The Laird's Captive Wife (9 page)

‘Stormwind.’

‘It suits him. Did you train him yourself?’

He nodded. ‘Aye, I did. A wild beast he was too when he was younger.’

Looking at the grey Ashlynn could believe it, and yet the rapport between horse and rider was pronounced. Having watched her father and brothers handling young stock she knew that such a sympathetic partnership had been forged out of skill and patience, not the use of the whip. Again it presented another facet of the man.

‘I own to surprise,’ he went on. ‘About the mare, I mean.’

‘Why so?’

‘I expected to hear the word husband in connection with gift, not father.’

Ashlynn’s gaze remained determinedly between the horse’s ears. ‘Did you?’

He paused, framing his next question with care but needing to know. ‘Was your husband among those slain at Heslingfield, perhaps?’

‘No.’

‘Then…’

‘I have no husband.’

‘Why not?’

With an effort she kept her voice level. ‘That is none of your business.’

‘None at all,’ he replied. ‘I asked out of curiosity only. You are of age and you canna have lacked for suitors.’

Upon the word Athelstan flashed into her mind and, with his image, the knowledge that they would never marry now. The realisation brought both relief and guilt. And then, for no good reason, his face dissolved and Iain’s took its place. Almost at once it raised a wry smile; he was the last man on earth her father would ever have chosen to be her husband. And yet, the thought persisted, what if he had? Would she have objected so strenuously to the match then? Would the thought of sharing his bed repel her? The answer was instant and shocking. Shocking because of who he was and shocking because, in spite of that, he was an attractive man. Worse, he engendered feelings that both disturbed and excited in equal measure.

Iain watched her closely, wondering at the thoughts behind that smooth brow. ‘You make no reply.’

‘There were suitors, only none I would marry.’

‘Ah. You are hard to please.’

‘Since marriage is for life should one not be careful about the choice of partner?’

‘A fair point,’ he conceded, ‘but surely your father sought to guide your choice.’

‘Yes, he did, but one cannot see through another’s eyes.’

It was a partial truth only but it would have to suffice. As things stood she wasn’t about to confide in him and, as she had said, it was none of his business anyway.

‘True enough,’ he replied. ‘So tell me, what manner of man would you have then, lass?’

The directness of the question took her aback, but only for a moment.

‘I’ll know him when I see him.’

With that she touched the mare with her heels and cantered on ahead. Iain’s lips twitched. Then he nudged the grey to a swifter pace, catching up a few moments later. Ashlynn spared him no more than a glance, keeping her attention resolutely on the way ahead. His question had unsettled her more than she cared to admit. What matter if she did meet the man of her dreams? She had no kin, no land, no wealth; nothing to call her own save the horse she rode. It was hardly an attractive dowry. In tales of high romance the lover would care nothing for such mundane concerns as his lady’s wealth: in real life things were different. Even if she had gone to Dunfermline and thrown herself on the queen’s mercy, what then? She might have been given a lowly position of some sort, probably little more than a servant. Dunfermline seemed unlikely now. More probable was his disposing of her at Jedburgh. If not, would he take her to Glengarron instead? His power over her was total. He could do with her whatever he liked. She threw another swift glance at her companion and suddenly the possibility didn’t seem so remote. She bit her lip. No matter how she regarded it, the future looked increasingly bleak and without hope of remedy.

They rode in silence again after that and Iain made no attempt to probe further. For the most part they held the horses to a steady pace putting more miles between them and the farm on the moors. It occurred to Ashlynn that the next night’s accommodation might be very different from the relative comfort of a hay loft and, while it would not be the first time she had slept under the stars, it would certainly be the first in the depths of winter. It wasn’t an enticing prospect. Now more than ever she pitied the plight of all those who had fled Durham.

* * *

At noon they stopped briefly to rest and eat before pressing on again. She noticed that Iain was keeping to tracks that skirted the hillsides, avoiding the open skyline where they would be visible for miles around. Now, like her companion, she kept a watchful eye on the land ahead but still could see no sign of any living thing other than sheep and birds. Once again it was borne upon her that her actions the previous day had been foolish in the extreme and she would have given much to see the rest of the Scottish force once more.

She was jerked from these reflections by the sudden glint of light on metal among the rocks up ahead. Instinctively she shot a glance at Iain.

‘Did you see that?’

His eyes never left the path. ‘Aye, lass, I did.’

‘Normans?’

‘Doubtful. Robbers most likely.’

‘Can we not—?’

Before she could finish, the rocks erupted with armed figures, four rough-looking men and all wielding wicked blades. Their expressions reminded her of nothing so much as a pack of hungry wolves.

Iain unsheathed his sword. ‘Stay behind me, Ashlynn.’

With that the grey stallion leapt forward. She heard a scream as Iain’s blade found its first victim. Almost simultaneously the big horse reared, striking out with iron-shod hoofs and a second man fell like a stone and lay still. Seeing the fate of their companions the others parted, closing in on either side so that Iain was forced to defend himself on two fronts. Ashlynn’s heart leapt towards her throat. Another scream rent the air and a man fell, clutching his arm. A savage backhanded thrust opened his companion’s throat.

Ashlynn exulted silently. Then exultation turned to fear as three more men emerged from concealment among the rocks behind him. She cried out a warning. The grey wheeled in response but not quite fast enough. Hands reached up to drag the rider from the saddle. Instead of resisting Iain flung himself sideways, knocking his assailant off balance and the two men hit the ground. He rolled clear, coming to his feet in one fluid movement and leaving his attacker half-stunned in the dirt. The other two closed in.

Ashlynn glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see more assailants behind, but the way was empty. All she had to do was turn the mare and ride away to freedom. Even as the thought occurred, she saw the third man pick himself up and retrieve his sword, moving in on Iain’s undefended back. She swallowed hard. Kicking her feet free of the stirrups she leapt from the saddle, dropping into a crouching run toward the nearest abandoned blade. As her fingers closed on the hilt she heard her brother’s voice:
‘Take your opponent by surprise if you can, and hurt him with the first blow. You may not get a second chance.’
As the robber raised his sword to strike, she swung at him. The edge bit deep. He cried out and staggered, clutching the wound, reeling round to face his unexpected assailant, his expression registering shock and rage. A second later it became malice and in one last deadly effort he lunged at her like a striking snake. Ashlynn leapt aside as the blade hissed past, bringing her guard up for the next assault. It never came. Her attacker collapsed in the dirt, blood pumping from the gash in his neck.

With pounding heart she threw a swift look over her shoulder; Iain was still hard pressed. Without stopping to think she launched herself at the nearest foe. He saw the movement just a second too late, crying out as the sword thrust through his ribs. For a moment he hung there, then slowly slumped and fell. She had a vague impression of the last man going down under Iain’s blade a few moments later. Then it was over. Trembling with reaction, she drew in a deep breath, her gaze moving involuntarily toward her companion.

‘Are you all right?’

He was breathing hard but standing yet, and now regarding her with an expression she had not seen before.

‘Aye, lass, thanks to you.’

‘It was thanks to me that this happened at all,’ she replied.

‘You couldn’t have known yon scum would attack us.’

‘No, but it
is
my fault we were separated from your men.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Iain, I’m so sorry.’

For the second time in five minutes he was completely taken aback for there was no mistaking the sincerity in her voice.

‘Dinna fret yourself, lass. We’ll meet up with them again soon enough.’ She watched him wipe the blood from his sword and sheathe it again. ‘In the meantime we need to get out of here.’

‘You think there may be more of them?’

‘No. If there were we’d know it by now, but there are plenty more like them hereabouts. Time is getting on and we’ve a way to ride before we reach shelter. I’d as soon do it in daylight.’

Ashlynn nodded. The thought of travelling through this country after dark had no appeal at all.

They retrieved the horses and for a while rode fast, putting distance between themselves and the scene of the recent ambush. However, they saw no one else.

* * *

It was dusk when they came to the farmhouse. Like the place they had stayed in before it was remote and again it seemed that Iain was known here for he was greeted with words of welcome before being directed to the stables. The latter was a long low building constructed of stone and thatch, but it was weatherproof and would afford shelter for the beasts and for themselves.

Ashlynn unsaddled Steorra and rubbed her down while Iain dealt with his own mount. Then she fetched grain from the nearby bin and fed the two horses while he filled the hay racks. When the animals were settled Iain removed the heavy cloak and sword belt and then eased off his tunic. Her startled gaze fell on the torn and bloody sleeve beneath.

‘You’re hurt!’

‘A scratch only.’

‘It needs tending. I’ll go and beg some clean cloths. The farmer’s wife may have some honey and woundwort salve too.’

Iain didn’t argue. Nor did he follow her from the stable. A few minutes later she returned with the necessary items and a bowl of clean water. Seeing this he unfastened his belt and eased off his tunic. Ashlynn stepped closer and rolled back the sleeve of his shirt the better to inspect the wound. It was a long shallow gash, vivid against the paler flesh of his arm. It had bled profusely and she knew it must hurt. However, Iain made no complaint, merely observing her in silence. Keenly aware of that penetrating gaze and the proximity of the man, Ashlynn tried to concentrate on the task.

‘I need to clean this but it may sting a little.’

He returned a non-committal grunt. She dipped a cloth and carefully wiped away the dried blood. For a moment or two he watched the deft movements of her hands before letting his gaze move higher. It lingered a little on the soft hollow of her throat before travelling to her face, a face whose delicate contours were as familiar to him now as his own hand. The ride and the cool air had brought fresh colour to her cheeks and loosened tendrils of hair from her braid. The effect was strangely beguiling.

‘It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t been watching my back today,’ he replied. ‘Where did you learn to use a sword?’

As her eyes met his, the cornflower blue deepened with inner emotion. ‘Ban…my brother…taught me a few basic skills.’

‘He taught you well I’d say.’

She shook her head. ‘I got away with it because I took my opponents by surprise. There wasn’t much skill involved, believe me.’

‘Skill enough for the task, lass,’ he replied. ‘It took courage too.’

Something in his tone and look caused her heart to skip a beat. To hide her confusion she bent more assiduously to her work.

‘You had the chance to run back there,’ he continued. ‘Why didn’t you?’

It was a good question, she thought, and hard to answer. Yet in that split second when the choice was offered she could not leave this man to die. ‘Let’s just say I owed you one.’

‘Maybe so, but this doesna make us quits.’

Ashlynn’s hands paused in their task. ‘By that you mean Fitzurse.’

‘Aye.’

‘For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry he escaped.’

‘Ach, well…I’ll meet up with him again.’

‘To settle that score you mentioned?’

‘That’s right.’

She hesitated a little. Then, ‘May I ask what manner of score?’

‘That need not concern you.’

The sudden coldness in his tone was jarring. ‘I beg your pardon; I didn’t mean to pry.’

Iain frowned, annoyed with himself for snapping like that but somehow the words had just come out. A verbal reflex, he thought ruefully. Even to his ears it had sounded boorish. He gritted his teeth. ‘Forget it.’

It was as close to an apology as she was going to get. Ashlynn kept her face determinedly neutral while her hands spread salve on the wound. ‘I cannot. It was thanks to me he escaped.’

He sighed and when he spoke this time the sharp edge was gone. ‘It wasna your fault, lass. What happened that day was typical of the man.’

She laid a clean pad over the cut. ‘I have never met anyone more evil.’

‘Pray you never do.’

He watched as she began to bandage the arm. Once or twice her fingers touched his skin, a pleasing touch that was both gentle and unexpectedly sensual and sent his thoughts in forbidden directions. With an effort he brought them back.

When she finished tying the bandage he flexed the arm experimentally. ‘You’ve done a good job.’ He glanced down at the pot of salve. ‘Allow me to return the favour.’

Drawing nearer he reached out and brushed the stray wisps of hair from her face in a gesture that was both casual and oddly intimate, like the warm musky smell of his skin. In an instant it evoked the memory of the hayloft and that sudden startling kiss and her breathing quickened.

With great care he applied a little of the soothing balm to her bruised cheek, smoothing it lightly across the bone. Thence he moved to the cut on her lip, his touch as delicate as a butterfly wing. Having applied the balm he scrutinised his handiwork.