Brigand (8 page)

“This girl? This prisoner you’re holding here?”

“Yes.” His voice became suddenly clipped.

“The boys are saying, well…word is you’re fucking her.”

Ewan glared at Colin. The man was his best friend, his
confidant. He didn’t care for the glint in his eye. Or his tone. “Who I’m
fucking is my own business.”

“She’s a lady. Of Quality.”

She hadn’t been much of a lady this morning, warbling in his
ear. Clenching his cock with that tight, warm cunt… He scuttled the thought.
She was a lady. She deserved to be treated like one.

He would. Tonight…

“They feel, if you’re fucking her, they should be able to as
well.”

His gut seized. The hell! He glared through the open door
into the great room. Who was it? Was it Rory? Tavish? Craig? He’d string them
up by the apples. Unable to sit still, he pushed back his chair and paced.
“This is hardly a democracy,” he snapped. And Ewan St. Andrews McCloud did not
fucking share.

Colin sighed. “I’m just saying, if you want them to keep
their distance, you’d better stake a public claim. Let them know she’s
off-limits. You know these men. They would follow you into hell. But they’re
not exactly gentlemen. If they see her as free game, they’ll take her.”

Rage sizzled, prickled his skin. “If any one of them touches
her, I’ll skin him alive.”

“Tell them that.” Colin sat back and laced his fingers over
his belly and studied Ewan with a steady gaze. “I thought she—what’s her name?”

“Violet.” Violet. And she was his.

“I thought this girl was just a means to an end.”

“She is,” Ewan snapped. He didn’t mean to snap. Hell, he
didn’t mean the words. But he was furious. She had been a means to an end at
first—nothing more. But that had changed. Last night everything had changed.
And he—

A small, strangled sound at the door captured his attention.
He spun around and froze. Violet, with a tray in her hands, stood there rooted
in place, staring at him. Her eyes were wide, beautiful, flooded with an
emotion he couldn’t bear to define.

“Y-your breakfast,” she whispered. She made her way into the
office, walking stiffly, slowly, as though she had to will her muscles to move.

Oh, fuck. She’d heard. She’d heard everything. It would be
hell talking his way out of this. She set the tray on the table and, without
meeting his simmering stare, fled.

Shit.

Ewan glared at Colin; he chuckled.

“Go on,” he said. “You’d better go after her.”

Raking his hair—though it hardly helped—Ewan did.

Violet pattered down the steps of the keep to the shore,
barely able to focus. Pain stabbed her chest, the spot where her heart had once
beat. It was dead now. Shattered by the force of two small words.

She’d heard those words before. Thousands of times. Such
simple words.

She is.

This time, this one time, they destroyed her.

She collapsed at the bottom of the stone stairs and set her
palms on her burning cheeks. Gasped for air. The weight on her soul was so
heavy she could barely breathe.

“I thought this girl was just a means to an end.”

“She is.”

The words rang in her head.

Oh, how could she have been so foolish? How could she have
been so blind?

She was a means to an end and nothing more.

His whole reason for bringing her here had been to make her
pay for all he’d suffered as a boy. Pretending to love her, seducing her had
been his plan all along.

He was a more sophisticated fiend than she could ever have
imagined.

A sound echoed off the fog and Violet started. She shot a
panicked glance up the steps. Was he following her? Oh, she couldn’t bear it.
She couldn’t bear to see his expression as he admitted what he’d done and
mocked her for falling as hard and fast as she had.

In fact, she couldn’t bear to look at him ever again.

She leapt to her feet and ran down the rough pebble beach,
out of sight of the watchtower. Her steps stalled as she spotted the small
pier.

A boat—a dinghy—was tied to the pylon, bobbing gently on the
wash of the waves. The one Colin had come in, presumably.

No one had thought to guard it.

She should get into that boat and flee.

She ignored the trickle of fear, the snake writhing in her
belly at the thought of being on the water. Her gaze flicked over the placid
river. It was so deceptive, how peaceful and calm it appeared. She knew it
would swallow her like a tasty morsel if she let it.

She set her chin.

Well, she wouldn’t let it.

She could do this. She could row across the Tay to the far
side of the shore. She could make her way to Perth—surely it was to the west.
She could find someone who would help her get home. Where she would be safe.
Where she’d never have to see Ewan McCloud ever again.

Although the damage was done.

She would never be the same.

* * * * *

“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” He didn’t mean to
bellow, but fuck! It was a small island. There were only so many places a girl
could hide. When Ewan had gone into the kitchens, where he was certain she had
fled, Morna and Jessie had looked up from their baking, surprised at his
intrusion. They’d assured him she hadn’t come back.

So he’d checked the solar. Surely that was where she would
have gone to pout. But she wasn’t there either. Nor was she in any of the musty
unused rooms of the keep. Or in the cellar. Or the washhouse. Or the garret.

He’d become concerned then and sent the all men—including
Colin—out to search the island. After hours of hunting, she still hadn’t turned
up. Dread prickled at his nape. Where the hell could she be?

The thought of her hiding somewhere, curled up and cold, or
worse, injured and helpless, devastated him.

“Ewan?”

He spun on Colin with a furious snarl. “What?”

“My boat is gone.”

His heart thudded. Once. Then ceased to beat altogether.
Pain swelled in his chest. His head went light. Acid churned in his belly and
crawled up his throat. She wouldn’t have… She couldn’t have. She was frightened
to death of the water. Always had been. There was no way she would have stepped
into a dinghy on her own. Someone must have taken her.

His gaze scorched the assembly, taking note of each familiar
face. Rory was there. And Tavish. Jessie and Pip. Mungo. Hell, they were all
there.

Except Craig.

Blinding rage buzzed in his brain.

He’d kill him. He’d tie him to the parapets of this decrepit
castle and—

Craig rounded the corner, slapping the dust from his sleeve.
“Well, she’s not in the garderobes.”

Ewan stared at him. As furious as he was with the man, he
wasn’t happy to see Craig. Not in the slightest. Because that meant Violet had
to have taken the boat. And she was out there alone.

The river had a wicked current when the tide changed. More
than one idle fisherman had found himself floating on open sea when the fog
lifted.

He scored his fingers through his hair. Panic skirled in his
veins. His brain refused to function. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t bear it
if she…

Hell. He couldn’t even think the word.

Thank God for Colin. He sprang into action, barking out
orders like the military man he was. “You men, signal the shore to send over
the other boat. You three, take the backup dinghy by the old chapel and head
toward Dundee. Search the shore on both sides of the river. Go as far as the
North Sea if you have to.”

Faced with these indomitable commands, the men scattered.

It seemed to take an eternity for the men posted on the far
side of the river to row over. Ewan glanced up at the sky and frowned. It was
getting late in the day. Soon the sun would slip behind the hills and
everything would be shuttered in shadows.

“Can’t they move faster?”

Colin’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ewan. We’ll
find her.”

Finally—finally—the skiff scraped the shore. There wasn’t
room for everyone, just Colin, Ewan and Wolfe. He clutched the tattered
remnants of her old dress. If he needed to, he would use his faithful hound to
track her down.

Rowing together they made speed, heading toward the west
bank. But they didn’t dock. When they got close, they turned left and followed
the shore to the south.

It seemed they rowed for hours with no sign of her. Ewan was
about ready to give up—surely she could not have come this far, not a small
girl with no experience maneuvering a heavy boat all on her own. But then he
saw it. The prow of his purloined dinghy thrusting from the underbrush.

Dizzying elation, boiling relief and howling rage fought for
dominance in his mind. He pressed them all down in favor of resolute
determination. He would have her back. In his arms. Tonight. Or die trying.

* * * * *

Violet paused, leaning against a tree and clutching her side
as she gasped for breath. She kept looking over her shoulder but there was no
one there. No one following. She probably didn’t need to keep up such a mad
pace but she was frantic to find some kind of shelter before it got too dark to
see.

The woods were thick and gloomy. The sun, far in the west,
was beginning to set. The air had taken on a bitter chill. The thought of
spending the night huddled in the bushes didn’t appeal at all.

She was miserable enough as it was. She hadn’t thought to
bring food or water with her on her headlong flight. And the shoes Jessie had
given her didn’t fit right. They probably would have been fine for clomping
around the keep but she’d traveled miles over woodsy terrain and now they
chafed at her heel and blisters were forming on the side of one foot.

Her belly growled and she sighed, peering through the
falling murk. Why did the wilds of Scotland have to be so…wild? What she
wouldn’t give to find a kindly crofter’s hut or a hunting cabin.

With a low growl to herself—which accomplished nothing—she
hoisted herself from her repose and kept going.

It was almost near dark when she found a rutted track
snaking through the woods. It was so narrow she almost missed it. She took a
moment to get her bearings. It wouldn’t do to head back the way she came. It
was a challenge because there was no sun by which to navigate, but she figured
she should turn left. That would send her south. Or…west. Either would work.
Either would take her farther away from the river. And the Cloud.

She stumbled several times, once banging her toe painfully
on a root and once nearly falling on her face, but she kept going. She was
rewarded by the sight of a dark, looming shadow.

Usually dark, looming shadows in the woods would be ominous.
But this one was shaped like a house. A small house, but a house nonetheless.

She approached it carefully. It was seated in a small
clearing, surrounded by tall trees. The windows were dark. She softly knocked
on the door. There was no answer. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, she
turned the knob. Delight scudded through her when the door swung open.

She peered inside. “Hullo?”

No response.

“Hullo?”

Again, nothing. The cabin was empty.

She left the door open—there was a little light from the waning
moon but not much—and fumbled, searching for a lamp. She found a candle on the
table and a tinderbox on the mantel.

As light flared, her trepidation burned away.

It was a cozy little cottage. Nothing fancy. Just a table
and chairs, pantry and a bed in the corner.

It was the pantry that caught her attention.

She started the fire that had been mercifully laid in the
hearth and riffled through the food stores.

In her previous life, she would never have dreamed of
breaking into someone’s house and stealing their food—especially not someone of
such modest means. But she was desperate. She found a wheel of cheese and some
oatcakes and an apple. That, along with a cup of water from the rain barrel,
filled her belly and sent contentment clear through to her soul.

After she ate, she sat by the fire, taking in its delicious
warmth. She would never turn her nose up at a simple meal ever again, she
thought with a yawn. She glanced at the bed and shivered.

Dare she lie down and fall asleep?

The thought of walking through the night horrified her. As
much as she wanted to reach some kind of civilization, her thighs burned, her
ankle pinged and her feet just plain hurt. All of her muscles ached.

It would probably be best to rest here a while and leave
again at first light. It would be easier to make her way through the woods with
the sun to guide her. And it would be stupid to leave this comfortable cradle
to wander aimlessly in circles all night. And it was cold out there.

Yes.

She would rest.

Sleep claimed her as her head touched the pillow.

* * * * *

Ewan’s tension ran high as they made their way through the
dark woods, following Wolfe’s lead. Thank God he’d thought to bring the dog.
After sniffing Violet’s dress, he’d taken off like a shot, stopping only
occasionally to snuffle the ground.

But they’d gone for miles now and there was still no sign of
her. It was full dark and the woods were treacherous. There were no animals to
fear but Ewan knew this forest—he had a hunting cabin here. More than once he’d
come upon men engaged in nefarious work. Smugglers, highwaymen, criminals
running from the law… He shuddered at the thought of Violet in their
clutches—brutally exorcizing the niggling reminder that he had been all of
these things at one point or another in his career.

Wolfe stopped and lifted his nose, gleaning scent from the
air. He bayed once and took off again.

“Come on,” Ewan snapped at Colin, who was trailing in his
wake. He’d been panting at their pace for the past hour.

They followed the dog and emerged in a clearing.

His hunting cabin. And there was smoke curling from the
chimney.

Ewan’s heart stuttered as Wolfe ran up to the door and
started sniffing madly at it.

What were the odds?

That she would come here.

Without hesitation, he opened the door and peered inside.

Relief—sweet, coiling relief—gushed through him at the sight
of Violet’s slight form curled on the bed, limned in the light of a dying fire.
A tiny snore rumbled through the room.

He nearly collapsed.

“She’s here.”

“Thank God.”

Ewan nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair. When he
thought of the disasters that could have befallen her out in these woods,
utterly alone, his pulse surged again. A new emotion deposed his anxiety.

Fury.

Fury that she’d run from him. Fury that she’d put herself in
peril. Fury that, hell, she’d left.

They’d only been apart for a day and his soul roiled and
churned to be with her again. Something inside him, some beast, snarled to,
once again, claim dominion over her.

Colin’s chuckle ripped him from his reverie, dismal though
it was. “Aren’t we going in?”

Ewan blew out a breath. “I’m going in. I don’t think she
would appreciate witnesses. Can you go back to the Cloud and let everyone know
we found her? I’ll bring her back tomorrow. It’s a much shorter walk if you
follow the track. It leads straight to the pier.”

Colin’s eyes glinted. A grin split his face. “I don’t envy
that girl when you get your hands on her.”

Ewan grunted. Anger rode him hard. Anger and frustration and
some odd brand of joy.

He’d found her.

But he would make damn sure she never ran from him again.

Colin whistled for Wolfe and the two made their way back
down the track. Ewan waited until they disappeared before he opened the door to
the cabin again. He needed a little time. To rein in his whipping emotions.

If he went in there straightaway, he’d probably turn her
over his knee.

Hell. He might do that anyway.

As it was, he didn’t turn her over his knee. He went into
the cabin and sat by the fire and nibbled the remnants of cheese on the table,
and watched her sleep.

He shouldn’t have. It was galling. It was painful. It was
frightening.

When the hell had he come to care so much?

Oh, he had loved her when he was a boy, no doubt about it.
But those feelings had been dead for years. This new emotion, this was something
else entirely. It wasn’t sweet or pleasant or warm.