Seduced by a Rogue (12 page)

Mairi had realized as much as soon as she had spoken, because one of the crew moved then to reset the angle at which the big
sail caught the wind. The helmsman shifted the steerboard then, to take a course very near the wind and no longer heading
toward shore.

Maxwell, apparently realizing that she did not want to talk to him, slipped off his heavy leather jack and rolled it up. “Here,
lass,” he said. “Put this behind you so you don’t bruise yourself against the wood.”

Accepting it with a nod and exerting herself not to reveal that she found the leather disturbingly warm from his body, she
adjusted it to cushion herself. Then she turned so she could watch the water and the shoreline that they followed west.

He had clearly thought she feared him, but she did not. Perhaps she ought to, she mused. But for now, she was grateful to
feel only anger.

She had occasionally been out in a small boat during neap tides, when the rise and fall of the water level was minimal. Also,
she and Fiona had ridden ponies across the open, muddy sands east of the Annan during low tide, when all twenty miles of the
Firth from its head almost to the outflow of the river Nith looked more like a boggy desert—with two narrow rivers through
it—than a vital waterway. The Firth was thus deceptive, and one dared never underestimate its dangers.

Only neap tides came in and went out courteously.

She had heard tales of raiding parties into England mistiming a ride across the sands and hearing what seemed a distant roar.
Men had looked toward it only to see the incoming tide nearly upon them in a six-foot wall of water.

The nearby coast sloped gently to the water as it did near Annan House. The rhythmically undulating water of the turning tide
was brown and silt-ridden.

Comfortably warm in her heavy cloak, lulled by the sounds of the wind in the sail and an occasional rhythmic thumping of oars,
she drowsed.

When she opened her eyes, the sun was halfway to the western horizon and Caerlaverock Castle was coming into view, with the
mouth of the river Nith beyond it. Apparently they had to head right into the wind now to follow the coast.

The sail was down, and the oarsmen were rowing hard.

She recognized the great ruin of Caerlaverock easily, because the previous year she and Fiona had traveled with their father
and Phaeline to Threave, the Lord of Galloway’s great stronghold on an islet in the river Dee. Galloway lay much farther west,
making her wonder just how far the little galley would take her.

She stole a glance at her captor, who stood amidships, eyeing the sky and casting glances coastward, mayhap judging the depth
of the ebbing tide.

He truly was a fine figure of a man, she thought, for an unprincipled villain.

Wondering if he was daft or just much more dangerous than he had seemed at Dunwythie Mains, she wondered, too, what he would
do with her.

His apparent comparison of her abduction to the way his helmsman steered his boat had made little sense, as little as his
suggestion that by abducting her—capturing her, he had said—he could save untold numbers of lives.

Such a claim was absurd. It was also infuriating.

How outraged she had been when he had scooped her up so effortlessly, ignoring her struggles and useless cries, and carried
her to his boat. She was still furious, come to that. But she had concealed her fury just as she had whenever such strong
emotion had stirred for almost as long as she could remember.

Venting her emotions had rarely won anything but punishment and censure for unladylike behavior. So she had learned to control
her outbursts.

By heaven’s grace, she would continue to keep her temper until she could better judge her situation and the man who had stolen
her. By then, she hoped she could devise an argument that would persuade him to take her home.

Whatever else he might do, she would not, under any circumstance, let him provoke her into losing control of herself.

Rob sensed her anger again. It radiated from her in waves even when she did not look at him. But he began to wonder if her
continued silence might be due only to the presence of his men. He hoped that was all it was and that she would express herself
more easily when they reached Trailinghail.

It had occurred to him only after he had captured her that he had terrified her. At the time, he had merely seized his opportunity
without sparing a thought for her feelings. Hardly an excuse, but he had done it and could not undo it now.

Having become certain after talking with Parland Dow that disaster must result if Dunwythie’s recalcitrance spurred Alex to
invade Annandale, Rob had decided to see to the matter himself, not only to prove that he
could
influence Dunwythie but also, and more important, to avoid an outright clan war that could affect any number of clans both
great and small.

Believing that Alex would pursue no violent course during the holy season of Lent, Rob had set himself to work out the details
of his plan with care.

Alex clearly believed that Dunwythie’s stubbornness was ill-willed, that he was simply defying the sheriff’s rightful authority.
But Dunwythie just as clearly believed that
he
was adhering to legal, time-honored tradition.

Lady Kelso had reinforced much of what Alex had said to Rob, primarily with regard to one’s duty to one’s clan but also regarding
his habit of retreating to Trailinghail whenever Alex infuriated him.

Rob had never thought of his visits that way. He had loved the tower since first visiting his grandparents there. That it
had provided a summertime escape from Alex’s stern guardianship was true, so he could see how Alex might perceive those visits
as he did. However, Rob had given no thought to living there permanently.

His tenants’ delight over the improvements he had made did make it clear that
they
hoped he might make his home there. He would certainly not mind staying longer than usual. And with a hostage to look after,
he would have good reason.

Other details had brought form to his plan. The unusual frequency with which thoughts of the lady Mairi had leaped to mind
had led the way.

She’d had a strong impact on him from the moment he’d met her. Having no sisters and little memory of his parents, he had
no idea how most men felt about their daughters. But he knew how
he
would feel about one such as she was. Surely,
her
father, having known the lass from birth, would value her even more. Would Dunwythie not therefore do whatever he must to
ensure her safe return?

Sakes, Rob told himself, looking at her, any man would!

Aware that his brother’s patience with Dunwythie, never long, had neared its end, Rob had decided he would have to settle
the matter before Easter.

Having nearly six weeks until then, he had not meant to act so precipitously.

Impulse had occasionally led to his undoing in the past, and he had promised himself each time that he’d take greater care
in future. But it was useless to make that vow now. The deed was done, and the tide was ebbing.

By now, the water was so low in the upper Firth that even if he’d wanted to take her back, they would run aground long before
reaching Annan. But he did
not
want to take her back, for a multitude of reasons having naught to do with the tides.

Chief among them was that if he could get Dunwythie to submit, Clan Maxwell would gain considerable power, increase their
wealth, and everyone would avoid war. Also, surely, the administration of the dales would be fairer for everyone under one
sheriff, and local government would run smoothly.

There were risks, though, not least of which was the Lord of Galloway. The best course with Archie, Rob had decided, was to
see that Dunwythie submitted and brought the other lairds into line quickly and without raising a dust.

As to Dunwythie, Rob’s objective was to persuade the man without drawing suspicion to himself. But he had not yet decided
just how to approach Dunwythie when the time came.

In the meantime, he meant to make the lass as comfortable as anyone could.

These thoughts, mostly reassuring, poured through his mind for some time between issuing orders to his crew, covertly studying
his captive, and taking his helmsman’s place for a few miles now and again to let the man stretch—until he realized he was
just trying to assuage his feelings of guilt for taking her.

Aside from the flashes of anger he had detected, she had not even protested her capture. At present, she watched a pair of
otters playing and seemed content, so he did not disturb her.

The men took to their oars and rowed whenever an especially strong current challenged their course or the fickle wind briefly
shifted to a new quarter. Between bouts of rowing, they rested. But when they entered the widest part of the Firth, where
wind and tide grew more turbulent, Rob set them all to rowing steadily.

Noting that the lass had put up her hood and huddled against the stem locker to avoid the wind, he went down the narrow center
walkway toward her.

Her gaze met his, and he detected serenity in her eyes again.

When he was near enough, she said, “Prithee, sir, take me home.”

Mairi saw a blizzard of oystercatchers flash through the air behind Maxwell as he stood there, apparently frozen in place
by her polite request.

Then, with a hand to the gunwale, he shifted to lean his well-muscled backside against it. His booted feet were near those
of the first-bench oarsmen. Holding her gaze, he gently
shook his head and said, “You know I cannot do that.”

“Why not?”

“Lass, the tide is nearly four hours into its ebb, and the sea here is roiling like water in a fiery cauldron. Surely, you
know how the upper part of the Firth must look by now. Not only will it be dark in two hours but this boat would not get two
miles beyond the river Nith before grounding in mud. Sakes, it would be sooner than that, because this wind would be of little
aid against the power of an ebbing tide. As it is, we’ll have an exciting ride into the bay.”

“Which bay? Where are we going?”

“Kirkcudbright Bay,” he said.

Noting puzzlement in his expression, she knew that her steadily quiet, reasonable tone was surprising him. Clearly, he had
expected temperament and tantrums, behavior of which Fiona was certainly capable but which Mairi avoided.

The mental image of her sister, flouncing about, declaring her privileged life to be
beyond
unfair—as she frequently did—nearly made Mairi smile.

He reacted to that near smile, too, with a slight one of his own.

Good, Mairi thought. If she behaved reasonably, he would do likewise. Then doubt stirred upon hearing an echo in her mind
of Fiona declaring that if people would only treat others kindly, the others would react with equal kindness.

She knew less about this man in front of her than she knew about the Jardines of Applegarth. But after all she had heard about
that fractious family, she knew she would be unable to persuade herself that quiet reason would win any argument with them.