The Laird's Captive Wife (6 page)

‘They burned my home and slew my family. I was the only survivor.’

‘How came you to escape?’

‘I wasn’t there. I’d gone out for a ride and when I returned…when I returned the rest were dead.’

‘I see.’ He paused. ‘Where was your home?’

‘At Heslingfield.’

‘Heslingfield!’

‘You know it?’

Recalling only too vividly what he had seen there, he could understand her earlier reticence. He would not revisit the nightmare now. ‘I know
of
it. Lord Cyneric was its thane, I think.’

‘Yes. He was my father.’

‘I never met him but his reputation went before him: a brave fighter by all accounts. He had two sons I heard tell.’

She nodded and blinked back treacherous tears. ‘They died trying to defend our home. Ethelred fell beside my father. I didn’t see Ban’s body and there was no time to look.’

‘How did the Normans find you?’

‘They had not gone far by the time I returned. When they saw me they gave chase. I thought they would kill me too at first but Fitzurse…Fitzurse had me taken to the barn and stripped. He meant to take his pleasure and afterwards let his men take theirs.’ She drew in another ragged breath remembering every detail of the ordeal at the Norman’s hands, the fear and the humiliation and the impending horror. The stranger was silent, waiting. Ashlynn’s gaze was on the ground and she missed the expression of pity and anger in his eyes. ‘Before he could do what he intended, your men arrived and launched their attack. In the confusion I tried to run away. The rest you know.’

‘Where were you heading before the Normans found you?’

‘North, over the border.’

‘You have kin there perhaps?’

‘No. I’d hoped to reach the court at Dunfermline and perhaps enter service there, but I didn’t exactly have time to make a detailed plan.’

He did not miss the ironic edge to the tone but let it go.

‘The border country is wild and dangerous; too dangerous by far for a woman alone.’

‘There was no other choice.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ He paused. ‘You never told me your name.’

‘You never asked.’

One dark brow lifted. ‘I’m asking now.’

‘Ashlynn.’

‘A pretty name and most apt, I find.’

As he spoke he knew the words for truth. Dougal was right: most men would find her a welcome addition to their bed. Unbidden his mind went back to the scene by the river and relived it with startling clarity. He indulged the memory for a moment and then pushed it away. That kind of distraction had no place in his scheme of things.

Unable to follow his thought and uneasy beneath that apparently dispassionate gaze Ashlynn forced herself to meet his eye.

‘You still have all the advantage.’

‘Aye, I believe I do.’

‘Is your identity such a closely guarded secret that I may not know it?’

This time irony was underlain by a hint of impudence. Moreover, there was an expression in those blue eyes that was almost provocative as though she were testing the boundaries. It was tempting to show her just how close those were, but again he let it ride. His turn was coming.

‘No secret, my lady,’ he replied. ‘I am Iain McAlpin.’

The name seemed strangely familiar somehow though it resisted precise identification. It niggled like a bad tooth. Earlier she had heard him say they would stay at Hexham that night. Where exactly? Surely no inn could cater for so large a party. Had he friends then who would give them shelter? His men called him lord. Lord of what? Where was Dark Mount? The missing pieces of the puzzle plagued her. Rather than labour over it she decided to ask. The answer was given readily enough.

‘Dark Mount is a fortress at the head of Glengarron.’

‘Glengarron!’

‘Aye.’

She was suddenly very still as, in one moment of total comprehension, the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

‘You are the Laird of Glengarron?’

‘That’s right.’

Ashlynn felt her stomach knot. In her relief at having escaped the hands of the Normans she had put herself into others every bit as dangerous, for who in the north of England had not heard of Glengarron or the man they dubbed Black Iain? It was small comfort to think she had no gold, nothing with which to trade for her freedom, in short nothing to tempt him at all. Then she remembered his earlier conversation with Dougal and her cheeks paled.

‘What are you going to do with me?’

‘I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll come with us as far as Jedborough at least.’

‘Jedborough?’

‘Aye, I’ve business there. When it’s concluded I’ll make my decision.’

She drew in a deep breath and tried to get her voice under control. ‘You could leave me at Hexham.’

‘I could, but I won’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘It doesn’t accord with my plans.’

Incredulous she glared at him but the gaze that met hers was unwavering and utterly disconcerting. Indignation swelled like a tide.

‘Why should I co-operate with you?’

‘Because you won’t like the consequences if you don’t.’

The threat was thinly veiled despite the mild tone with which it was delivered and, for a moment, it hung there between them. Given his previous experience of her, he was half expecting an outburst of rage. It never materialised, though her chin lifted at a defiant angle. In spite of himself he was amused and oddly touched. With somewhat grudging admiration he acknowledged that the lass had spirit as well as looks.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘My future can be of no interest or importance to you.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘Then the only reason for holding me is concerned with profit.’

‘Good enough reason, in my view.’

Ashlynn strove against rising panic. ‘Leave me at Hexham.’

‘I have just said I will not. The matter is closed.’

‘I cannot…I will not go with you further.’

The dark gaze met and held hers but now there was no discernible trace of humour in it.

‘You can, my lass, and you will.’

Chapter Three

T
he question of how to free herself from her captor exercised Ashlynn strongly now. What she would do after effecting an escape was uncertain; the important thing was to get away and find somewhere to hide. Somewhere he wouldn’t think of looking. When he failed to find her he would perhaps give up for all his efforts seemed to be directed towards reaching Scotland. What was his business in Jedburgh? Who was he meeting there?
‘After that I’ll make my decision.’
Since she had no close kin who might ransom her, there was only one other way for her captor to profit. The Scots frequently seized prisoners on their raids across the border. Slaves were a valuable commodity. She shivered. Was this what the brute intended? The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. That being so, the more necessary it was to prevent it.

The first stars had appeared before they reached the outskirts of Hexham and already frost glittered in the blue twilight. The frozen breath of men and horses hung in the still air as the group drew rein and dismounted before an imposing walled manor. Ashlynn looked around her, taking in the house and the courtyard with its outbuildings and churned snow, while the men led the horses off towards a big barn. Then Iain took hold of her arm and guided her towards the house, a large rambling affair of timber and stone. A servant hastened to open the door and the laird strode into a large hall, drawing his captive with him. It was dimly lit and passages led off it. She was conducted down one of these and thence to a door off to the right which the servant opened. It gave on to a small bedchamber. The man set down the candle on the table and then withdrew.

Ashlynn cast a furtive glance around. The chamber was clean but sparsely furnished. There was a window, now shuttered fast, and a fire burning in the hearth. By its light she took in table and chair, a stand with a basin and ewer on it and, most prominently, a bed on the far side by the wall. With calmness she was far from feeling she turned to face Iain. The confines of the room served only to emphasise that powerful presence, and he was watching her now with an unnervingly penetrating gaze. Her chin tilted a little and, forcing herself to return that steady regard, she waited.

‘You will sleep here this night,’ he said then. ‘I will have food sent to you shortly.’

‘Whose house is this?’

‘Does it matter?’

The tone brought a tinge of colour to her cheeks. ‘No.’

‘There are things it is better not to know.’ He paused. ‘You should try and get some rest. We have another long ride ahead of us tomorrow.’ With that he turned to go.

At those words all her earlier desperation revived and she caught hold of his arm. ‘Why will you not leave me here? Surely the price of one more slave matters little to you.’

‘I told you that the matter is not open to further discussion.’

‘I disagree.’

His hands closed on her shoulders, drawing her closer. The dark gaze bored into hers. ‘Your opinion on the subject is irrelevant. I am the law here and you’ll do as you’re told.’

Ashlynn bit back the angry denial that sprang to her lips. He
was
the law here, every last arrogant inch of him. He was also very strong and much too close for comfort. She could feel the warmth of his hands through her clothing and the curbed anger behind his gaze. His face came much nearer to hers. Dangerously near. If he bent his head their lips would touch. The realisation both shocked and excited.

‘Do you understand me?’

‘I…yes.’.

‘I hope for your sake that you do, lass.’

Unable to think of anything to say Ashlynn remained silent. He had half-expected her to argue further but when she did not the anger faded from his eyes and was replaced by something else entirely, something she could not name but which sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with winter cold. Iain leaned closer, breathing the smell of wool and sweet air from her clothing and beneath it, the scent of the woman, subtle and arousing. The response caught him unawares and he drew a deep breath, mentally upbraiding himself. There could be no dalliance here, however tempting the thought might be. Slowly he pulled away from her.

‘I must leave you now for I have other matters to attend to,’ he said then. ‘Get some rest, Ashlynn.’

His hands relinquished their hold and she was free. She remained quite still, watching him cross the room. He paused a moment on the threshold.

‘If you require anything else let the servant know.’

As the door closed behind him she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. She tried the latch anyway. The door didn’t budge. For a moment she leaned against it, listening to the sound of his departing footsteps. When at length they died away she moved slowly back to the hearth and warmed herself before the fire, staring down into the flames, her thoughts in chaos.

* * *

Some time later the servant reappeared with a tray of food: good white bread and a large earthen pot of a fragrant meaty stew. She ate all of it for the long ride had sharpened her appetite. The food did a great deal to banish the chill and restore her spirits. By the time she had finished it was full dark and the edges of the room were blurred in shadow. She glanced at the bed. There seemed little else to do save sleep but at least it would be a welcome oblivion. Removing her cloak she undressed to her shirt and then curled up beneath the fur coverlets.

* * *

Having left Ashlynn’s chamber Iain was heading for his own quarters when he met Dougal.

‘Are the men settled?’

‘Aye, my lord.’

‘And the injured?’

‘They too.’

‘What of the lad we found at Heslingfield?’

‘In poor case. If it hadn’t been for the cold slowing the blood loss, he’d have died long before we found him.’ Dougal paused. ‘Have you told her?’

‘No. She believes that all her kin were slain.’

‘You really think he is kin? He might be just a servant.’

‘They’re related all right,’ Iain replied. ‘The likeness is too pronounced.’

‘Well then, perhaps it is better she believes him dead like the others. Frankly, I doubt he’ll survive and then she’d only have to go through it all again.’

Visualising the destruction he had witnessed at Heslingfield when they rode by, Iain nodded. ‘She’s been through enough just now. Let’s wait on events. He might survive after all.’

‘Aye, perhaps. If he does, it’ll come as a happy surprise to her, won’t it? Happy for us too were you inclined to sell him on later.’

‘Keep me informed, Dougal, but say nothing to the lass. Tell the men to keep their mouths shut too. I’ll tell her when the time is right.’

Having bidden the other goodnight Iain retired, but sleep did not come easily. On reflection, he wondered whether silence was the best course of action with regard to the injured Saxon youth. The resemblance to the girl was striking. It had been apparent at once. He could see Dougal’s point and knew the advice was well intentioned, but at the same time was aware of a vague twinge of guilt. Was he right to keep her in ignorance? The lad’s injuries were serious and there was a long way yet to travel. He was still unconscious which, given his other wounds, was probably just as well.

Then there was Ashlynn herself, spirited and rebellious too judging from her response to his plans. Recalling the scene that evening he frowned. Whether she liked it or not she was going along. There was no other viable alternative: to do anything else would take time. That would run counter to his plans and he couldn’t afford to let it happen. Too much lay in the balance. Iain thumped the pillow hard: he was as far as ever from having his revenge, the work of months lost. By the time he completed his mission and was free to start hunting again the Norman might be anywhere.

The recollection of his enemy brought other related images: that first brief startling glimpse of the lass afforded him by Fitzurse
‘Do you like her? I’ll give her to you.’
That was swiftly followed by the memory of dragging her from the stream. In truth his sole intention in removing her clothing had been to restore some warmth to her body and quickly too. Yet when he’d stripped off the torn and sodden gown he had been unprepared for the beauty of what lay beneath or for the way the image would linger in his imagination. She had been understandably angry with him about that but, while he regretted the circumstances he could not for the life of him regret the memory of her naked body. Was that why he had been tempted this evening? His anger returned, this time directed at himself. Temptation was something he couldn’t afford. In the years since Eloise there had been women, occasionally; women willing enough to satisfy his physical need. Those brief encounters were ideal: both parties benefited in their different ways and then parted. There were no complications, no entanglements, nothing to deflect a man from his sworn purpose. He thumped the pillow again. Once he was free of his obligations at Jedburgh then he’d decide what to do with the girl.