Laird of Darkness (2 page)

She twisted and shoved at him, trying to pry herself from his grip, but he was far stronger. Though she thrust her elbow against his torso, it felt like a mere tap. ’Twould do her no good to fight him; she would only injure herself.

“Turn me loose.” She kicked backward, missing his leg by an inch. “Blast!”

Though she struggled, he seized her legs and swung her up into his arms. She weighed less than a thistle flower, and her soft form against him awoke all his primal instincts and urges. He ignored them and carried her from the bush, back along the trail.

“Release me, you blackguard. And show yourself.”

Duncan didn’t appreciate the careless insults she tossed his way. Most people were too terrified to insult him in such a way. He didn’t know whether to laugh or spank her. Mayhap he would do both later.

He made sure her skirts and cloak ensnared her limbs, then made himself visible.

She jumped, glaring up at him. “Bastard! You shall pay for your crimes, I vow.”

He smirked and flicked what he hoped was a disparaging glance down at her. Did she truly think he would heed any of her warnings?

“I demand you take me to MacClaren at once.”

He chuckled. He couldn’t resist, given that she appeared about as frightening as an incensed rabbit. “Do you now?”

“Indeed.”

“’Tis unfortunate then that I’ve never taken orders from lasses, and don’t intend to now.”

“I am Lady Alana Forbes. Sister of Chief Malcolm Forbes.”

“How grand for you.”

“You will have both my brother and my future husband to contend with if you do not release me at once.”

Though her maids kept their distance, huddling near the supplies and campsite, Duncan was certain they were getting an eyeful of his nude body. Her men were a different story. Swords drawn, they limped and stumbled toward him. He couldn’t help but admire their tenacity.

“Close your eyes, lass,” Duncan ordered.

She didn’t.

He vanished and they shot toward the sky.

Duncan lifted Alana higher and higher into the cool evening air, farther from her clansmen. Her stomach flipped and spun, as it had the first time Duncan had performed this flying trick.

She prayed silently, squeezing her eyes closed.

For several seconds, she soared, screaming and wiggling, through the night sky. But Duncan held her arms and legs tightly.

“Release me!”

“Be still,” he growled. “You don’t wish me to release you now, else you’ll fall onto the rocks below.”

’Twas almost as if she’d turned into a bird—a very unnatural state. The shadowy bushes and trees below were tiny. What if he dropped her from such a great height?

But his strong arms were reassuring. Though he had again vanished from sight, Duncan’s body was well wrapped around hers, his intense heat seeping into her skin.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Shhh,” he breathed into her ear.

She shivered. “Nay. Take me back to my party.” What would he do to her? Rape, torture, murder? Her eyes burned, but the wind chilled the wetness on her cheeks.

Moments later, they landed roughly upon gray stone ramparts. The whole of the castle and surrounding countryside spun around her. Alana shook her head, attempting to set everything to rights. “What is this place?”

“Keirness Castle,” Duncan said, materializing and setting her onto her feet. Still, he held her arm. “Careful you don’t fall.”

She focused on his face, trying to control her dizziness. “Who is the laird here?” Maybe she could appeal to…

“I am.”

“Naturally.” Why had she expected anything else?

“Murray!” he yelled down to someone on the ground. “Come to my solar forthwith.”

Her stomach tensed further. “What will you do with me?”

“No more questions.” He ushered her along the battlements, past two heavily armed guards who stared at her with curiosity but remained silent, and down a narrow stairwell. Before she knew it, Duncan pulled her inside a sparsely furnished chamber lit by one candle and a glow from the hearth. A huge bed made of dark wood and covered in blankets dominated the room. She was alone in the bedchamber of a naked man.

Though she was no virgin, Alana blushed just the same. “Do you intend to force yourself on me?”

“Nay.” He scowled as if he had the right to be affronted.

“What are you about, then? Am I to be your hostage?”

Lighting another candle, he waited longer to answer this time. “Aye.” His tone was definite, hard.

Sharp slivers of ice pricked her skin. “Why?”

“That, I cannot reveal.”

“What do you hope to gain? Ransom? I shall give you gold coins if you return me to my party.”

“I have no need of gold.”

In the brightening candlelight, Alana noticed for the first time that he had a wound on his forearm. Three deep scratch marks. They appeared to be from some large animal like a lion or bear. How had he received such an injury? Such creatures did not run wild in Scotland, though she’d heard some kings kept them for depraved sport fighting. As a healer, she had never seen the like, but the gashes appeared to be healing well. Her trained eyes scanned his body for more wounds. He had several scars—as all men did—from skirmishes and training with weapons. Then she noticed another wound on his calf. Bite marks?

“How did—”

One blunt knock struck the door. Duncan opened it and spoke to a man she could not see in the corridor. Murray, she assumed. “Take two dozen men to the loch, toward the south, and bring the party of nine men and four women here. Tell them they must come peacefully if they wish to see Lady Alana alive again.” He then lowered his voice and whispered more words she could not understand.

“Aye, m’laird.” The guard’s footsteps thudded away.

Duncan slammed the door. She glanced about for a sharp object to hurl at his head, but saw none.

“You are a beast. A barbarian! You would threaten my life after you just saved it?”

“You’ll be safe enough—if you do as I say.” His voice held an edge of warning that said he was dangerous, despite the fact he’d saved her life.

She noticed the scarlet birthmark over his heart, a blemish the size of her fist. ’Twas the same spot that glowed when he turned invisible! Alana wanted to know more about his powers of sorcery, but first she must discover why she’d been taken hostage. “You seemed honorable enough until you learned the name of my future husband. Is he your enemy?”

“Aye, and my half brother, unfortunately.”

“MacClaren is your half brother?” Nothing could have shocked her more.

“We share the same mother.”

She glared at him. “Why is your half brother your enemy?”

“My father killed his father in battle, and MacClaren blames me for it, though ’twas before I was born. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.” Duncan’s smirk held no humor. “He has sent more than one man to kill me.”

“I’m sure he has more reason than that, given your knavish behavior,” Alana said, though she knew grudges between clans were held for centuries.

Duncan remained impassive, a surly gleam in his dark eyes.

“I do not wish to be a part of this feud with your brother. ’Tis none of my concern.”

“Half brother,” he snapped.

“No matter.”

“It matters.”

“Does your mother know of your fighting?”

“She died six and twenty years ago.” He sent her a glower full of contempt.

“Pray pardon,” she murmured, staring down at her hands. When had she lost her marsh tea plant? Not that it mattered now. Herbs were the least of her worries. Alana blew out a long breath, wondering if she might appeal to Duncan’s compassionate side…if he had one. “Both my parents are gone, too. My mother passed when I was five, my father last year.” ’Twas unsettling to think she could have something in common with this menacing stranger.

Silent, Duncan knelt and stirred the coals in the fireplace, adding peat. Very well. He had no compassion then, considering the way he ignored her.

She tried not to stare at his nude body, but the sight was too compelling, especially his trim hips. She had never imagined such a muscled arse. And his back, narrow at his waist and broadening as it expanded to those powerful shoulders. What would it feel like to run her hands over him? Simply imagining how hard and strong he might feel sent prickles of sensation racing through her body in shocking and illicit ways.

She forced air into her lungs. Why did he not wear clothing…for her sake, at least?

He was trying to distract her. To befuddle her like a ninny. But she had to uncover the truth. “You can turn invisible and fly. What are you, a sorcerer?” she asked, forcing herself to stare at the one narrow window in the room rather than his nudity.

“Silence. You ask too many questions,” he growled and rose to face her.

“I have a right. You’re holding me prisoner.”

“You’re not in the dungeon, are you?” he asked in a calmer, seductive voice. She puzzled at his change in tone. Did a threat lie in wait beneath it?

“Nay.” She could not decipher his expression. He gave no hint as to his concealed and nefarious thoughts. Before she could prevent it, her gaze dropped for one moment to his most masculine part—his cock. Aye, she knew what it was called. Heat scorched her. Though she was a healer and had seen a few men unclothed, none had a cock as sizable as his, even when not roused. And her former lover, a youth not yet grown into a man, was nothing compared to Duncan.

“Keep up this senseless blathering and you will be in the dungeon afore long,” he muttered. He turned his back to her once again and shook his head.

Alana bolted for the door, flung it open and was almost out when he grabbed her skirts and yanked her back. His hand shoved violently against the door, slamming it shut.

He hauled her up against his body. His very naked, hard body. “You wish to be bound, I see.”

“Nay!” Her pulse thumped in her ears so loudly she could scarce hear.

“I can grant you that wish.” He dragged her to a chest in the corner, opened it and dug inside. She kicked and banged her elbows against him. But this accomplished naught except bruising her own arms and heels.

“Ouch!”

“Be still. You’re hurting yourself.” He withdrew a saffron-colored rope, then tugged her to a straight chair. There he made her sit, and wrapped the rope around her wrists behind her back. The rope was tied loosely, but she couldn’t free herself, though she tried with all her strength.

“You cannot escape that, so don’t even try,” he warned.

“What is it, magical?”

“Aye.” He stopped a couple of feet away, and she found her eyes level with his male parts.

Mortification stung her skin. “Have you no shame or sense of decency?”

“Nay, I regret that I do not.” His amusement only spurred her irritation.

She sent him what she hoped was a spiteful glare. He merely smiled smugly. ’Twas unfortunate that he was out of her reach or she would’ve dented his shin.

His cock had grown much larger than before, jutting out slightly. Had tying her up aroused him? Beast. A shaft that massive was sure to cause his lovers much pain. Or untold pleasures. She could not be sure which. Warmth simmered in the lowest part of her belly and dampness surged between her legs. A vision flared in her mind of lying on a bed naked, her legs thrown unabashedly wide apart with Duncan between, guiding that masterful cock into her. Alana could well imagine how it would feel—a delicious stretching sensation, eased by her drenching moisture. She gasped, shocked at her own response, and slammed her eyes shut. Why was he displaying his body so proudly? Did he wish to frighten—or arouse—her?

He snickered and strode across the room.

“Bastard,” she muttered, glaring after him.

He dressed hastily in a white linen shirt and belted plaid.

She needed to devise an escape. First, she must convince him to untie her. Then, when he wasn’t looking, she would hie out the door or the window. Once her party arrived, her guards would help. “Will you at least treat my men and my maids with kindness? Allow no harm to come to them.”

“Since you ask with such sweetness, I shall grant your wish.”

She ground her teeth. What an infuriating warlord he was. For all she knew, he could be the infamous Laird of Darkness she’d heard rumors about the whole of her life. A man who could single-handedly lay waste to an entire army. He was said to drive well-trained war horses mad, sending them fleeing from battle. The Laird of Darkness could possess weapons and turn them against their owners. A man killed with his own sword or dagger did not die in honor. But survivors fared no better. The legends claimed he would call up violent gales, blowing his enemies into lochs and rivers, drowning them. And most scandalous of all, he slipped past men-at-arms and seduced rival chiefs’ wives and grown daughters…and even a few comely maids, turning their loyalties.

Alana had not truly believed them before, but now she suspected parts of the wild tales might be true.

The exasperating blonde lass sat tied to a chair…not far from his bed. Unwanted arousal simmered in Duncan’s veins and he cursed. Why did she have to be such an uncooperative—and beautiful—hostage? When she surveyed his naked body in such a brazen way, clearly she took pleasure in the view. His instincts told him she was no innocent, despite her blushes and scolding. Nay, her stare was too open, too lingering and daring. She knew something of sensuality and how a man’s body could give a woman pleasure.

By Odin, he wished she was ugly as a pine knot. Then he wouldn’t be tempted to find out what was beneath her dull brown cloak and elegant green dress. Truth be told, she looked like the goddess of light. Long golden hair. Vivid blue eyes like the clear summer sky, full of light and…curiosity when her gaze raked over him, down to his cock. Duncan had not missed the tip of her pink tongue flicking out to lick at her lips.
Och.
He wished to feel it trailing over other places…much lower.

But Alana was his accursed half brother’s future bride. How had MacClaren managed to secure such a fine lady to wife? He had too much good fortune and ’twas high time someone did something about it.

’Haps Duncan was wicked beyond redemption to have such carnal fantasies about her. Still, he must not sample her wares, else MacClaren would refuse to strike a deal.

Duncan slammed and locked the door on his way out of the bedchamber.

By the time he reached the inner bailey, his men escorted her party through the gates.

“Release Lady Alana at once!” demanded one of her escorts. Duncan recognized the whoreson as one of MacClaren’s men.

“’Tis a waste of your breath to order me about,” he said in a mild tone. “Instead, you will follow
my
orders and deliver a message to MacClaren in the morn.”

“What message?”

“If he wishes to have his bride, he is to send the
Dealanach
bow and quiver to me. We will make an exchange on the morrow.”

The man snarled. “You—”

“Shut your maw, or you will spend the night with the rats in the lowest, most foul portion of the dungeon.”

The man snapped his mouth closed, but his reddened face retained its scowl.

“Lock them in the first cell,” he told Angus, his cousin and second in command, then pulled him aside to talk privately. “Set three guards to watch them all night. We will release the two men for their errand at first light. MacCoy and two more men are to lock the maids in the west tower room. And have a kitchen wench bring them all plenty of food.” Highland hospitality must be maintained, even in hostage situations.

Angus nodded his shaggy, dark head. “Aye, Chief.”

MacClaren would be vexed with him, certain sure. Still, this was his best opportunity to gain possession of the
Dealanach
, which he needed above all else. Exhaustion weighed on him. He must have peaceful sleep soon.

Duncan knew he should assign someone to guard Alana, but he did not even trust his own men around her. Hell, she was so exquisite they would likely fall at her feet and beg to kiss her toes.

Nor did he trust beautiful women like Alana. They knew of their own influence over men and used it get what they wanted. Few could resist such persuasion, even knowing the risk. Nay, a lovely face could render a man daft as a sheep.