Page 8 of Savage Kilted Highlander (Temptation in Tartan #9)

CHAPTER EIGHT

W ith her heart pounding in her chest, she clutched it tightly and was about to take to her heels when a white shape suddenly sped silently overhead and vanished into the darkness between the trees. Air burst from her lungs as relief flooded her.

You goose! It was just an owl! Nothing to be scared of at all.

That was some comfort, but she was well and truly spooked. So, with her fear of the dark forest closing in, she turned and hurried back to the cave.

He met her halfway, running from the cave, and it surprised her how panicked he appeared. “Are ye all right? I heard ye scream. What happened?” He ushered her inside.

“It was just an owl screeching. It flew past my head and took me by surprise,” she explained, unwilling to admit she had screamed and unexpectedly touched by his concern for her safety. She hadn’t imagined he would be. But then she remembered he was not worried out of the kindness of his heart but only because he needed to keep her safe for the ransom.

“Ach, is that all ye’ve got? Ye’ve been gone ages,” he muttered impatiently, returning to what he had been doing. He knelt on the floor and blew on the small flame that was smoldering amid a nest of wood shavings. Constance supposed he had brought them with him. “Bring the wood over here,” he commanded. She walked over to him, opened her skirt, and dropped the wood in a pile in front of him. Dust rose and made her sneeze. He looked at the pile and frowned. “I said dry wood. How d’ye expect this tae burn?” he said, his tone disparaging as he picked up one of the larger pieces and then threw it down in obvious disgust. “’Tis till damp.”

“But some of it is dry,” she countered, feeling unaccountably disappointed. “I thought I did very well, seeing as this was my first time gathering firewood,” she added with a flash of defiance.

“What d’ye want, a medal?” He cast her a skeptical look before sorting through the pile, putting some of it aside. When he had finished, the pile that was left, the dry pile, seemed very small. “I suppose it’ll have tae dae, but I cannae see it lastin’ until mornin’,” he said with a sigh, starting to add some of the smaller twigs to the flame that was quickly consuming the wood shavings.

Constance fetched her shoes and placed them near the fire to dry. Then, unexpectedly fascinated by his almost magical skill in producing fire from nothing, she sat down to watch, drawing her cloak closer about her shoulders and wrapping her arms around her knees. She held out her hands towards the rising flames, enjoying the growing warmth on her cold skin.

She could not help noticing his expression of patient concentration as he coaxed the fire into being. He looked almost gentle. Shadows danced across his ruggedly handsome features, turning the hollows black.

He is very good-looking . But a handsome face can hide a multitude of sins. He is naught but a common criminal.

He stood up and brushed the dust from his hands. “That’ll havetae dae,” he muttered before fetching two rolled up blankets from his pack and throwing one at Constance. “Ye should take off yer wet things and dry off as best ye can by the fire,” he told her. “I’ll boil up some tea.”

Constance had no intention of parting with a stitch of clothing, no matter how wet it was, so she stayed where she was, still in her wet cloak. But the mention of tea had her spirits immediately rising. “Tea?” she said, watching as he rummaged in his pack and drew out several small packages and tins.

“Aye, tea. Are ye hungry?”

She did not have to think about it. Her stomach had been growling embarrassingly for some time. “Yes, I am.”

He went over to the fire and handed her one of the packages. “Thank you.” She opened it eagerly, expecting cold chicken or perhaps a pie. Her mouth began to water. She was both stunned and disappointed to find it contained a hunk of charred, stale brown bread. There was also a sliver of yellow cheese and a few scraps of what looked like dried meat, though she could not have said what animal it had come from.

“What is this, prison fare?” she asked, holding the bread between her fingertips. “I cannot eat this. And I do not even know what this meat is, or even if it is meat at all.”

He had filled a small pan with water and placed it in the fire to heat up. “’Tis food. Of course, ye can eat it,” he replied. As though to emphasize his point, he picked up his own packet, opened it, and bit into a large chunk of the same bread, looking her in the eye as he chewed ferociously. When he had swallowed, he said tauntingly, “I suppose ye’re used tae much finer fare than this, eh? Quails eggs and roasted swan fer dinner every day nay doubt.”

“Oh, no, that is just for breakfast,” she retorted, returning his sarcasm.

“Well, ye’re nae at home now. Ye’ll just have tae make dae with ordinary fare like the rest of us poor folk or starve.”

Feeling she had something to prove, Constance picked up the bread and took a tentative nibble. She said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Ach, woman, stop yer fussin’. Put some cheese and meat with the bread, and it’ll go down all right,” he told her, demonstrating. “Mmm, that’s bloody delicious,” he said on purpose, Constance was certain.

With hunger rapidly overcoming her disgust, she took a deep breath and did as he suggested, breaking off a little bread and adding some cheese and meat. She took a tentative mouthful. The bread was greatly improved by the cheese and meat, she had to admit, but it was nonetheless like eating burnt sawdust. Somehow, she forced the food down out, laboriously chewing her way through every crumb. She was unsure if it was just because she was so hungry, but by the end it actually began to taste quite good. And it certainly filled her up.

The water in the pan boiled, and he made the tea with dried leaves from a small packet. He let it steep for a few minutes before pouring it into two horn beakers and handing her one.

“Thank you. This doesn’t look much like the tea we have at home,” she said, looking curiously at the steaming brownish brew.

“Dae ye ever stop yer whingin’?” he snapped.

“Not if it annoys you, no.” She tentatively tasted the tea and grimaced. “Oh, it is bitter. I usually take cream and sugar in my tea.”

“I bet ye dae,” he muttered over the rim of his beaker.

“Do you happen to have any?” She asked him just to annoy him.

To her surprise, he burst out laughing. “Would it surprise ye if I said nay?” he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

She shrugged. “Not really. I can see plainly how you live.” With that, she wrinkled her nose as she lifted the beaker to her lips.

“But I do have some honey,” he said, surprising her again. He reached over to the pack and took out a small jar. He passed it over to her, along with the blunt knife he used for eating. “Help yersel’.”

“Thank you,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile as she took them. In her dire situation, having honey in her tea was a cause for celebration. But because of her bound wrists, she struggled to open the jar. Seeing her difficulty, he suddenly rose to his feet and came around to her side of the fire.

“I think ’tis safe tae untie ye fer the moment,” he said, undoing her bindings, much to her relief.

“Well, we have already established there is nowhere for me to run to,” she observed, rubbing her wrists vigorously where the ropes had chafed her skin and brought out angry red welts. He opened the honey jar for her.

“That’s nae strictly true,” he told her, returning to his spot and resuming his meal. “There’s plenty of places fer ye tae run. But in the dark and rain, as I said before, ye could end up breakin’ yer neck. A smirk spread over his face. “Or gettin’ eaten by a mountain lion.”

“You sound as though you would enjoy that,” she retorted with a withering smile, loading the knife with honey and stirring it into her tea. She tasted it, relishing the heat and sweetness on her tongue. It was instantly reviving.

“Nae at all! Why, I wouldnae have anythin’ tae ransom then, would I?” he pointed out, eating the last of his bread.

“I admit that is somewhat comforting.” It certainly was. “But I think I might enjoy breaking my neck just to spite you,” she said, growing bolder. “I do not approve of people profiting from the misery of others by criminal enterprise.”

“Of course, ye wouldnae. Ye’ve never had tae go without anythin’ in yer life. Ye dinnae ken what normal folk havetae dae tae survive.”

“That is hardly my fault. It is simply an accident of birth.” She decided not to let him needle her.

“Lucky accident then. I suppose yer family is very rich.” He ate some of the meat, looking across at her with what appeared to be genuine interest.

She thought about it for a minute and then said, “I have two families. The one that raised me in England, and the Scottish one, Laird Kerr and Agnes. The first is very rich indeed. But alas, in respect of wealth, my true father is still an unknown quantity. You probably know better than I do if he is rich or not.”

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that set her senses tingling. “Och, he’s rich all right, and powerful too. He’s the most powerful man between here and Edinburgh, fer sure.”

“Well, that is good news for me. It means he can afford to pay my ransom,” she replied, giving him another thin smile before drinking more of her tea.

Her remark seemed to upset him because he suddenly frowned and said, “I told ye, I’m nae daein’ this fer money.”

His obvious disquiet on the subject once more piqued her curiosity. She could not resist poking him. “Why does it bother you so much when I mention money? Does it matter? What you are doing is still unlawful, and you could hang for it.”

“Shut up and eat.” He scowled at her.

“Not laughing now, are you?” Constance said, feeling absurdly pleased with herself for wiping the smile off his, admittedly very handsome, face. “By the way, you still have not told me what it is that you want from my father in return for me.”

“I’ve already told ye that’s none of yer business. Stop askin’ me about it.”

“By being so cagey, you are just making me more curious about it. You say you do not want gold. But what could it be that is so valuable to you that you would stoop so low as to kidnap me?”

“I told ye, ’tis none of yer concern,” he snapped, his cheekbones flushing. “Now, stop the questions and drink yer tea. ’Tis late and we need tae get some sleep. We’ll be back on the road at dawn.”

Thinking it better not to provoke him any further, Constance did as she was told. She felt quite warm and comfortable by the time they had finished their meal. Her clothes had dried on her, and she was looking forward to going to sleep. Fortunately, she was very weary from the journey and hoped she would fall asleep quickly and forget that she was sleeping in a cave like an animal with a mad Scotsman.