Page 14 of The Laird’s Guardian Angel (Highland Lairds #3)

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I f the brute thought she was going to be quiet, he had another thing coming.

Calliope had never been one to sit down and keep her mouth shut. Her forthrightness and her habit of pushing the boundaries of every social edict and rule had been a constant trial to her mother.

Just because her mother was gone, her father murdered, and she was in a foreign land at the mercy of one particularly large Scotsman did not mean she was going to change completely who she was.

The war inside her was loud and insistent. And yet, for now, she sat back and was quiet. Calliope would not respond hastily. If she was going to survive, she had to put her impulses aside and plan.

First, she needed to understand the layout of the land and pick out landmarks that would help her return to Ramsey's lands. These roads were wild and untamed, and everything looked the same, especially in the dark. The little light provided by the moon was not enough, and her eyes stung from tears and exhaustion, making it harder to see.

If she were going to return, she'd need to concentrate on the route taken. And yet, that idea was better drummed up than served, however, because every time she thought she'd picked out a good landmark, like a massive bolder, hollowed-out tree or mark in the road, they passed by three more just like it, as if the road itself had been designed to confuse any would-be strangers of the land.

Fed up with not getting anywhere, she finally asked, "How do you navigate these roads? Everything looks exactly the same?" And just as she said, they passed by two trees, both with only three limbs left pointing to the right. For heaven's sake, nature was mocking her.

The man behind her grunted, the rumble of his chest tickling her back. "I just know it, lass."

"You just know it?" She couldn't help the exasperation in her tone. "How? Do you think to yourself, ah, aye, I have passed by the ten identical boulders and three willow trees next to the row of pines?"

He chuckled as if she'd said a joke, which she was happy to remind him she had not.

"Instinct." That was all he said. Instinct as if that were an acceptable answer.

"There has to be more to it than that," she coaxed, short of turning around to throttle him.

"All right," he sighed, sounding annoyed as if she'd asked him to explain something quite difficult. Which, perhaps, it was, now that she thought about it. "'Tis by the stars."

Calliope glanced up, the twinkling lights overhead glowing gold in the darkened sky. Growing up, she'd always been fascinated by the stars, but anytime she tried to ask about them, her mother hushed her, and Edgar said they weren't a ladylike topic. They seemed to make patterns and shapes to her, and they looked different when she was in one place or another. Could there be some truth to that?

"What do the stars tell you?" she asked, at the risk of a rebuke.

"They form a pattern which I follow."

Relief washed through her that he'd not belittled her for her curiosity. As she squinted up, her head fell back to rest against his chest while she considered the star-studded sky. So, she had been right. Perhaps Edgar and her mother hadn't realized, and all of her questions had made them feel small.

"What pattern?" She could make out shapes if she drew one line to the other, but how did one decide what shape to make?

"Well, if ye look there," he pointed somewhere overhead, she couldn't quite make out. "That is the plow, mirroring our work on the land. Ye see it? The handle and the blade?"

Now she did see what he meant, it was fascinating.

"But how do you know the direction?"

"The tip of the blade points toward the north star. I know as long as I'm following that, I'll cross my lands."

Sinclair made it sound so simple. She could practically hear the shrug in his voice.

"The north star," she mused. "Is there a south star?"

The warrior shrugged, jostling her body. "I dinna know. I just go in the opposite direction."

That would be what she did, too. She smiled.

"Fair enough." And exactly the point she was hoping he'd make. The man had just unwittingly taught her what she needed to know to make her escape. If she went in the opposite direction of the north, she'd make it back to Ramsey lands. Except… she'd have to be certain she only left at night. That wasn't acceptable to her. "And one more question."

He let out a heavy sigh as if she were truly taxing him.

Calliope ignored him. "What about when it's daylight?"

"Placement of the sun in the sky. Why are ye asking me all these silly questions?"

She shrugged, annoyed that her actions didn't jostle him, and she prayed he didn't ask her to explain herself. "Merely curious." Calliope stopped asking questions, not wanting to attract more of his curiosity. She'd gotten what she was looking for. When the sun rose on the morrow, she would follow its pattern in the sky to determine how she could use it for direction.

"Dinna be curious anymore."

Calliope could have laughed at his directive, but judging by his tone, he was earnest. How utterly ridiculous.

Well, no matter, she was tired. She'd slept maybe an hour before her castle had been attacked, and the ensuing horror of her father's murder and her escape had left her completely and utterly exhausted. Until now, she'd barely noticed the ache in her muscles and bones. But as they rode, and the heat of the warrior's body sank into hers, she allowed the gentle rocking of his mount to lull her into a sleep.

She was abruptly woken when he released a shrill whistle, which felt like seconds later, tearing her from a dream she couldn't quite remember.

Calliope startled upright, her head bumping against his chin. A muttered curse came from the warrior, which she ignored as she glanced around, trying to ascertain where they were, who he was, and why she was on a horse when she should be in bed.

In seconds, the full brunt of what had happened tunneled back into her, nearly threatening to toss her from the horse.

"Zounds," she muttered under her breath, and even that small expletive barely scratched the surface of what she was feeling. What she'd been through. What she'd learned.

She'd yet to confess to Alistair Sinclair what she'd heard the Englishman say to her father. She didn't know if it was true for one thing, but for another, she wasn't sure she could still trust him. Aye, he'd picked her off the road, offered protection, and even went to scout her castle and the village. But, she knew little of the Scots' ways other than what her mother had told her. And if her mother was to be believed, then she couldn't trust anyone outright.

Calliope shuddered, wishing she could pass back into unconsciousness. The constant whirr of her mind and reminders of what she'd been through made it feel as though she was living in a nightmare she had no say in creating. From one terrible event to another, her body and mind had been flung. And now this.

"No need to be scared, lass. We're at my castle, Dunbais."

Calliope blinked, the massive fortress coming into view. There was a strong difference between this one and Ramsey Castle. The keep was nearly twice the size, and the walls thrice. She could have still climbed them, but it would have taken longer, and she preferred to do it with a rope. Fine, she'd get a rope. No walls and no warriors were going to keep her locked up.

"Dinna speak when we arrive," Alistair warned.

Calliope frowned at his odd demand. "What? Why?"

"Trust me, lass, ye'll no' be welcomed if they hear your English accent."

"Oh." That bit of news woke her up a bit more, and she sat up straighter. "But I'm a Ramsey."

"Makes no difference. With the way ye speak they may no' believe the claim, even with my support, and at the verra least they will resent your presence."

"Why would I let you take me inside if your people will resent me? I won't be safe in there. I might as well go back to Ramsey. In fact," she sat up taller, prepared to dismount, even though they were still mid-movement. "I think that would be best. I'll deal with the English on my own."

The warrior caught her hips in his grasp, the warmth of his fingers and the gentleness with which he held her in place a startling contrast to the forcefulness of his words. "Ye'll do no such thing. I've offered ye my protection, and ye must trust me."

"Why should I? I don't know you." But even as she said it, glancing behind her, she realized there was something familiar about the man.

Madness had finally taken over, she decided. She did not know Alistair Sinclair. She wouldn't have known him before leaving Scotland as a girl and certainly hadn't crossed paths with him as she grew up in England. This was merely her exhaustion, sparking her skin to rise on her arms.

"I've offered ye my protection, and ye have my word ye'll be safe. That is enough." There was such strength and confidence in his words that she wanted desperately to believe him. And yet, he still managed to irritate her all the same.

"How dare you tell me what is enough when it comes to my own thoughts and decisions." A woman ought to have the right to speak her mind.

Was it her imagination, or did the man just roll his eyes at her?

She blinked, and he stared down at her, his lips a firm line.

"If ye wish to defy me, by all means, but ye'll only make it harder on us both. I want what is best for ye, lass. I can promise ye protection and that we will lay siege to your castle. I will return it to Scottish hands. I vow it."

Calliope nodded slowly, though she noticed he did not say he'd return Ramsey Castle to her hands. Simply Scottish hands. Alistair Sinclair, the rat, was still not planning to give her back her castle then.

She'd just see about that.