Stuart, Elizabeth (5 page)

While
Donald struggled with preparation of the meal, MacLean stared morosely over
their back trail, one foot propped on a decaying log. Fidgeting with a broken
twig, Anne studied the intimidating expanse of his stiff back, attempting to
screw up her courage to approach him. It was now the better part of a day since
she had been abducted, yet she still had no clue about her future. During these
last hours, she had imagined every hideous fate, and she was determined to have
the matter out before they went another step.

She
moved to stand a few paces behind MacLean. "My lord. I would speak with
you now."

He
turned, eyebrows raised in surprise at the interruption.

Taking
a deep breath, she lifted her chin and returned his haughty stare. "You've
kidnapped me at great peril to yourself and your men, and have now dragged me
over a goodly portion of Scotland. I would know to what purpose."

"Have
you never wondered at your value to your father?" he asked after a moment
of thoughtful silence.

"If
you think to harm my father through me, you've been badly misled," she
said bluntly. "He's not cared enough to see me in over three years."

"I
speak not of affairs of the heart, for Robert of Glenkennon doesn't have
one," MacLean scoffed. "I'm talking of value in cold, hard gold.
Glenkennon needs an alliance with one of the wealthy Scots clans, for both the
increased military strength, and the gold he'd get for offering such a prize.
And it's my guess you'll more than answer the need," he added, his knowing
gaze appraising her. "I can name a dozen or more lords who'd pay
handsomely to have a lass like you warm their beds." His eyes narrowed.
"Not to mention their future political advantage in a blood bond with
Glenkennon."

Anne's
face flushed hotly, and she glanced away, unable to meet the cold contempt in
his eyes. She had always known she must marry to please her father but had
never thought of it in such bald terms. "And why should that interest
you?" she asked, struggling to steady her voice.

"Because
that makes you valuable to the earl. He'll pay anything I ask to have you
returned safely."

"So
you plan to make him buy me back?" She bit her lip, her anger rising as
her sense of helplessness and ill-usage grew. "Didn't you take a foolish
chance for a few bags of gold... or is that why you sent Donald to do the work
while you stayed safely in camp? Were you afraid, m'lord?" she mocked.

She
was sure he would have struck her had she been standing closer. The blazing
fury in his eyes made her stumble back a step.

"I've
no fear of the English, if that's what you mean," he snarled, "and
I've nothing but contempt for Glenkennon and his kind. The earl prefers to gain
his ends by guile and treachery in the dark of night rather than by honest
strength and wit... and Kincaid's nothing but his lackey, and a blundering ass
to boot! We were never in any danger. Even you should have realized that!"

Hands
on hips, he gazed at her, an arrogant smile curling his lips. "Did you
know we followed you from the moment you left ship yesterday morning, just
waiting for the best moment to strike? Donald led the raid because we didn't
wish the fools to know our identity. He even grew that beard these last weeks
on the chance one of them might recognize him as my man.

"You
were an easy plum to pluck, and one that will be quite useful. Your capture was
no more trouble than that," he added with a snap of his fingers in the air
before her.

Anne
struggled to keep her temper. He had slandered her father and her countrymen
and indicated she was naught but a pawn to be bought and sold for gold. The
arrogance of the man! He thought—no, he knew—she could do nothing!

Then
a tiny dart of fear tempered her rage. Her father would blame her if MacLean
made a fool of him....

MacLean
turned abruptly, dismissing her with less concern than he would give a servant.
She glared at his back, silently vowing to overset his plans. It would take him
down a notch to be outwitted by a woman. And perhaps —just perhaps—her father
would be pleased with her for once.

Lunch
was a silent and uncomfortable meal with the angry words of the two hanging
like a pall over the group. Anne took the food Donald handed her without
comment, forcing herself to chew and swallow the gamy meat. After all, she
reminded herself, if she could escape, this just might be the last meal she
would have for some time.

At
the end of the meal Donald doused the fire and covered all signs of the
makeshift camp. He led her toward her mount, smiling at her encouragingly. "Francis
is in one of his black moods, lass. They seldom last for long, so pay him no
mind."

Anne
remained silent; in fact, she barely heard the man. Her mind was busy devising
and rejecting wild plans of escape. She knew she must take the men by surprise,
and even then chances were slim that she could successfully evade recapture.
She had no food or water or even the remotest idea where she was, but she vowed
she would rather starve in the wilderness than proceed meekly along with
MacLean's plans. Surely if she made her way south, she would come across search
parties sooner or later. But first, she had to find a way to escape MacLean.

Her
chance came shortly after they had traversed a narrow mountain pass that knifed
through the rugged barrier of rock rising about them. Donald leaned forward
over his mount's right shoulder to study the rocky trail. "My nag's
favorin' his right foreleg," he shouted to MacLean. "I think we'd
best be takin' a look."

Without
so much as a glance in Anne's direction, MacLean dismounted. The two men knelt
in the dirt, absorbed in their inspection of the animal's hoof.

Anne
watched them carefully. Neither one paid her any mind as she eased her mount a
few steps past them on the trail. Now was the time.

In
a flash, she was away. She bent low over the mare's neck, urging her on, and
the animal responded with a burst of speed that hurtled them down the narrow
trail and onto a short expanse of open moor.

Glancing
triumphantly over her shoulder, Anne could just make out the look of astonishment
on the faces of the two men. Their surprise bought her a few seconds of
valuable time, but it wasn't much. Seconds later, MacLean threw himself into
the saddle, and the chase was on.

In
spite of her early lead, Anne quickly realized Mac-Lean's big gelding was
gaining on her. She lashed the mare with her reins. "Come on, sweetheart,
run!" she begged. The animal answered with another surge of speed.

The
narrow expanse of heather-covered moor ended abruptly with a steep, rocky slope
twisting down to a shallow burn. Anne drew rein and the Highland-bred mare
frantically shortened her stride. She plunged down the slope, scrambling and
sliding, but miraculously remaining on all four feet.

Breathing
heavily, Anne clung desperately to the saddle as the mare took the stream in a
flying leap and was away again across the next hillside. Anne whispered a
prayer of thanks that she was still in one piece, then settled herself more
deeply in the saddle.

Chancing
a quick glance over her shoulder, she noted that MacLean had dropped back
slightly. He had taken the slope at a more sensible pace than she, but she knew
her lead was only temporary. The big chestnut would quickly gain ground on the
open hillside where he could stretch his muscles. Her only hope lay in entering
rougher terrain where the agility of the nimble mare might lend her some
advantage over the speed of MacLean's stronger mount.

She
turned the mare up the rock-strewn hillside and onto the rough plateau above,
dodging boulders and stubby bushes at a frenzied pace. She knew it was folly
traveling in unknown country at such breakneck speed. Just one false step could
throw her to her death—but she urged the animal on.

Ahead,
a craggy hillside surged up from the barren plain like a scraggly giant,
cutting off Anne's route of escape. Behind it, gaunt mountain peaks rose darkly
against the sky, marching one after the other into the distance as far as the
eye could see. It was a moment of decision. Right or left? She cut to the
right, praying her choice was correct.

Without
warning, the plain ended. A narrow expanse of uneven, rocky ground sloped
steeply on one side to a deep, narrow gorge. On the other side, the sheer
granite face of the mountain frowned down at her disapprovingly. Slowing the
laboring mare, Anne searched frantically for a way out of the glen. A low cry
of frustration escaped her. She was trapped!

In
desperation, she kicked the mare across MacLean's path toward the narrow edge
of the ravine. Above the labored breathing of the mare, she heard his shout of
warning. She ignored it, hoping her mount had the speed to beat the chestnut to
the gorge.

The
mare was game, but after the morning of hard travel, she could not summon the
strength necessary to outdistance the gelding. MacLean pulled alongside her, his
face stiff with rage. God in heaven, what would he do to her now?

The
Highlander snatched the reins from her hands and swung the horses in a long,
slow arch, gradually bringing them to a halt. Anne clung to the saddle, sick
with dread. Surely he wouldn't kill her...

As
the lathered animals stumbled to a standstill, Mac-Lean slid from his mount.
Her jerked her from the saddle with a snarl of rage. "Fool! What in God's
name were you trying to do?" His powerful hands crushed her shoulders in a
painful grip, and he shook, her until she thought her bones would be ripped
from their sockets.

She
instinctively struck at him, kicking hard with one foot while she shoved
against his chest. Caught off guard, MacLean stumbled back in surprise, losing
his footing on an unsteady rock and dragging her down with him.

He
took the brunt of the fall against his shoulder, holding her carefully away
from the rocks. They hit the ground, rolling together down the incline to the
grassy expanse below.

A
seasoned fighter, MacLean kept his grip on the girl as they tumbled to a halt
in the cool, spring grass. He pinned her down with his weight, holding her
easily, despite her struggles. Ignoring her useless attempts to free herself,
he captured both her wrists in one powerful hand and stared down at her.

The
girl lay beneath him, her golden hair spread like a halo around her pale face,
her moist lips parted as she panted for breath. Her breasts rose and fell
rapidly against him with her shallow breathing, while her terrified eyes gazed up
into his own.

His
grip on her tightened slowly. He could feel the frightened thud of her heart
against his chest—or was it his own that beat so furiously at the feel of her
beneath him? He was intimately aware of the soft ripeness of her body, of the
velvet smoothness of her skin against his callused palm. His anger slowly
faded, a much more powerful emotion taking its place.

In
the distance the wind moaned brokenly over the rocks and a nesting grouse cried
for its mate. Lost in the fathomless blue of the eyes now raised to his,
MacLean heard nothing. With his free hand, he stroked a tangled strand of loose
hair back from Anne's face, feeling the pulse in her wrist leap frantically
beneath the fingers of his hand. A hint of awareness flickered in her eyes, and
she went painfully still beneath him.

Seconds
ticked past. He swallowed heavily, ignoring the unexpected urgings of his body.
God's blood, he didn't need this!

Rolling
to one side, he dragged her roughly to her feet. "Did you think to kill
yourself and my horse as well by that stupid trick? You're lucky you're not
broken to pieces riding like that in this country!"

Anne
stared at him silently, her chest heaving with fear. He might kill her now with
not even Donald to say him nay.

"And
just what did you think to gain by that foolish flight?" MacLean continued
more gently. "You can't possibly know where you are, lass, or even in
which direction to run."

The
black rage was gone from his face. Her heart steadied to a more regular beat
and she glared up at him, purposely recalling his arrogance back on the trail.
"I thought to give you a bit more trouble than that," she said,
snapping her fingers beneath his nose.

He
stared at her uncomprehendingly at first, then the corners of his lips quirked
upward and his eyes began to dance. "So you set out to prove you're no' so
easy. I meant naught against you; 'tis Kincaid who's the fool." His eyes
teased her as his fingers tightened on her wrist, drawing her toward him.
"I doubt any man would have an easy time of it with you, lass."

She
looked at him in renewed alarm, the memory of his body pressing hers into the
grass still unsettlingly vivid. "You're... you're hurting my arm,"
she stammered, dragging back.

MacLean
noted the flash of fear in her eyes. His grip loosened immediately, but he
maintained his hold on her. "Let's see to the horses," he said,
suddenly matter of fact. "And God help you if you've injured my favorite
mare."

She
followed him back up to the crest of the slope where the horses stood quietly
cropping grass. While Anne held the reins, MacLean ran gentle fingers over the
legs and sides of the mare, carefully searching for any sign of injury. After a
time he seemed satisfied.