against the fear that clutched her heart. Then another image came to her mind—her own body, naked and unmoving, her throat slit just like Thomas’s.

Her hand flew to her throat. “If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be dead right now. You truly did save my life, didn’t you?”

She heard him sigh. Evidently, he had no wish to be reminded of his good deed.

“Aye,” he said curtly.

“Please, you must return me to my father. I understand why you are afraid, but when I speak of how you saved my life, I promise he will reward you.”

She waited for his reply, but he remained silent.

“I don’t understand you,” she said, frustration building in her mind. “You rescued me. You’re a good man. You must be.”

“Princess,” he breathed. “Never trust a man in a mask. We did save ye, but if ye value yer life at all, ye’ll remain silent now until I tell ye to speak.”

She stiffened upon hearing his threat.

Was he a friend or foe?

She did not know who or what he was, but at that moment, she knew he was the reason she was alive...for now, at least.

Her chest tightened. How could this be happening to her? She had been attacked—nearly raped and murdered, and now taken by thieves—when her only wish had been to see her beloved sister.

Her hand dropped listlessly to her lap when she realized the empty significance of her thoughts. After all, her mother had only wanted to go to market, a simple desire that had resulted in her death, and she had been but one of thousands who lost their lives that day.

Expelling a slow breath, she felt her fatigue overtake her fear. After a while, her heart ceased to race. Her mind became clouded as if in a dream. Surrounded by darkness and the heat of his arms, she finally surrendered to her reluctant savior and leaned back, resting her aching body against his.

His chest rose and fell with each inhale and exhale of air he took, and she found herself listening to the steady rhythm of his breath, lulling her into a peaceful slumber.

In that moment, his harsh voice seemed far away, along with the violence of the day, as if it was just another bad dream she could escape when sleep at last claimed her.

JACK’S ARM WRAPPED securely around Lady Redesdale’s trim waist as he guided his horse through the dense thicket.

His brothers followed closely, their horses creating a din of snapping branches and rustling foliage.

The air was thick and damp. They were getting close to their camp, which was hidden deep within the land belonging to Haddington Monastery.

Lady Redesdale snuggled in his arms, her delicate frame soft and warm.

He knew they would be there soon, and that he would have to wake her.

Once again, he breathed deep her scent, which penetrated the fabric of his mask.

Despite how he tried to remember that she was the enemy, he could not help but savor the feel of her curves and the calming evenness of her breath as she slept.

The horse’s slow yet steady gait created a rhythmic rocking motion, almost like sailing on a tranquil sea.

As the moments slipped past, he closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of intimacy and freedom.

When Jack opened his eyes again, it wasn’t a vast ocean stretching out before him—it was a verdant glen filled with small huts.

In its center stood a man of slim build clad in monastic robes.

“Good eventide,” Jack said quietly to the abbot of Haddington Monastery.

“Good eventide, Saint Peter,” Abbot Matthew replied, using Jack’s code name. He warily eyed the blindfolded woman resting in Jack’s arms. “What have ye got there?”

Jack swung down from his horse, still cradling the Lady Redesdale. She stirred, awoken by the movement, and lifted her head. The place where her cheek had rested against his chest became chilled from the sudden loss of warmth.

“Where am I?” she said, her voice trembling.

“Remain silent,” he whispered to her.

She stiffened in his arms.

Jack shifted his gaze back to the abbot, whose brow was furrowed in a deep scowl.

“’Tis Lady Redesdale,” Jack began, but before he could explain further, the Abbot exclaimed, “Damnation, Jack! What were ye thinking?”

“For pity’s sake, Abbot, what of the code?”

The abbot raked a hand through his thinning brown hair. “Blast the code!”

“The code was yer idea,” Jack shot back.

The abbot motioned to the lady still cradled against Jack’s chest. “Ye abducted an English lady. Unless ye’re planning on wearing that mask until we can figure out how to get her back over the bleeding border and into her bleeding fortress, then I’m afraid ye’ve rendered the code useless, St. Peter.

” The abbot shook his head. “How could ye jeopardize all we’ve accomplished with this rash move? What are ye trying to prove?”

“We had no choice,” Jack said, defending himself and his brothers. “Her carriage was attacked.”

Abbot Matthew threw his arms up in the air. “Of course it was attacked. Ye attacked it!”

“Will ye just listen to me?” Jack insisted. “We were trailing her carriage, waiting for the opportune moment, when villains, real ones, rushed the road, killing her guard.”

The abbot’s eyes flashed wide. “Who were they?”

Jack lifted his shoulders. “We do not ken. In appearance, they were peasants, but they fought like trained warriors.” He motioned to Quinn. “Bring the sword.”

Quinn dismounted and offered one of the attacker’s blades for the abbot to examine. “How could a peasant be in possession of such a fine weapon?”

“How indeed?” Abbot Matthew said absently as he ran his fingers down the gleaming blade. He scratched at the faint whiskers dotting his chin. Expelling a slow breath, his gaze settled on the lady who sat stiffly in Jack’s arms, her head darting in the direction of whomever spoke.

“Are ye well enough then, Lady Redesdale?” the abbot asked softly.

“I suppose I am,” she answered at length.

Jack set her down gently on the ground. “Bind her hands,” he told Rory.

“This is madness, Jack,” the abbot exclaimed.

Jack whirled around to face the abbot. “They showed her no mercy. I will not speak aloud what they would have done to her had we not intervened. And then what were we to do, Abbot? Leave her out there alone in the woods to fend for herself?”

The abbot blew out a long breath. He looked at Jack.

“Forgive me. I should have known yer intentions were honorable.” He sighed.

“Still, this is no small matter. I will go now and send a message to Bishop Lamberton. He will know how best to proceed.” A breeze cut through the forest, ruffling the abbot’s long, black robe.

“Work out a way to ensure she can’t identify ye. ”

Jack watched the abbot disappear into the forest. Then he turned back to face his brothers, all still masked. “Ye heard the good abbot. What are we going to do?”

“The solution is simple,” Alec said, his voice flat. “Keep her blindfolded and bound.” Then he turned and headed toward his hut.

“Nay,” Ian said, coming forward. “She will be with us for days, mayhap weeks. That would be cruel.”

“Then stick her in the hole,” Alec called over his shoulder.

“Ye needn’t be so unfeeling,” Ian called after him. Then he turned to Jack. “Let me just be clear on this matter. Ye will not put the lady in the hole. I’ll not have it!”

“It might actually be the gentlest choice,” Quinn said, drawing Jack’s gaze.

“Quinn,” Ian blurted, clearly shocked that he would support Alec’s suggestion.

Jack groaned, shaking his head. “Stick to the code.”

“Hear me out,” Quinn said, continuing. “If she were in the hole, we wouldn’t have to keep her blindfolded or bound. We would give her blankets and any other comforts we have in our possession.”

“I don’t like it any more than ye, Ian, but Quinn makes a valid point,” Rory chimed in. “Better the hole than to remain blindfolded.”

“I’ll not hear any more ofthis,” Ian admonished.

Then, he turned about on his massive feet and marched toward where the lady sat rocking nervously, no doubt terrified by their discussion of holes versus blindfolds.

Jack’s conscience pricked again, but the desire to comfort her was diminished as he eyed the jewels adorning her headdress.

She was no humble maid. She was a spoiled lady who might find improvement if forced to endure a little discomfort.

His gaze shifted back to Ian. Jack was not surprised by his youngest brother’s unfailing compassion. His kindness knew no limit, but danger to any man who invited Ian’s fury—his temper, once provoked, was a fearsome sight.

Jack watched as Ian dropped to one knee in front of the lass. She visibly tensed, clearly having sensed Ian’s presence. To Jack’s surprise, Ian unsheathed his dirk. “What are ye doing? Ian, we’ve not agreed upon what to do.”

“The code,” Rory said to Jack.

“Blast the code,” Jack exclaimed, watching Ian nervously.

“I’m putting an end to this debate,” Ian answered, reaching for the lady.

She scrambled back when he touched her.

“Hush now, lass,” Ian crooned, once again reaching for her. “This will not hurt.”

Both Jack and Quinn lunged for Ian, but it was too late.

In one quick motion, her blindfold fell away.

Jack shook his head in disbelief. Ian had just revealed their camp—a camp they had fought so hard to keep hidden—to an English lady, who was now, more or less, their captive.

In that moment, he knew that the consequences could mean disaster for them all.