Chapter Six

Wearing his belted plaid kilt, Rebbie stepped out of the Breakstane Inn and approached his saddled horse where the groom from the livery stable held him. He secured his clothing behind his saddle. Dreading the trip to Draughon and the conversation to come with Barclay, he hoisted himself into the saddle.

A scream sliced through the air.

"What the devil?" His gaze scanned the village.

Down the street, in front of the livery, a man carried a kicking, screaming woman into the stables.

"Hold him," Rebbie said to the groom, then leapt off the horse and ran forward, determined to help her, whoever she was. She wore a black cloak and cowl but a lock of blond hair slipped free. Given her petite size, the woman looked like… Nay, it couldn't be.

Calla?

He withdrew his sword and charged into the stables.

"Release her, you whoreson!" Halting, Rebbie squinted into the dimness, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

"This is none of your concern, Highlander." The man's voice grated from the shadows.

Rebbie now easily discerned the man's gangly silhouette. He held Calla, his hand over her mouth muffling her protests. Her eyes wide with terror, she kicked and elbowed her captor, but he didn't loosen his hold.

"Release Lady Stanbury or I will cut you down where you stand!"

Laughing, the man shoved Calla into one of the stalls, latched the door, then drew his basket-hilt broadsword.

"Rebbie!" Calla rattled the door as if trying to open it. "Nay! Watch out!"

"Have no fear. I'll get you out," he told her. "Once I kill this whoreson."

Claybourne charged and thrust the blade, but Rebbie easily deflected his blow. The man was tall and thin, dressed in well-tailored dark brown breeches and doublet with an expensive collar at his neck. Obviously, some sort of laird. Rebbie struck out, his blade nicking the man's arm through his fine doublet. Blood soaked the exposed white linen of his shirt.

The man flicked a glance down at his arm. "Bastard!"

Rebbie sent him a malicious grin and sliced again but the man dodged back.

"Hastings!" the knave yelled through the wide, open doorway toward the street.

Och . So he needed backup, did he?

Rebbie pressed his attack and the man fled the stables. Rebbie ran to the stall where Calla was confined and opened the door. "Are you well?"

"Aye."

"What the devil is going on?"

Tears glinting in her eyes, she shook her head. "Is he gone?"

"He ran outside. Come. I must get you back to Draughon ." He offered his elbow and she slid her hand around it. "What are you doing here alone?"

"I'm not alone. The driver, maid, and guard are with the coach down the street," she said, her voice shaky. "I came to pick up Lady Elena's dress."

He didn't have time to ask what she was doing so far from the coach and the others in her party. Wielding his bloody-tipped sword, Rebbie glanced this way and that as he led her from the stables. On the muddy street, at twenty yards, the whoreson stood talking to another man. Almost a half-dozen others stood behind him.

"Grab her!" he yelled and charged forward with the rest of his men.

"What the hell?" Rebbie muttered and rushed Calla to his horse. Why were these men after her? He didn't have time to ask questions. After sheathing his sword, he lifted her into his saddle and leapt on behind her. He headed the horse toward Draughon , but when he rounded the bend at the edge of the village, several armed men on horseback waited in the road, too many for him to best alone while protecting Calla.

Rebbie drew his sword and slashed at the first man to approach. The blade sliced his forearm and he fell back, screaming. The other men on horseback formed a barricade across the road leading to Draughon , swords drawn. With Calla on his horse, he couldn't risk riding head-long through them. She could be grievously injured or killed.

His only other alternative was a well-worn trail leading to the right. Mayhap he could circle around to Draughon . He guided Devil in that direction.

"Stop them!" the whoreson yelled behind them.

Holding Calla tightly before him, Rebbie urged the stallion into a breakneck gallop across the moor. The horse relished a good run anyway. Rebbie tried to figure out how to circle back to Draughon Castle, but then he remembered that the River Tay lay in their path. The bridge was further back. Damnation. Now what was he going to do? With all the rain, the river was too deep and swollen to wade through.

He glanced back at the dozen or more pursuers in the distance. "Hell," he growled through clenched teeth. Why were they so determined to capture Calla?

As they crossed a grassy field, Rebbie gave the horse his head. Devil leapt a stone dyke, then galloped along another muddy road. He followed it northwest for a mile or two. Moments later, he slowed Devil, not wanting to lather him, and glanced back. The whoresons were nowhere in evidence, but Rebbie still had to keep ahead of them.

Or mayhap he could outsmart them.

A thick wood lay ahead. The dark green leaves would provide good cover. He directed the horse into the trees, hoping to hide while their pursuers rode by. Then, they could double back and head south again toward Draughon .

Devil's breath whooshed in and out. 'Twas the only sound within the quiet forest, but not loud enough for anyone approaching to hear over their own horses' hoof-beats… if anyone should appear.

Rebbie focused on the road he could see through the branches, but the sweet floral scent of Calla's unbound hair wafted up his nose, distracting him.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked her.

"Nay. I thank you for rescuing me." Her soft, feminine voice grabbed at something within him, making him want to protect her with every last ounce of strength he possessed.

"I'm glad I was there to help." He couldn't imagine what the knave would've done to her if he hadn't shown up. Raped her? Killed her?

None of the bastards passed by on the road beyond the wood. He listened for hoof-beats in the distance, but all was quiet.

"Where the devil are they?" Rebbie grumbled. "No doubt lying in wait for us to return. How would he know we need to get to Draughon Castle?"

When Calla didn't respond, he frowned, growing more and more curious. "Who is that bastard? He's a laird, is he not?"

Calla nodded and turned toward him a bit. "A wealthy merchant. Edward Claybourne. But, aye, he owns land."

"And why is he trying to abduct you?"

Her back to him, she faced forward again and dropped her head, as if she were staring down at her hands.

"Come now, Calla. Tell me," he said gently, eyeing her lush flaxen curls, wanting to bury his hand in them and experience the softness of her.

He hadn't asked if he could call her Calla, but given their past intimacy, he thought 'twas not out of the question. And he certainly wanted her to call him Rebbie.

She turned her head, her profile clear. "Claybourne and my late husband often gambled. Stanbury lost everything he owned—which wasn't entailed—to him and grew deeply in debt before he died. I've been repaying Claybourne, but 'tis not enough."

"' Slud !" Rebbie shook his head, his heart sinking, just imagining the horrible situation she was entangled in. "What a bastard." Both her husband and Claybourne.

She nodded.

Hell. That had to mean Calla was penniless, then. That was why she was working as a companion to Elena. How could her husband leave her in such dire straits? Had he been daft? This Claybourne was evidently a piece of work, trying to abduct her because he'd won everything from her late husband. What an evil-hearted whoreson. He'd best not touch Calla again or Rebbie would slice him limb from limb. He couldn't risk riding back south with Calla. He couldn't fight Claybourne's garrison singlehandedly and still protect her.

Her feminine scent, a blend of roses and lavender, teased his nose. Damnation, but she was bewitching. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair and breathe her in. She would of a certainty think him mad. He would also love to smell the delicate skin of her neck, then kiss her there. Taste her. Hell. He almost growled the word.

"We'll ride northwest." Rebbie needed to distract himself from her allure and focus on how best to keep her safe.

"Where will we go?" she asked. Despite the dangerous situation, he found himself liking the sound of we coming from her lips. Was he daft? There was no we .

"I have a small castle deeper in the Highlands," he said. "Tummel Castle, about forty miles from here. I've only visited it three times. It has good curtain walls surrounding it and should be a safe place for you to stay until we can stop this Claybourne whoreson." If any guards were in residence, he would enlist their help, along with other men from the castle, to ride back to Draughon with him to gain the help of Lachlan and his men, along with his father's men.

"Can we reach it today?" Calla glanced around at Rebbie, enjoying the heat of him at her back.

"Nay, but we should arrive by tomorrow. Devil, here, is not only a large warhorse, he also has incredible endurance and speed."

"I feel terrible about causing such a problem." Truly she did. If she'd known what Claybourne had been planning, she would've never tried to meet Hobbs at the stable. What if Rebbie was injured because of her? She couldn't live with herself. And what had happened to Hobbs? She prayed Claybourne hadn't killed the kind man.

" 'Tis nay problem," Rebbie murmured, his deep, husky voice and his breath tickling her ear.

Chills chased down her neck toward her breasts. And she found herself missing the strong arm he'd had wrapped around her waist earlier to hold her as they were riding. "You're too kind."

"Nay, I think not. 'Tis what any man should do to protect a woman in need, but as we know, not all men are honorable."

She nodded. " 'Tis true." She didn't know Rebbie well, but judging by his actions today, he had to be the most honorable of men. "Those at Draughon will wonder where I've disappeared to."

"I'm certain. Maybe the coach driver or guard noticed the ruckus on the street. Once Lachlan hears of your disappearance from the village, he will no doubt send out search parties. If I had a garrison at my disposal, we'd fight them off, but that's not possible at the moment. 'Tis best that I hide you for your own protection."

"I thank you," Calla said.

What else could she say? She'd never imagined Rebbie would go to so much trouble to protect her from Claybourne. She'd known Claybourne was a knave, but she'd never truly believed he would try to rape or abduct her. He was evil to the core.

Rebbie leapt off the horse and helped her slide back onto his roll of blankets and clothing that was strapped behind his saddle so she could ride pillion. Then, he remounted in front of her. ' Twould be more comfortable for them both, he'd said.

He was right, of course, but she found she missed his strong and protective arms around her. She'd felt safer than she had in years.

As it was now, he took her gloved hands and pulled her arms around his waist. "Hold on, lass." He grinned around at her.

The way he'd said lass took her back more than six years into the past, to that inn where she'd experienced amazing, sensual things she'd never thought possible. "Aye." She didn't mind holding on at all. His waist was trim and firm, and his broad shoulders blocked her view of anything in front.

Every few minutes, she glanced behind them to make certain Claybourne hadn't caught up. Nay, for the most part, they were alone. A few times, she saw crofters in the distance, tending their crops and sheep.

Thankfully, the day grew clearer as the sun rose overhead and they rode deeper into the Highlands. The wild and forbidding mountains drew nearer with every moment that passed, and the scenery more majestic and picturesque, with the violet heather cloaking the hills. He'd said that he'd only visited this castle of his three times. How many castles did he own? Considering his horse and his title, he had to be wealthy. But, she well knew, a title alone did not guarantee wealth, especially when one had a gambling problem like her late husband.

She was thankful Rebbie hadn't questioned her further about the debt. 'Twas mortifying for her to admit her own husband had gambled her away during the heat of his wagering frenzy. Given his actions, Claybourne was determined to have her, rather than the money, even if it came to violence. She couldn't believe his gall, snatching her up in bright daylight where anyone could see him. Was the man mad?

When he'd carried her, screaming, into the stable, he had grabbed her in shocking and disgusting ways, and 'twas clear he would rape her if given the opportunity. She had one of Stanbury's old knives strapped to her calf, but she hadn't been able to get to it. And even if she had, she was unsure whether she could've used it effectively. She had never been forced to use a weapon before.

Thank God Rebbie had shown up when he did. Considering the skillful way he handled the sword and the horse at the same time, while also protecting her, he'd been a thrilling sight to behold. The belted plaid he wore only added to his air of untamed Highland warrior. And she found she didn't mind at all seeing his well-formed calves, strong knees, and when he sat in the saddle, part of his muscular thighs, too.

When she'd been sitting in front of him earlier, it had been all she could do to keep from dropping her hands to his thighs and feeling the dark hairs tickle her palms. A sensory memory came to her… his hair-roughened, hard thighs sliding between hers, spreading them. Her body quickened and excitement burned through her.

What in heaven's name was she doing, recalling such wicked memories? She was no wanton… well, at least normally she wasn't. But where Rebbie was concerned, she had a weakness for his touch.

She regretted drawing him into this danger, she would have to tell him. 'Twas never her intention to put anyone else's life in peril, certainly not Rebbie's .

He turned his head aside and asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Nay. I had a large breakfast." Though 'twas midafternoon, she truly was not hungry.

He grinned. "You're such a wee lady, I can't imagine you eating a large breakfast."

She couldn't help but smile in return. "Well, mayhap it wouldn't have been a large breakfast to you, since you're a great warrior."

He chuckled. "Great warrior, aye?" he asked doubtfully.

Warmth filled her and she wanted to snuggle closer to him. "Indeed. You've saved my life twice now." Three times, actually, but she wouldn't tell him about the first time, when he'd saved her life by getting her with child.

"Well, I'm more than glad I was able to."

She had to force her arms not to embrace him tightly in venerated gratitude. Although she could thank him until she was blue in the face, he would never truly know how much she appreciated all he'd done.

"I brought no food with me," he said. "I was on my way to Draughon when I heard you scream. Once we stop for the night, I'll find us something to eat."

"Very well."

Where would they stop for the night? They had seen one tiny village, but he'd carefully avoided it, wishing to have no witnesses to tell Claybourne they'd passed this way. Would they come upon another village, or would they have to slumber outside under the stars?

Would they sleep close together or far apart? Feeling his taut muscular body beneath her hands now brought back memories of that night they'd shared years ago. No one had ever touched her or made love to her the way he had. She hadn't known women could experience carnal pleasures; her husband had certainly never given her any. His beddings had been more like lying beneath a rutting boar. He'd cared naught for her pleasure. In the dark, he had thrust into her for a minute or so, until he spilled his seed. Then, saying naught, he would roll off her, yank up his breeches and leave the room.

Rebbie, on the other hand, had seduced her with kisses until she was mindless and weak with the need for him. He'd looked into her soul with his fathomless eyes and made love to all of her, not just her body. She'd never imagined that she would ever welcome a man's invasion and beg him to take her. But she had. Some primitive part of her wallowed in the wicked joining of their bodies.

Heat and mortification rushed over her now, just as it had then. She couldn't believe she'd had the courage to lay her hand upon his on the newel post, or go up to his room when he'd invited her. She knew not herself in that moment, yet at the same time, she had never felt more like herself than when she'd been with Rebbie. Something about touching him, kissing him was natural. And, that night, she couldn't get enough.

When she'd had to leave him before dawn, it felt as if someone had ripped out a part of her. Tears had streamed down her face as she'd slipped down the stairs and out the inn's door, the cowl over her head, hiding her identity.

Back at their lodgings, she'd pretended sleep when Stanbury had come in an hour later, sprawled in the bed, face up, fully clothed, and started snoring like a swine. He'd smelled like a distillery had blown up all over him. After he'd fallen asleep, she'd unfastened his clothing as if he'd had his way with her while drunk. Lying beside him, she'd wished she could've been back in bed with the young, dark-haired man at the inn. Though she knew not his name, she felt she knew him down to his soul.