Page 9 of Savage Kilted Highlander (Temptation in Tartan #9)
CHAPTER NINE
S he left him clearing away the meal and stole out to relieve herself. Outside, the rain was still pouring, but she avoided it by staying within the lee of the cave. Once she had answered the call of nature, she stood for a few minutes and held her hands out, allowing the cold rain to wash the muck from her hands. Then, she let it run over her wrists, soothing the welts from her bindings.
When she went back inside, he was standing up, taking off his boots. She was ready to roll herself up in her blanket by the fire and go to sleep. So, she was shocked when she saw he had laid out two blankets side by side on the ground, as though he expected her to sleep next to him. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. It was something she simply could not countenance. Even sleeping in the same room… cave… as a man was beyond the pale. Her reputation would be ruined if anyone ever found out!
She bent down and picked up one of the blankets, intending to move it to the other side of the fire. “What d’ye think ye’re doin’?” he demanded, putting his boots neatly aside by the fire to dry.
“Is it not obvious? I am moving this blanket over here.” She indicated the spot where she intended to sleep.
“Put it back.”
“I shall not put it back.”
“Ye damned well will,” he growled, striding over to her and snatching the blanket from her hands. He laid it back down it its original position. “Ye’re sleepin’ here, next tae me so I can keep an eye on ye.”
She shook her head vehemently. “No, it is quite impossible. You cannot make me!”
His features darkened with barely suppressed anger. Resolute as she was, Constance’s heart quailed when she looked in his eyes. For a terrifying moment, she feared she had gone too far, that he would hurt her, never mind the ransom.
But he did not touch her. He only spoke to her. In a low, menacing tone of controlled anger, he said, “Oh, ye think I cannae force ye, d’ye? We’ll see about that! This is how much I care fer yer reputation.” He snapped his fingers. “I care nae a whit fer it.” He stabbed a large finger at the blanket. “Now, stop yer complainin’ and lie down there where I tell ye!”
“No.”
“Lie down!”
He took a step towards her, his glare so threatening, she knew she would have to comply. Yet her pride would not allow her to go quietly. She railed at him, “Very well, since you have bullied me into it, I see I have no choice. But I want you to know how much I hate and despise you for making me do this, as I hope you hate and despise yourself.” Reluctantly, she sat down on the blanket but on the farthest edge. “When Laird Kerr catches you and I tell him the indignities you have inflicted upon me, I am sure he will punish you severely.”
“Ach, hope all ye want, but he’ll never get the chance. I’ll be long gone by then,” he told her dismissively, tossing another blanket over her. Awash with shame and embarrassment, she held it to her chest, finding a little comfort in the illusion of security it offered. The thought of spending the coming night alone with him, right next to him, had her squirming with disquiet. She half wished she was back at Ashbourne Manor. Anything would be better than the ordeal this Scottish monster was putting her through!
She struggled to decide which was the lesser of the two evils.
I can stay and endure this. Or I can try to run.
In the circumstances, as he had already made very clear, the former seemed the lesser of two evils.
Even if he did not catch me and punish me, I would soon get lost in the dark and rain. I might even be attacked by a wild beast and killed!
“I despise you, you inhuman monster!” she hissed, finally giving in and laying down, pointedly turning her back on him. She pulled the blanket over herself and huddled into it, making sure to cover up any bare inch of flesh. With a grunt, he laid down next to her and, thankfully, covered himself up too.
Constance lay stiffly, afraid to move. It took her a few moments to realize she was still wearing all her clothes, including her wet boots. Annoyed with herself for forgetting such an obvious thing, she reluctantly stirred herself enough to push the boots off one by one with her feet. She kicked them away before tucking her feet back under the blanket.
She could feel the heat of the fire, but there was also a different sort of heat burning her back. She realized with a shock that it was coming off the man lying next to her. Although they were not actually touching, it was as though his body was pressed against hers and tiny, hot flames were licking up and down her skin, even inside her clothing.
It was startling, a sensation like nothing she had ever felt before, as though every nerve in her body were standing on end, alive and alert to the body next to her. She screwed her eyes shut, deeply confused, certain there must be something badly wrong with her to find it comforting… exciting even, to be near him.
But he is my kidnapper, my captor! What does it say about me that I find him so attractive? Young ladies like me are not supposed to feel that way.
Suddenly, surprisingly, something dawned on her, something she could hardly believe she had overlooked.
“What is your name?” she asked without opening her eyes.
At first, there was silence. Then a deep, grumpy voice muttered, “What?”
To her surprise, he sounded half asleep already. That put her at ease a little. It suggested he truly had no intention of molesting her, not that night at least. But that did not mean it would not happen at some point. She resolved to remain vigilant until she could escape.
“You have not told me your name. What shall I call you?”
“Bane. My name is Bane. Now shut up and go tae sleep.”
Deciding it was probably safe to do as he said, she relaxed and allowed her tired mind to wander. Bane. What a peculiar name, she thought, rather liking it.
It must be Scottish. And it is quite fitting too. He is certainly the bane of my life!
She tried to put him out of her mind and think of Agnes instead. She wondered what her twin sister was doing at that moment. Was she sleeping in her comfy bed? What would she say if she knew her twin sister had been kidnapped in her place, a case of mistaken identity? She could only guess, but she was glad in a way that it was her. She did not want Agnes suffering, not ever. It was fate that had chosen her instead of Agnes to undergo the ordeal of being abducted and held to ransom.
Though she and Agnes had never met, Constance felt a constant, painful longing in her heart that reached out through the ether for her twin like curling tendrils of smoke. And somewhere in the space between them, she was certain that Agnes’ identical longing entwined with hers.
After a while, she became aware that Bane’s breathing was becoming slower and deeper. The warmth he was emanating was delicious. She briefly toyed once more with the idea of running and immediately dismissed it. A full belly, the sound of the rain pouring down outside, the comforting warmth of the crackling fire, Bane’s soft, regular breathing, and his radiant heat were lulling her. The thought of moving was very unappealing. Feeling strangely safe and comfortable, she snuggled into her blanket and gave herself up to sleep.
Bane awoke feeling wonderfully warm and with the scent of roses filling his nostrils. On opening his eyes, he realized his nose was resting against a soft, white neck amid a mass of soft auburn hair. That was the source of the sweet scent. He also realized that his arm was slung over the sleeping woman lying next to him, from whom the delicious warmth was radiating. The sensations running through his body were both new and intensely pleasing. He lay very still, wanting to enjoy them for as long as he could, knowing that as soon as she woke up, they would cease.
He thought about what he had to do that coming day. There was still a lot of ground to cover, rough ground too. He did not think they were far enough away from the long arm of Ewan Kerr to be completely safe yet. During his painstaking preparations for the abduction of Lady Agnes, he had planned out their route so as to avoid the main roads, sticking to the forest trackways and back lanes. If the rain kept off, he hoped they could cover at least another ten miles that day. That meant an early start.
So, when dawn’s light began to creep into the cave, he knew they had to move. However, it was with great reluctance that he carefully removed his arm from the shapely curve of Constance’s waist and extricated himself from her warmth, managing not to wake her. He stood up, dusted himself down, and pulled on his jerkin and boots before going to inspect the fire. Amazingly, there were still a few embers burning. He added the last of the wood Constance had gathered and built up the blaze. Then, he set the water for tea to boil and went to look outside.
The vivid pinks, purples, and yellows of dawn spread across the heavens, brightly illuminated by the rising sun. The rain had ceased, and it was too early to gauge whether it would return. There was still a lot of water on the ground, meaning there would likely be copious mud to traipse through along some of the trails. That would slow them down considerably. He thought they would be lucky if they did not have to get down and guide the horses through a quagmire, but he hoped for the best. He had no choice if Tav was to be freed.
Nevertheless, he felt bad for putting Constance through all that. He could just imagine her reaction if things got tough. But again, it had to be done.
A stiff, chilly breeze was blowing in from the east. He stretched his limbs and yawned, letting the cold air wake him fully. He focused on the fact that in just a few days’ time, he would be handing Constance over to her father and he would get his brother back.
He checked on the horses. They seemed happy enough, and there was plenty for them to eat and drink. He relieved himself behind a tree, then refreshed himself in the stream, splashing water over his hands, face and neck. On his way back to the cave picked up a few more bits of firewood, intending to keep the fire going to have their breakfast. He had some more provisions in his pack.
When he got inside, he halted, surprised to see Constance was awake and kneeling by the fire, her blanket draped over her shoulders. She had removed the pan of water from the fire, and with the upended packet of dried tea leaves in her hand, was adding them to the boiling water and stirring the mixture with the blunt knife.
I should never have left her alone with the knife!
Flooded by a mixture of self-recrimination and fear, he watched her warily in case she tried anything. He had the knife he had taken from her, the one she had tried to stab him with, in his belt, along with his dirks. But he had forgotten the little knife.
“I see ye helped yersel’ tae the supplies,” he said caustically, stepping closer to the fire, keeping his eyes on the knife.
“I am thirsty and cold. You were not here, so I decided to see to it myself,” she replied calmly, still using the knife to stir the tea. She gave every appearance of unconcern about her possession of the potential weapon, but he did not trust her. He edged closer, picked up a stray stick and poked the fire with it, coaxing it back to life.
“Ye and yer kind take what ye want whether it belongs tae ye or nae,” he said, irritable at his own carelessness.
“Well, this example of my kind is trying to make herself useful. I would have thought you might approve, as the tea is for you as well.”
“Ye’re puttin’ way too much tea in,” he said, noticing how cavalier she was being with the tea leaves. “Give that here.” He knew he must seem petty when he leaned over and snatched the packet from her hand, crumpling it in his fist, but he wanted to distract her from the knife lying next to her.