Laird of Darkness (3 page)

He must make sure he did not turn into a sheep.

All her life Alana had dreaded the day she would have to part from her family to meet her future husband. Her father had arranged the marriage a year ago, just before his death. Her brother was now chief and newly married. Soon, he and his wife would start a family. So should she.

But this day had turned out far worse than she could’ve ever imagined. ’Twas not the first night with her new husband that alarmed her, but this night captured by an outlaw laird. Would he starve her, beat and abuse her? Or would he leave her alone in this room all night?

She did not fear much, but facing pitch blackness without even her maid near recalled nightmares of rats attacking her in the dark when she was but a girl. Now, she glanced about the floor for vermin, but could see naught in the dimness. At least she heard no scurrying. Alana strained against her bonds but the magical rope held firm. She’d set on this hard wooden chair so long her arse was numb.

“Bastard,” she muttered and laid her head back to stare up at the ceiling. The glowing embers of the hearth provided the only light, the two candles having been blown out by a gust of wind from the narrow window. Beyond was darkness, faint flashes of lightning and low rumbling thunder in the distance.

The lock rattled and the door opened. Duncan entered, carrying a candle. His gaze lit upon her immediately, clearly making certain she was still his captive. If only she could’ve escaped, waited behind the door and smashed a heavy object into his head when he’d entered.

“Place the tray on the table,” he said.

A maid entered and did as he bid, then left silently. Likely, he was a tyrant with his staff, if the way he’d treated her was any indication.

Appetizing scents reached her nose, fresh bread and roasted fowl. Her stomach growled.

“How are my maids? My guards?” she asked.

“Well.”

“Where are they?”

“In comfortable lodgings and well fed.”

His word meant naught to her, but Alana hoped he spoke the truth. Without doubt, he was going to torture her with those delicious scents of food while he ate.

He set about lighting more candles around the room, then stirred the coals in the fireplace and added more peat.

“In the morn, the two MacClaren guards will deliver a message to your betrothed. Pray he pays the ransom.”

“And if he doesn’t? Will you kill me?”

Duncan lifted one black brow. “Mayhap. Or something worse.”

Did he mean it? She caught a slight quirk of his lips before he turned away. Not a malevolent grin, but a boyishly amused one. By the saints, his threat was a ruse! But MacClaren wouldn’t be privy to that knowledge. Still, this realization eased her worries. Duncan had, without doubt, committed many dubious acts, but he wasn’t an evil man.

“I do not fear you, Duncan MacDougall.”

“Nay?” he asked lightly.

She shook her head. “You are filled with empty threats.”

“’Tis not wise to make such assumptions.”

“Then ’haps I am unwise.”

“Indeed.”

His dark eyes mesmerized her. She had never seen a man so damnably handsome. His blue-black hair gleamed in the candle’s glow like sleek silk. Because of his bewitching looks and his ability to vanish at will, she wondered if he was a descendant of faeries. She had heard of such people but never met any.

“How are you able to disappear?” she asked.

“You’re a bold lass to ask such a question.”

She lifted her chin, for indeed she was bold. Everyone had always said so, and she wouldn’t stop now. If he was one of the Fae, he would be difficult to defeat or outsmart.

“Does your half brother have the same ability to vanish?”

He smirked. “Nay.”

Thank the heavens. She would not marry a man who could disappear. And she most definitely would never marry a Fae.

For a long moment, Duncan could not remove his attention from the lass.
Alana.
A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Her hair was like strands of white gold, and her skin smooth as ivory rose petals. And those blue eyes…
Och!
What was wrong with him? His intelligence was withering. He might start baaing like a daft sheep in a matter of minutes.

He turned his back and stalked to the open window. She was his brother’s bride, not his. He did not want a wife. He dared not pass his Fae blood on to offspring. If MacClaren was foolish enough to do that, so be it.

A strong wind struck Duncan’s face and blew his hair back. A gale must be storming in off the sea. Lightning burst through the sky. MacClaren was known to command the weather at times. Did he already know of his bride’s capture? Maybe he was so vexed he was shooting those precious lightning arrows, hoping to kill as many of the MacDougall clan as possible. After all, he had twelve arrows per day to waste, and each time one struck stone, lightning flashed.

Those magical arrows—how Duncan yearned to possess them, to shoot them with all his strength at the ruthless monsters of the night. The old druid had told him only those faerie arrows would kill the beasts. Then, he would have peace within himself. Peace to sleep at night.

In the past, he had set into motion other plots to steal the bow. But his mother had placed a spell upon him and MacClaren, preventing them from stepping foot onto each other’s lands. Therefore, he couldn’t slip into Castle Claren himself. He had sent his disguised men inside four times previous, but they were all unsuccessful. His half brother kept the bow locked up and well guarded, and never took it with him when he left his holdings.

Duncan’s plan would work. It had to. He would never have such a prime opportunity again.

“Are you Fae?” Alana asked.

He glared back at her. She talked too much. Asked too many questions. He liked women who silently did what they were told. Didn’t he? If that were the case, why did he look forward to hearing her voice and her impetuous remarks?

Truth was she fascinated him. A brave, curious lass who didn’t fear the Laird of Darkness. He knew of his reputation, how parents frightened their children with scary stories to make them behave.
Be good or the Laird of Darkness and his monster minions will cart you away to the cold, dark land of Otherworld.

He snorted and faced the window again.

His wicked reputation had come when he was but a lad of seventeen—though he appeared a man full grown. His father had just died, and his enemies had thought to invade, capture the castle, rape the women and steal the cattle. But Duncan had proven the new chief was not someone to trifle with. Using his Fae powers and any weapon at his disposal, he’d personally killed the leading chieftains, both seasoned warriors, who stormed the castle and several of their men. His own men saw that day he was a strong leader despite his youth, and though outnumbered, they rallied behind him and successfully thwarted the two rival clans who’d banded together. Before long, the tales of him, his men and the battle had been exaggerated to legendary proportions. His fearsome reputation kept any foes at bay, allowing his clan to live in peace.

“I’m hungry.” Alana dragged him from his thoughts. “And the smell of that food you brought makes my stomach ache. Will you share?”

Duncan moved the tray and set it on the table, then repositioned a chair for himself closer to her. From the plate, he tore off a chunk of bread. As he turned to her, he broke off a bite-sized piece then held it before her lips.

“Are your hands clean?”

He sighed. “Aye.”

She opened her mouth, and he pushed the bread inside. When she closed her lips, his fingertip grazed her lower one. Arousal burst through him like an arrow of lightning. By the gods, it had been too long since he had bedded a wench. How long? He knew not. Months. His cock now stood at attention beneath his clothing, yearning.
Och
. ’Twould feel like paradise to slide inside her hot, wet cunny. Whether she was virgin or no, she would be tight and sweet.

Alana ate the bread quickly, as if famished. He might take a hostage, but he wouldn’t starve one. Once she swallowed, he gave her another piece of bread. Strangely, he found it rewarding to feed her. He’d love to feel her straight white teeth sinking into his shoulder while he treated her body to all sorts of wicked, driving pleasures.

He tore off a bite of tender fowl meat and gave it to her.

“Mmm.” She chewed and licked her rosy lips. That pink tongue was hellishly tempting. She swallowed, bringing his attention to her throat. He hungered to kiss and explore the delicate skin there.

“Might I have a sip of wine?” she asked, her voice husky.

“Aye.” He poured red wine into a silver goblet. Carefully, he held it to her mouth and tipped it up. Those lips…he wanted to know what they felt like against his own. Were they silky? Her throat muscles again worked as she swallowed.

He removed the goblet. “Enough?”

She nodded.

He should kick himself for being so kind to her. But she had to eat, and he could not yet release her. While he fed her, Duncan studied the details of her lovely face, her smooth ivory skin, her darkening blue eyes, and grew more aroused.

Again he offered her wine and she drank. The goblet tipped too far and red droplets trickled from the corner of her mouth. She licked at them but couldn’t reach them.

Impulsively, he leaned forward and licked the trail of wine. She drew in a quick breath and held it.

Mmm.
’Twas not the flavor of the wine he savored, but the sweet warmth of her satiny skin. A few drops of the wine slid all the way down her neck. Leaning forward, he traced his tongue along it.

A tremble coursed through her body. Her cloak was thrown open, though still tied at the collarbone, and her breasts thrust out. Glancing down at her exposed cleavage, he wondered if her nipples were hard beneath the corset. He hated those damned contraptions. A woman’s breasts should be free and proudly on display, concealed by naught but a thin smock. ’Twas likely his Fae side that rebelled against human clothing customs.

Even her floral scent intoxicated him, making him long to bury his nose between her breasts. Attempting to rein in his lusts, he drew back. When Alana opened her eyes, they were dark blue and the long-lashed lids heavy. With her lips parted and her skin flushed, she appeared as carnally inclined as he. Damnation, he had aroused his half brother’s future bride. How wicked he was.

Truth be told, he was entranced by the way she responded to him.

Alana couldn’t believe the fire in her veins, and it had naught to do with the wine. This dark and dangerous rogue had cast a lustful spell on her. She craved his lips on her, his tongue trailing over her skin, like when he’d licked the wine from her chin and neck. What other places on her body might he explore with that sinful tongue? Her nipples ached to feel his mouth upon them. And lower, beneath her skirts, between her legs, warm moisture saturated her. She craved that most virile male part of him he’d proudly displayed earlier. What would he feel like?

“Are you a virgin?” he asked. His observant eyes told her he already knew the truth of it. But the words were like icy water showering down on her head.

“Of course! ’Tis rude of you to ask such a question.”

He smirked. Oh, how she detested that smirk. He thought he was so clever, divining her responses like a man with much experience in the bedchamber. She must be most careful and not allow him to see her arousal. But he had caught her unawares with that lick. Who, with their wits about them, did such a thing to a stranger?

“And do not lick me again, sir.”

He didn’t bother to hide his broad grin this time. “You enjoyed it.”

Indeed she did, blast him. She couldn’t foil her attraction to him. ’Twas beyond her control.

“I enjoyed it, as well,” he said.

Oh, heavens! Might he try licking her again? She swallowed hard, unsure if she was excited or terrified by that prospect. “If you use me, your brother will not want me. He will not pay you the ransom.”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed and he shoved to his feet.

Good. She would hold off the seducer with threats that he would not get what he wanted. Now, how could she escape these ropes?

“Would you untie me, please, so that I might use the privy?”

“Nay,” he snapped and stalked across the room.

“You are a barbarian.”

“Indeed, I am.” Again, he stared out the window at the lightning, his broad shoulders tense. The wind howled and caused the candles to flicker.

“Well then, I suppose I’ll have to piddle on your beautiful Turkish carpet. ’Tis a most lovely weave with colors of blue, gold, scarlet—”

He made a sound between a grunt and a growl, then strode back toward her and untied her hands. “If you try to flee, you will be punished.” Taking her elbow, he led her swiftly toward the door.

She wondered what kind of punishment, but dared not ask. He might torture her with seduction, licking her all over. A shiver sparked through her. Or he might do something painful, like whip her. Nay, she didn’t think it would be anything too terrible. After all, he had fed her with his own hands and allowed her wine. If she could win him over, she might figure out a way to escape.

Once she had finished using the garderobe, Alana adjusted her clothing and stepped out into the corridor where he waited, his expression most stern in the dim candlelight.

’Twas time to put her second strategy into motion. She needed time alone, unbound, to find an escape route. She scratched her skin as if fleas were devouring her.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Are you diseased?”

“I have a skin affliction and must bathe once daily with a special herb. If I don’t, my skin will redden all over and hideous bumps will appear. ’Tis in my satchel, which was on my horse. I ask that you have someone bring it to me.”

“Saints! You are a bothersome hostage.”

“I’m certain you wouldn’t wish to fall victim to this affliction, would you? It itches dreadfully.” She scratched her neck, hopefully making it red.

“Cease scratching! I shall have the servants bring up a bath and the satchel.”

“Oh, I thank you.”

He grunted. “Back into the solar with you, then.” He motioned her forward. “Maude,” he called to a female servant at the other end of the corridor. “Have a bath brought up to my solar and make haste.”

“Aye, m’laird.”

Alana entered the chamber again and sidled up to the warm hearth. The wind outside the window whipped and gusted.

“The gale is violent this night,” she said.

“Indeed.” He closed the wooden shutters.

“And tomorrow MacClaren will be just as vexed.”

He glowered at her.

“He very much wanted me for his bride, and he will do anything to get me back.”

“Let’s hope you’re right. We shall see if he will pay my ransom.”

“How much did you ask of him?”

“’Tis naught to concern yourself over.”

“Hmph.” Why wouldn’t he tell her? He’d said he didn’t want gold. “Are you exchanging me for another hostage?”

“Nay.” His shuttered expression and churlish tone made her want to kick him.

Moments later, an army of both male and female servants arrived with a wooden tub and buckets of hot water. Several of them eyed her with curiosity. Once they’d finished filling the tub, they left.

Duncan strode out, too, slammed the door, then locked it.

She ran to the window and shoved open the shutters against the violent wind. Fierce droplets of rain stung her eyes. Squinting down through the grim darkness at the only source of light—a lantern in the guardhouse—she couldn’t believe how high she was. At least four stories. “Blast.” She couldn’t jump that far. Though she didn’t relish being outside in this storm, neither could she remain Duncan’s prisoner. What if MacClaren refused to pay the ransom? He didn’t know her after all.

She scurried to the two giant chests in the corner. Each of them opened easily enough but contained only Duncan’s clothing.

Muttering a curse, she straightened, her eyes scanning the room.

The magical rope
. She retrieved it from the floor behind the chair. Nay, it was too short, only about as long as she was tall. Sighing, she dropped the rope and paced across the floor.

The only thing left was the bed.
Aha!
She would tie the bedclothes together and climb down to the ground.

She yanked at the top blanket, and the door opened. She swung around and froze.

Duncan stepped into the room, his glare more severe than usual. “What are you about? I thought you wished a bath.”

Alana dropped the covers and clasped her hands. “Um…aye, I do. But I have need of my herbs. Did you fetch them?”

He held the brown leather satchel up before her and she took it.

“What were you doing?” he asked.

“I was but…eh…straightening and turning down the covers for you.”

“Are you thinking to share my bed?”

Heat scorched her face, while a different sort of flame licked through her body at the image his words evoked. “Nay. I would never!”

He lifted a brow and moved closer. “Are you certain of that?”

She nodded. Somehow she must find the strength to resist and deny him. Anyway, he did not frighten her. She would not back down from the knave but faced him head-on. When he stopped, his chest was an inch from her chin and still she glared up into his heavy-lidded midnight eyes.

“You will get into the bath,” he said softly.

With him watching? She shook her head. “Not now.”

“Why?”

“I require privacy.”

His scent was pure masculine enchantment, spicy and musky. Slowly, he lifted a hand to trace a line along her cheek with a roughened fingertip. His thumb brushed her chin and her sensitive lower lip. Tingling awareness shot to her breasts, then deep into her core. She forced herself to hide her response, to lower her gaze from his, to breathe normally. But he trailed his fingertips downward, along her throat, over her frantic pulse, to her collarbone and the exposed skin above her breasts.