The Laird's Captive Wife (8 page)

The tone implied that to do anything else would be a serious mistake. Ashlynn said nothing. In fact she had no intention of disobeying him, all thought of rebellion long gone. Apparently satisfied by her chastened demeanour he turned his attention to the horses. From her vantage point she watched as he unsaddled and rubbed them down, noting with reluctant approval the sure methodical way in which he performed each task. Having done what was necessary he fed them some grain and filled the hay racks. Only when the horses were settled and comfortable did he turn his attention back to his prisoner, surveying her with a cool speculative eye.

‘If I untie your hands will you give me your word not to try and escape again?’

She nodded dumbly, too cold and tired to contemplate a further attempt now. He knelt beside her, his strong fingers working the knots until they slackened. Then, blessedly, the rope loosened and she was free. Flexing her wrists she began to massage the aching flesh.

‘Where are we?’ she asked then.

‘Among friends. We’ll stay here tonight.’

‘But what of your men?’

‘We’ll catch up with them later. It’s almost dark now and the countryside is crawling with Norman mercenaries. It’s too dangerous to continue.’

Ashlynn shivered, knowing it was true. Along with that realisation came the first stirrings of guilt that it was she who had put them in this position. As the possible consequences dawned she began to see the extent of her folly and the reason for his anger. It occurred to her that, had he wished to, he could have followed his earlier inclination and thrashed her soundly. She swallowed hard. Knowing his strength she was devoutly thankful that he had restrained the urge. The only thing he’d bruised was her pride.

She was drawn from these thoughts by the return of the farmer. Again he glanced once at Ashlynn and then ignored her, speaking quietly with Iain before setting down a wooden tray on one of the barrels nearby. From under the cloth covering she could smell the savoury aroma of stew and realised suddenly that she was famished. Then she glanced at Iain. He had not beaten her but he could still punish her by withholding food. If he did it would be a long time before the next meal. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the growling in her stomach. Whatever happened she would not beg.

However, it seemed that such was not his plan for he handed her a bowl of the steaming concoction and a hunk of bread.

‘Here. Eat.’

Rather shyly she took the bowl. As she did so her fingers brushed his. The touch sent an unexpected
frisson
along her skin. Avoiding his eye she focused her attention on the food and, unable to resist, fell to. The stew was thick with meat and vegetables and, after a day in the open air, quite delicious. For a moment Iain surveyed her in silence, then sat down and ate his own. They washed the food down with a beaker of ale.

By the time they had finished it was dark save for the small pool of light from the lamp. Ashlynn was beginning to feel better now for the food had restored some inner warmth and, even though the barn was chilly, it was better by far than being out in the bitter night air. She drew her cloak closer, keenly aware of the man beside her. She watched him gather the bowls and beakers and return them to the tray. Then he took the lamp from its hook.

‘Come.’

She rose somewhat reluctantly from her makeshift seat. ‘Where are we going?’

He guided her to the foot of a wooden ladder. ‘Up there.’

‘The hayloft?’

‘Aye.’

Apprehension reawakened and she hesitated, looking from the ladder to him, more than ever aware of the darkness, the remote place and his physical proximity.

‘Where are you going to sleep?’

‘In the same place.’

‘You will not!’

One dark brow arched a little. ‘Are you going up that ladder, Ashlynn, or am I going to carry you?’

The mild tone didn’t deceive her for a moment. He wouldn’t hesitate. Glaring at him in impotent wrath she knew there was no choice but to obey and with thumping heart began to climb, conscious that he observed every step. He smiled sardonically; then followed her up and lifted the lantern, illuminating piles of sweet-smelling hay.

‘It’s likely not what you’re used to, lass, but it’s dry and a lot warmer than sleeping in the open.’

Ashlynn said nothing. It wasn’t the thought of sleeping in a hay barn that disturbed her.

‘We’ve a long ride ahead tomorrow,’ he went on, ‘so get some sleep while you can.’

The tone was gentler than the one he’d used earlier but still Ashlynn made no move to comply. She watched him hang the lantern on a nail by the ladder. Immediately the loft was plunged into shadow for most of the light fell below. Apparently unaware of her gaze, he divested himself of his sword belt and then he lay down beside it and stretched out, wrapping himself in the fur-lined cloak. Only then did he glance at his companion.

‘Goodnight, lass. Sleep well.’

Seeing he made no move to touch her, Ashlynn felt slightly less anxious. Besides, after the rigours of the day, she was suddenly bone weary. Selecting a spot as far from him as possible, she too lay down and drew her cloak protectively around her. For a while she was quite still, ears straining to detect any movement from her companion, but none came. She could hear only the sound of the beasts munching hay in the stalls below. Outside in the distance a fox barked. She shivered and curled up beneath the cloak. The sense of loneliness intensified bringing tears welling behind her eyelids, and for a while she wept silently into the folds of the cloth. Not for anything would she have let her sobs be heard or given utterance to the grief that weighed upon her heart like lead.

However, in the quiet of the loft even the smallest sounds carried clearly. From where he lay, Iain heard the pain and sorrow underlying those stifled sobs, and with that all her aching vulnerability. All vestiges of his earlier anger evaporated on the heel of that realisation and he was unexpectedly touched, more so perhaps than if she had wept openly. For a moment he was tempted to go to her but then checked the impulse. Given all that had passed between them she’d likely not welcome the intrusion. Besides, what could he say that would in any way diminish the loss she felt? Grief needed an outlet. Better to let her have her cry out no matter how hard it was to hear it.

* * *

Sleep came for her eventually but with it troubling dreams of burning buildings and mounted men all in chain mail with the light glinting on their helmets. Like devils they rode through the flames striking down any who tried to flee. The air rang with screams of pain and terror. She could see her father and Ethelred locked in a desperate fight against overwhelming odds. Then Ban was there, shouting at her to flee. She tried to obey but her horse’s legs were moving too slowly and the Normans closed in. She saw her brother fall, saw his face as he went down beneath their swords. Then she was being dragged from the saddle and the soldiers closed round her, their leering faces filled with hideous intent. Their hands reached out for her and she began to fight. Somewhere she could hear a woman screaming…

She awoke wide-eyed and panting with terror, struggling against the strong hands that held her.

‘Hush, lass, it’s all right. It’s all right.’

Through her tears Ashlynn became aware of lamplight and the man beside her. With a jolt she recognised the face bending over hers and, involuntarily, her hands clutched hold of him.

‘But I saw them…Norman soldiers and Heslingfield burning…the bodies in the snow…and blood, blood everywhere.’

As he listened Iain’s expression hardened, but his voice was gentle. ‘It was just a bad dream, lass. Nothing more.’

With that, some of the terror began to ebb though her body was still shaking with reaction.

‘It was so real.’

He drew her close, speaking softly, his hand stroking her hair. ‘The Normans canna hurt you any more, Ashlynn.’

He continued to speak to her in the same gentle tone, as he might have spoken to a child. Gradually she grew calmer for his nearness was reassuring now, not threatening, and his strength comforting, like the smell of wool and leather and wood smoke from his clothing, smells that seemed familiar and soothing. Involuntarily she relaxed a little, letting her head rest against his breast. She could feel the steady thud of the heart within, beating like the blood in her ears. His arms tightened around her and she felt him drop a kiss on her hair. The touch was light but it sent a flush of warmth through her entire being. Ashlynn caught her breath and looked up, meeting his gaze and seeing there an expression whose intensity both excited and alarmed her. It aroused a feeling unlike anything in her life before. She felt his lips brush her temple and cheek, kissing away the tears they found there. Then his mouth sought her lips. The pressure increased, gently, until her mouth opened beneath his, yielding to a more intimate embrace that awakened other pleasurable sensations that she had not known existed: sensations that thrilled and appalled sending a delicious shiver through her entire being.

Iain’s heartbeat quickened as he felt that sudden tremor and with a sense of shock he felt his own hardening response, unanticipated and undeniable. The kiss grew more passionate as memory stripped her clothing away. The fire leapt and, unable to contain it, he crushed her closer, hungry now, wanting her, every particle of his being aroused by the taste and scent of her, the feel of her body in his arms again. He lowered her onto the hay and followed her down.

Unfastening her belt he pushed the tunic aside, sliding his hands beneath the fabric of her shirt, gently caressing, relearning with touch all the soft curves that his eyes had shown him before. The rediscovery sent a charge through the length of his body, a sensation of delight he had almost forgotten. Imagination outpaced him, turning his blood to flame.

He reached for the lacing of her trews. Seeing that hot devouring gaze Ashlynn felt her heart lurch and without warning she was suddenly transported back to the ruined barn and her mind filled with flooding panic. Instinctively she began to struggle, her hands pushing him away, her voice catching on a sob.

‘No, no…please, I beg you, don’t!’

The words acted on him like a bucket of cold water. Looking into her face he saw fear and reluctance and with that sight desire ebbed. He rolled aside and drew a deep breath, trying to calm the wild thumping of his heart, trying to quell the riot of his thoughts. When he took her in his arms he had intended only to comfort her. He had not reckoned on that kiss. Innocent and sensual in equal measure, it aroused and disturbed, awakening memories he had thought safely buried. For all manner of reasons he could not afford the indulgence. How the hell had he let things get so far out of hand?

Aloud he said, ‘It’s all right, lass. I willna hurt you. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing’s going to happen.’

‘I shouldn’t have…I didn’t mean to…’

‘Shhh.’ He laid a finger gently on her lips. ‘I think neither of us meant to.’ He drew her cloak over her again and tucked it around her. ‘Go back to sleep, Ashlynn, and sweeter dreams this time.’

With that he returned to his own side of the loft and flung himself down on his cloak. Those quiet words of reassurance might have satisfied her but he could no longer fool himself. Something had awoken inside him that he thought dead. The knowledge shook him to the core of his being and with it came a resurgence of anger for letting it happen. That was the first and last time. For both their sakes it mustn’t happen again. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he wrapped the cloak around himself and shut his eyes. It was a long time before sleep came.

Chapter Four

A
shlynn was awoken by a hand shaking her shoulder.

‘Time to move, lass.’

She came to with a start but, on recognising her companion, relaxed a little. Grey dawn light revealed the details of the hay loft and awoke the memory of the previous evening. With it came profound embarrassment and regret. What a fool she had been! What must he think of her? Yesterday it would not have mattered but now…A covert glance at her companion revealed nothing of his thoughts for he had moved away and was buckling on his sword belt. Ashlynn bit her lip.

‘Iain, about what happened last night…’

His hands paused in their task and the dark eyes met hers. ‘Nothing happened last night, lass.’

‘I know.’ She paused awkwardly. ‘Thank you.’

Just for a second it took him aback. However, his tone was perfectly even when he spoke. ‘I’ve never forced a woman yet, and I’m not about to start with you.’ He finished buckling the sword belt and then moved to the ladder, pausing briefly to glance in her direction. ‘Now we’ve established that, we’ll get on our way.’

Having broken their fast on cheese and oatcakes they saddled the horses. Iain said nothing until they led the beasts from the barn. Then he paused, regarding her with a steady gaze.

‘Will there be any need for me to tie you on your horse, lass?’

Under that piercing look she felt herself redden. ‘No.’

‘Do I have your word on that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. We’ll be going then.’

With that he swung into the grey’s saddle and waited for her to mount the mare. Then they set off. They rode in silence for some way, he seeming indisposed to talk and she not caring to intrude on his thought. From time to time she threw him a sideways glance but, as was habitual with him, his expression revealed nothing.

In fact his attention was on the countryside around them, looking for any sign of movement that might betoken a mounted force. Nothing stirred, save a few sheep grazing on the hillside. Detecting no immediate threat he relaxed a little, turning his attention to the girl at his side. She rode well, controlling the spirited little mare with ease. Once again he found himself curious.

‘She’s a fine horse,’ he observed. ‘A gift perhaps?’

‘From my father.’

‘He had a good eye for a mount.’

‘Yes, he did.’ The memory brought others that were unwelcome and she changed the subject. ‘The grey is a fine animal too. What do you call him?’