Page 5 of Savage Kilted Highlander (Temptation in Tartan #9)

CHAPTER FIVE

P risoner?

Constance gasped, dumbstruck, not just by the man’s words, but also by his appearance. They were now facing each other, and he was like a wall in front of her that she was being pressed against, her nose level with his chest. He seemed enormous, with broad shoulders and a powerful build that blocked out the light. He towered over her, so that she had to tilt her head back just to see his face. As she did so, her breath hitched with fear at the sight of the sword and two daggers secured at his belt.

When she finally dared to look him in the face, she found herself gazing into a pair of sharp, hazel-green eyes set below a shock of tousled, shoulder-length, dark-blond hair. He is young, she thought with surprise, her heart thudding as her frightened gaze travelled over his tanned, ruggedly handsome features, taking in his fearsome, battle-hardened appearance. The faint scar running across his darkly stubbled jaw only added to the impression.

Cold terror shot through her veins like quicksilver. If she was trembling before, she now began to shake violently, convinced she had had the misfortune to fall into the hands of one of those murderous Scottish brutes Lord Ashbourne had brought her up to fear and despise. But at the same time, she was aware that he was examining her too, his shrewd, hazel-green gaze moving slowly over her face. It was at the same time terrifying and… strangely exciting.

“So, now we’ve both had a good look and got the measure of the other, eh?” he said softly, taking hold of her chin with one hand and turning her head this way and that, as though inspecting her.

Despite her fear, Constance bridled at such highhanded treatment and pulled free of his grip. Straightening up as best she could with his arm pinning her to his body, she lifted her chin defiantly, looked into his eyes, and asked with a boldness she hardly knew she possessed, “Are you saying that you have taken me prisoner because Laird Kerr is my father?”

“Aye, that’s exactly right,” he said with a nod, his smile lingering and giving him an air of satisfaction. “Ye’re me prisoner now, fer a while at least, Lady Agnes.”

Constance felt almost giddy with relief, and she could not stop herself from laughing hysterically. She was so overwhelmed with emotions, she couldn’t stop herself. Any vestige of a smile vanished abruptly from her captor’s face. “What’s so funny?” he demanded through gritted teeth, his dark brows knitting.

“You-you think I-I am Lady Agnes,” she managed to stutter, hiccoughing with nervous laughter.

“I dinnae think ye are, I ken ye are,” he said gruffly, gripping her tightly.

“Oh, but you are wrong! So very wrong. I am not Lady Agnes at all! You have got the wrong woman, I’m afraid. It is a case of mistaken identity, so you may as well release me.” She felt quite giddy with relief.

She was shocked when he tightened his hold on her, making it hard to breathe. Her laughter abruptly cut off. He leaned down threateningly, his face inches from hers. “D’ye think I’m a fool? That I cannae see what’s in front of me face? I saw ye today clear as day in the castle courtyard. I ken exactly who ye are, so dinnae try tae play stupid games with me, Lady Agnes . This is a serious matter,” he hissed.

Constance beat ineffectually at his chest, starting to panic as she struggled to draw in air. “Y-you are h-hurting me, I cannot b-breathe!” she gasped.

He loosened his hold a little, leaving her panting but able to gradually catch her breath. She was trembling so hard, that when she managed to speak, she could not help but stutter. “I-I am not p-playing games. It matters not who you think I am, I c-can assure you that I am not L-Lady Agnes.”

He snorted derisively and shook his head. “Is that so? Then how come you look just like her? I suppose ye expect me tae believe ye’re her twin sister nay one has ever heard about, is that it?” he said sarcastically.

“That is exactly what I am! I am Agnes’s twin sister!” Constance cried, desperate to make him believe her.

“Ach, shut yer mouth and save yer breath. We both ken ye’re lyin’. Everyone kens ye’re an only child. Ye dinnae have a sister.”

“But she does have a sister! She just doesn’t… know it yet. I only just discovered it myself by accident a few months ago. We are identical twins, but we were separated at birth. That is why I am here, to meet her for the first time, and my father too,” Constance gabbled, desperate for him to let her go. “You have to believe me. Please, let me go!”

But he did not reply. When she looked up at him again, she saw he was staring hard at her, confusion in his eyes. “What–what is it? Oh, please, don’t hurt me!” she pleaded, shaking from head to toe as fear for her life welled up inside her once more.

“I do believe ye,” he said eventually, not taking his eyes off her.

Constance gasped with relief and sagged against him. “Thank you. I’m so glad you have seen sense. Now, will you set me free?”

“Unbelievable as it is, I think it must be true. Ye’re Lady Agnes’ twin, though how it could be is beyond me.” His eyes were raking over her face in a most unsettling manner.

“Why would I make up such a fantastical tale? I suppose, since she and I are supposed to be so alike, it is understandable that you made a mistake.”

As if he had not heard her, he said, “Aye, it must be true. The accent proves it. Ye’re English, nae Scottish. Lady Agnes was born and raised in Scotland. Unless she’s a very good actress, I doubt very much she would speak as ye dae, with that hoity-toity, stuck-up English accent.”

Constance almost snapped back at him, but she held her tongue. She was praying he would let her go, now that he had realized she could not be Agnes, and she did not want to ruin things by making him angry. So, she said, “Exactly. That proves I am not her. So, you can release me now.”

To her consternation, he shook his head. “Why should I release ye?”

“Because I am not Lady Agnes, of course.”

“But ye clearly are her twin sister, which means Laird Kerr must be yer faither. Is that nae right?” he asked, his head cocked to one side inquiringly, his gaze penetrating.

“Um… Yes, that is correct,” Constance replied, her relief giving way to creeping dread.

“Then ye’ll dae just as well as she would fer me purposes. Ye’re his daughter, and that’s all that counts. Once he learns I have one of his daughters captive, then he’ll agree tae me demands, never mind which one it is,” he said with an air of finality.

To her horror, he pulled a length of rope from his jerkin pocket, gripped both her wrists tightly in one fist, and began binding them together.

“No, no, let me go!” Constance cried. Seized by panic, she struggled to get free. Sobbing hysterically, she fought hard against being bound. She writhed and wriggled, kicked at his legs, and tried to hit him. But she might as well have tried to fight a barn door for all the good it did, so she soon gave up. He was far too strong for her.

“That is digging into my flesh,” she told him miserably as he tied her wrists together.

“Ye’ll just havetae put up with it,” he told her gruffly. “I dinnae trust ye nae tae try tae run away.”

“My father doesn’t even know I am here yet, he has not seen me since I was born,” she persisted, raising her voice out of fear. “I do not even know what he looks like because we have never met,” she cried desperately, still trying to persuade him to release her, though her hope was fading fast.

“Stop yer shoutin’!” he barked, striking fresh terror into her. She clamped her lips together, afraid to do more than stare at him helplessly. “Ye’re his daughter, ye’ve admitted it yersel’. Of course, he’s gonnae want ye back once he finds out I’m holdin’ ye captive,” he said tersely, tightly securing her wrists to his satisfaction and stepping away from her at last. She noticed he had left enough rope dangling to lead her wherever he wished. “Now, are ye gonnae come quietly, or dae I have tae tie yer feet and gag ye as well?”

Constance felt completely powerless. She did not know what to say or do. “That is not much of a choice, is it?” she replied before shaking her head and muttering aloud to herself, “This cannot really be happening to me. It must be a nightmare, a terrible dream. I shall wake up at any moment, for it is impossible that I have come all this way, only to be abducted by some Scottish maniac.”

“I’m nae a maniac,” he retorted, catching hold of the dangling rope and yanking it hard.

“Ouch, you are hurting me!” she cried as it ropes dug cruelly into her flesh, making tears of pain well up in her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out in distress, “You are a maniac and a brute! No English gentleman would treat a woman so harshly.” She instantly regretted her outburst when she saw the way his features twisted with menace.

“Is that so? Well, that just shows how ignorant ye are.” He yanked on the rope again, but this time not as harsh. “There’ll be a lot worse than that if ye dinnae do exactly as I tell ye,” he warned darkly. He bent down and picked up her knife before sticking it in his waistband.

She let out a helpless sob. She had better do as he wished, at least for the meantime. But sooner or later, a chance would come for her to escape.

“I’ll come quietly,” she said, meekly allowing him to lead her by the rope encircling her wrists. He took up Lucy’s reins and walked them both through the trees. The mare merely whinnied softly, seemingly unconcerned at being led by the stranger who was abducting her mistress.

“Slow down, will you? You are going much too fast for me to keep up,” she complained, pain and frustration temporarily overtaking fear as her captor dragged her along through the forest. Striding ahead with ease on his long, leather-clad legs, he took no heed of her struggles to keep her balance on the uneven forest floor nor prevent her gown from snagging on the twigs and thorns of the undergrowth, though it was obviously slowing her down.

Already out of breath, her wrists in agony from the biting rope, Constance was both surprised and relieved when they walked only a relatively short distance before arriving at a little hollow with a big oak tree in the middle. She could tell from the tethered horse nearby, the items strewn about, and the flattened grass at the base of the tree that this was a campsite.

“Sit down there,” the man instructed, grabbing some more rope from a pack nearby and pushing her, to her surprise rather gently, against the oak. Exhausted and weakened by fear, Constance obediently sank to the ground, making no move to fight as he bound her tightly to the tree trunk. When he had finished, he tested the knots. Seemingly satisfied, he stood up, his large frame looming over her intimidatingly. Feeling defeated, she did not even bother to look up at him as he strode over to secure Lucy next to his own horse.

Once he had done that, he came back and leaned against the trunk of an elm tree a few feet across from her. “What’s yer name,” he suddenly asked.

“Why should I tell you my name?” she retorted, raising her head and rousing her last bit of defiance.

“Because I can hardly demand a ransom from yer faither without kennin’ yer name, can I?” he replied as though he were speaking to a child.

She had no idea why she should be so shocked. “Ransom!” she burst out. “You’re intending to keep me prisoner until my father pays a ransom for me!?”

“Well, what other reason could there be fer abductin’ his daughter? I dinnae go kidnappin’ lassies willy nilly for fun, ye ken.” He slid down the tree trunk into a crouching position, leaning his back against it. Constance felt his eyes burning into her as he reached for a waterskin and pulled out the cork before taking a long drink. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Ugh, how uncouth! she thought, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

She felt rather foolish for not understanding his intentions sooner, but she was also furious with him for picking on her. On the other hand, it quickly dawned on her that if he hoped to collect a ransom from Laird Kerr in exchange for her, then he needed her, and in one piece too.

He’s unlikely to seriously hurt me, and he’ll get nothing if he kills me.

The realization gave her some comfort, and she found the courage to retaliate. “You may think I’m a fool, but at least I’m not a criminal who goes around abducting innocent women for money,” she replied scathingly.

“Who said ’tis fer money?” he asked, cocking one dark brow, ramming the cork back into the top of the water skin.

Constance stared at him, confused. “Well, if not for money, then what?”

He glared at her, his hazel eyes hard. “That’s none of yer damned business, so keep yer nose out and dinnae ask questions. Just dae as ye’re told,” he growled.

Constance bridled at his aggressive attitude, and despite her fear, her anger boiled over. “You are without a doubt the rudest person I have ever met in my life!” she told him accusingly.

But the insult rolled off him like water off a duck’s back. “Well, ye must have led a very sheltered life then. Ye should try and get out more,” he shot back. She thought she saw his lips twitch, as though he were suppressing a smile. The idea that he was laughing at her only stoked her anger.

“I suppose you think you are a great wit,” she chided, “but you are not funny at all. Mock me all you like for being English and for being brought up genteelly as a lady, if it amuses your childish sense of humor. But you should know that your opinion means nothing to me. In fact, that is just the sort of common language and violent attitude I would expect from an ignorant Scots ruffian like you.”

He lifted his head, and the way he stared at her, eyes blazing, gave her pause. But she was so riled, she could not stop herself from carrying on. “I assure you, I would like nothing more than to “keep me nose out” of your business…” She mimicked his deep voice and Scottish brogue, just as he had mocked her English accent earlier. “But by abducting me like this you have made it my business. You must be an idiot as well as an immoral savage to expect me not to ask why you have kidnapped me and what you hope to get out of it. But I am not surprised. You have proved that everything I have been told about the Scots being uncouth brutes is true.”

For a moment, he said nothing, but then his pursed lips broke into a sneer. “Ye have the cheek tae call me a brute and a savage when ye ken naethin’ about me. I have me reasons fer what I’m doin’. And ye clearly ken naethin’ about the Scots and Scotland either. But such ignorance is nae more than I would expect from a spoiled young English miss who has nay doubt grown up with servants at her beck and call every minute of the day and night. Every one of me fellow Scots kens what a snobby, sneaky bunch of untrustworthy villains ye English are.”

“How dare you!” she exclaimed, not understanding why his words should sting so badly. She refused to allow his worthless insults hurt her. She was telling herself this when he suddenly threw the waterskin at her. Startled, thinking it would hit her, she flinched away. But it fell harmlessly at her feet.

“Hold yer tongue, will ye? Ye’re givin’ me a headache. Drink while ye can,” he told her, gesturing impatiently at the waterskin. “We’ll be moving out of here soon, and we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Constance sat up as best her bonds would allow, fear and uncertainty filling her once more. “Journey? What journey? Where do you intend to take me?” she demanded, hearing the tremor in her voice. She did not know what she had imagined he intended to do with her once he informed her father she was for ransom, but now she realized they would not be staying in this spot. It was obviously a temporary camp and situated much too close to the castle.

Terrifying visions ran through her head of being locked in some dank underground cellar inhabited by rats, her hands tied, left in darkness for days on end, while he negotiated the ransom with Ewan Kerr. Panic almost overwhelmed her, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Oh, dear God, save me! What if my father does not care that I’ve been kidnapped!