Chapter 12

Rob tried to think. Where would she go? How could she go? What dangers might she face? Was she daft enough to think she could escape from Trailinghail?

If he roused everyone in the castle at such an hour and began questioning them, he would create the very stir he had worked to avoid and would learn no more than that they all thought she had gone with him.

When he looked into her room—as if she might magically have reappeared there—he saw from its extreme tidiness why Fin Walters or others who had looked in had assumed that she was with him. Especially as Annie had apparently not come that day. Had Mairi purposely told her to stay with her mother?

Only as he was about to return to the gate to question the guards again did he recall bringing her in through the cave entrance.

Chills swept through him at the thought. If she had remembered how to find the cave door and managed to get outside the cavern, could she have been mad enough to try to swim or otherwise try to reach Kirkcudbright?

On that thought, he lit another lantern in the kitchen and hurried down to the storage chamber, finding it as he had left it. Or so he thought until he noticed the pool of wax on the floor. Realizing that she must have put it there herself to hold a candle so she could use both hands to open the door, he noted with a new surge of fear that the latch chain still hung inside.

Did she not know to put a latchstring through its hole before shutting a door?

Sakes, as small as she was, had she even seen the hole?

Unlatching the door, he ripped it open and caught her as she slumped across the threshold. Lifting her into his arms, he failed to see the kitten until it hissed indignantly at him, jumped to the floor, and darted out of the chamber.

She felt icy cold, and her head fell back limply against his shoulder.

Quickly shifting her weight in his arms to hold her closer, he saw her eyelids flutter, and breathed more easily.

"You're back," she murmured with a soft sigh as he kicked the door shut and strode with her into the main part of the cellar, leaving his lantern behind.

"Aye, I'm back," he growled, heading for the stairway.

"Put me down," she said before he got to the steps. Her voice sounded hoarse, and her teeth were chattering, although they had not been before. "It will be safer for us b-both, going up the stairs, and I'll w-warm quicker, I think, if I m-move."

He doubted she would warm quickly. But as wet as he was himself from the rain, he did not argue. Setting her on her feet, he gestured toward the stairway.

She took a step but lost her balance, stumbling and nearly falling.

Rob quickly slipped an arm around her to support her.

She clutched him, swaying. "My legs went to sleep," she said. "Curse them!"

Holding her close again, he could feel her shivering, or himself trembling. In the dim glow from the lantern back in the storage cell he could not tell which it was.

"I'll d-do now," she said after what seemed to be both too long and too short a silence. She let go of him and stood a moment uncertainly, as if she were testing her balance, before she said, "Thank you."

But when she took another wobbly step only to sway, he picked her up again. "You'll do as I bid you," he said sternly. "It will be gey easier for me to carry you than to catch you when you fall on those steep stairs."

He went carefully until he could see that the door at the top remained open. Light from the kitchen spilled down the steps, showing the way clearly and telling him the cooks were there, stirring up the fire and the bake ovens.

He went quickly past the kitchen to the great hall, knowing that the kitchen servants would need its fire. They'd be preparing food for his supper and that of his returning men. The baker would also begin baking his bread for the morning.

But the hall fire would be blazing now, too.

Skirting men who slept on pallets in the hall, he carried Mairi to a wooden settle by the fire. As he set her on it, he could hear her teeth still chattering, and he saw that her lips were blue.

His still smoldering temper ignited. "What the devil were you thinking?" he demanded, managing only with effort to keep his voice low. "By heaven, lass, you deserve… Sakes, I don't know what you deserve for doing such a daft thing!"

Her voice still raspy, she said wearily, "Are you consigning me to the devil or to heaven, sir? You should make up your mind. I did not know that door would shut. It was so heavy, I thought it would stay put. But a demon draft drew it shut."

A nearly overwhelming urge to tell her exactly what he thought of reckless women who took daft notions into their foolish heads brought the words right to the tip of his tongue. But before he could utter even one, her eyes shut.

"Find Annie," he shouted when Gib looked anxiously into the hall from the stairwell. "Go, lad, run! Tell someone to bring blankets to me here and dry clothing for her ladyship. Then fetch me some bricks to warm by the fire."

The lad hesitated. "Be the lady Mairi a-dyin' then, laird?"

"Go!" Rob roared.

Gibby fled.

Annie came running minutes later with a screen that Gibby, following her, helped her set up. Thus Mairi had privacy and warmth. With Gibby guarding the screen, Annie shooed Rob outside it, saying, "Get ye hence now, laird. Her ladyship will be more comfortable a-changing down here without ye hovering over her."

"She does not deserve comfort," Rob muttered. But he obeyed Annie, pacing back and forth outside the screen until she announced that Mairi wore dry clothing.

"Her hair do still be damp, laird," Annie said. "I'll just go and fetch her comb and brush if I may." She eyed him speculatively before she added, "Nae doots, she'll talk more sensibly after she has some supper."

"If you are daring to suggest that I am not to talk to her until then, you are wasting your breath," Rob said.

"Aye, well, ye'll no be taking her ladyship to task here in the hall afore all these rough men," Annie said stoutly. "I ken ye better nor that, laird."

"Do you?" He glowered at her. "Tend to your other duties now, Annie. I'll look after her ladyship."

"Aye, sir," Annie said. With a sympathetic look for Mairi, and her own dignity perfectly intact, Annie left the hall, sweeping young Gib before her.

Rob shifted his gaze back to Mairi and saw that she was watching him. As had happened far too often with the lass, he could not quite read her expression. But her lips twitched as if she might dare any moment to smile.

Rob still looked so angry that Mairi was tempted to thank the Fates that he had not found her until she must have looked as if she were teetering on death's doorstep. The cave's chilly dampness had penetrated bone-deep, making her fear for a time that she would never get warm again even if someone did find her.

But despite Rob's own wet clothing, her body had begun to take warmth from his much larger one as he had carried her up the stairs. Now that her feet were dry and she wore fur-lined slippers, a warm silk shift, and a woolen kirtle in place of her damp clothing and boots, she felt warm enough that she would have liked to take off the thick shawl Annie had wrapped around her.

Common sense warned her, however, to remain at least a bit feeble looking until after Rob had had his supper. She had learned long since that a well-fed man was less likely than a hungry one to erupt in fury.

The stern, speculative expression that had made him look as if he were trying to decide how best to punish her had changed to a worried look that for some inexplicable reason made her lips twitch as if they wanted to smile.

However, his deepening frown banished that sensation.

She said, "You must be tired after such a long journey, sir. Surely, you also want to change to dry clothing before we sup."

"Aye, I do," he agreed. He looked around the hall, which was beginning to fill with more hungry men than just the soggy-looking ones who had traveled with him. "When Annie comes back, I will," he added.

She let herself smile then. "I ken fine that you are angry with me, and I deserve that you should be," she said. "But before you say all that you want to say, I must tell you that I have never been so happy to see anyone as I was to see you when you opened that wretched, contrary door."

He grimaced, and she knew he was struggling again to keep his temper. But then Annie returned with a hairbrush in hand, as if he had never told her to tend to other duties. Instead of objecting, he visibly relaxed when he saw her.

Even so, he shifted his gaze back to Mairi and said in a calm tone more alarming than she had thought such a tone could be, "You and I will talk later."

Annie bobbed a curtsy and said, "Shall I see to her hair afore ye sup, sir?"

"Aye, and stay with her until I return."

Mairi watched him stride away. It was a pleasure to watch the man move. His damp leather breeks hugged his thighs and buttocks so that if one watched only those parts, one could imagine him as a rather magnificent beast of the forest—a very strong beast, capable of making one feel warm and cosseted even when it snarled.

Annie cleared her throat loudly.

Startled, Mairi felt heat flood her cheeks as she met her gaze. Sure that she must have missed something Annie had said, she said, "Did you speak to me?"

Eyes atwinkle, Annie replied, "Will ye be wanting me to sit beside ye to do me brushing, m'lady? Or will ye turn so I can get to them tangles more easily?"

"Fetch that stool yonder," Mairi said, gesturing toward one standing near the wall on the opposite side of the fireplace. "I should sit nearer the fire so my hair can dry as you brush it, but I shall grow too hot if I do not take off this shawl."

"Aye, m'lady, your cheeks look gey hot now," Annie said with a grin.

Men still slept, but those who did not were sitting at their own tables when Rob returned. Mairi and Annie sat at one end of the high table, the latter looking uncertain to be there. She eyed him warily as he strode to the dais to take his place.

After speaking the grace before meat, he sat down and riveted his attention to his food. Nevertheless, he could hear every movement Mairi made, every breath and swallow. Her silence seemed contagious, too, because the usual bustle and chatter died away. It was, he thought, as if every man there were watching her and wondering about him and what he meant to do.

Word had clearly spread that she had done something to displease him, and they all knew their laird well enough to be sure he meant to learn just how she had done it and who had helped her. They were doubtless also certain that those who had helped would suffer for it, as she would.

Annie ate quietly, but she, too, kept glancing at him.

Gib came in with the kitten draped over a shoulder and a mutton chop in the other hand. Ignoring the adults, he went to the settle and sat down to share his chop.

Only Mairi seemed content in the silence. She looked toward him once, and he had to fight to keep from looking away like a lad caught staring at something he ought not to see. He forced himself to meet her gaze only to feel a strange shifting inside, a physical sensation that nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Had the sea taken her, he knew he would never have forgiven himself. Focusing firmly on the men in the lower hall, he noted with some satisfaction that as they caught his eye on them, they swiftly returned to their quiet conversations.

When he had finished, he stood. "We will go upstairs now," he said to Mairi. "We have much to discuss. Annie, Fin will collect Gib and see that you get home."

Mairi drew a long, steadying breath and exhaled it slowly before she stood to follow him from the hall. At the stairs, when he gestured curtly for her to precede him, she did so without comment.

She was grateful for his silence, chilly though it was.

At least, she was no longer cold. Her hair was dry and loosely plaited beneath a simple white veil. Her thirst was gone, and her stomach no longer grumbled emptily as it had for hours before he had found her. She knew his anger was due to her actions, and she had known from the moment she looked out of the cave and saw only water there that she would have to face him.

Even so, the nearer they drew to her chamber, the less certain she was of her ability to deal safely with him. She had seen him angry before but not like this.

At the landing, he leaned past her to open the door, pushing it wide and then putting a hand to her back to urge her inside. Annie had left candles alight, and their golden glow danced on the walls. When he followed Mairi in and shut the door, defensive words of protest stirred in her throat but she swallowed them unspoken.

She had not felt so vulnerable in his presence since the day he had captured her and brought her to Trailinghail.

"Now, by heaven, you will give me an explanation for this madness," he snapped as he turned from shutting the door to face her.

"I'll willingly explain," she said more abruptly than she had intended. "I never asked to come here, and I don't want to stay here. You are keeping me captive without any right or reason to do so, and I want to go home."

"Just how did you expect to get home from my cave?"

As he spat out the words, he loomed over her, much too close and much too large for her comfort. But Mairi stood her ground.

She had to tilt her head considerably to look up at him, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her step back. All the same, she realized that neither could she allow herself the satisfaction of spitting her answers at him.

"When you brought me here, I saw sand or shingle along shores to the north as we sailed into the bay," she said, fighting for calm. "From that window yonder, I can see a sandy shoreline across the bay. So I thought with such low water today, I could follow the beach on this side a good part of the way to Kirkcudbright."

Even by candlelight, she saw the color drain from his face. He was still angry even so, for he said grimly, "Then what? A lass, wandering alone—"

"I told you, I stayed at Castle Mains with my family last year on our way to Threave," she said.

"So, what if you did? Did you think you could claim hospitality there? I doubt that Archie is even in residence. He is more likely to be at Threave or riding round Galloway, making a show of his ability to keep all in order here."

"Even if he is away, some of his people must know that my lady stepmother is his cousin, sir. I am sure they would help me get home again."

"Then, thank God the sea stopped you," he snapped. "For of all the fool—"

When she grimaced, he caught her by the shoulders and gave her a hard shake, his eyes blazing as he stared into hers. "See here, my clever lass," he said furiously, "even had the tide lowered enough to leave sand or shingle near that cave, which only a few folks hereabouts have lived long enough to see happen, had you tried walking on it, you'd most likely have drowned. In any tide along any shore here, huge waves can strike hard and swiftly, carrying unwary folks away."

"But—"

"Parts of this western shore are sandy," he went on. "But much of the sand hereabouts is unstable, just as it is along much of the coast around the Firth. Such sand helps protect us, because it shifts easily and never gets completely dry. That deters English invasion by all but a handful of routes. Sithee, waves and the shifting sands have sucked even strong men under."

He paused as if he expected her to comment, but she said nothing.

"Even if you had somehow made it to a firmer beach, paths to the cliff tops are steep and high. And waterfalls spill from the cliffs on this side until fall. You'd have found it hard going even had you got that far."

Although she believed the route she had hoped to take was as dangerous as he said it was, she had experienced too much fear and self-rebuke in the tunnel to fear now what might have happened, since it had not.

So, instead of carefully heeding his words, she had fixed her attention on the man scolding her, on the strength of his hands gripping her shoulders and the tense anger in his voice. If he had seemed too close before, he seemed much more so now, sapping whatever energy she might have had left to defend herself.

He held her tightly, perhaps with more strength than he knew, but his hands were warm, too. He glowered down at her, still waiting for her to reply.

Supper had apparently not eased his temper at all, and she knew that when he was angry, he was unpredictable.

With a hope that she might defuse his anger with an apology, she said, "I did not know how dangerous it could be, sir. It was foolish of me, and wrong, to sneak into the cave. I was as foolish as you say I was, even stupid, to attempt such a thing. I expect that Cousin Archie would be even angrier than you are now had I reached him and told him what I'd done."

"If he cares a whit for you, he would be, but if you think you'd rather face my anger than his, you are dafter than I thought," he said. "Even if he didn't care about you, he would care what people would say, learning that a young kinswoman had walked six miles alone without heed for danger from the sea or from strangers on the way. You live near enough the Firth to know that rogue waves are a danger. How did you think you could avoid one of them with a sheer cliff at your back?"

"I said I was sorry," Mairi said, wishing as she saw his expression tighten that she had not spoken so curtly.

"Nay, you did not say that," he retorted. "You said you were stupid to think you could follow the shore. I doubt you are sorry that you tried to escape."

"It is all the same," she said. "Sithee, sir, I have said I ken fine that I acted heedlessly. I know, too, that you must have been angry and mayhap even frightened when you did not find me where you expected me to be on your return."

His grip tightened bruisingly.

"I am sorry if I gave you a scare," she said hastily. "But I—"

"Enough," he snapped, giving her another shake. "I want to hear no ‘buts' from you, and no more of your apologies if that is how you make them. Any apology that includes a ‘but' is no apology at all. It should be enough for you to know that if you ever do such a thing again, I will make Archie the Grim's anger seem as nowt to mine. Do you understand me?"

"Aye," she snapped, wanting to tear herself from his grip but forcing herself instead to meet his angry gaze, aware that neither sheer fury nor utter submission would restore peace between them yet. "I ken fine what you mean, Robert Maxwell, and I don't doubt that I deserve your… your… H-however, I…"

She could think of no more to say, either because she was exhausted or perhaps because he continued to hold her gaze until she felt an inexplicable urge to touch him, to bring him back from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

The tension between them had increased in a new way during those few seconds. Her breath had stopped and her lips felt dry.

Rob had gone from wanting to shake her to fearing that if he did not let go of her, he would break his resolve to keep his increasingly strong feelings for her under rein. It was bad enough that he had lost his temper again but even worse that she knew she had the power to frighten him. Still, he kept his hands on her.

Her face looked pinched and thinner. Small shadows touched the hollows at her temples and under her eyes. She was pale, and her eyes looked darker than usual, like shadowy pools.

Another wave of fury seized him. But seeing her wince, he realized he had exerted too much pressure where he gripped her. Angry now with himself, he released her and stepped back, saying—he hoped in a well-controlled voice, "Your shoulders will be bruised, I fear. I didn't think."

"Aye, well, if that is all you mean to do to me, I…" She hesitated and he saw her swallow hard, as if the reality of what might have happened—or still could happen—were just sinking in. Then, in a rush, she added, "I'd have suffered worse if I'd fallen down those steps, and much worse than that if the sea had taken me."

"Aye, you would," he said, putting a hand to her shoulder again, gently.

"I won't make such a nuisance of myself again," she said.

"Sakes, but you must ken gey fine that ever since I clapped eyes on you, you have made a nuisance of yourself," he retorted, expressing his raw feelings for once without a thought for how the words might sound to her.

She gave him a speaking look but was kind enough not to remind him that he, not she, was the one whose actions had put them where they were. Instead of stirring his temper again, it led him to explain further. "I fear that, from the outset, you have unsettled my ability to think sensibly," he said. "You make what I have done more difficult than I, or anyone, could ever have expected it to be."

"I have done naught," she said, rallying. "Had you stopped to think at all before you snatched me from my home, you might have recalled that I am far from tractable…" With a wry smile, she added, "I did inherit a certain stubbornness, sir, from my father. You will note that I have not asked you what he said, for I know what he said. But mayhap you would like to tell me how your visit progressed."

"It did not progress," he said, gesturing for her to sit and feeling oddly pleased that she wanted to hear about it, though the result was hardly to his liking. "You were right," he said. "I do not know what ails the man that he would consign his daughter to stay in an unknown place with an unknown captor."

"Art so sure he believes my captor is entirely unknown?" she asked.

He frowned. "He cannot know you are here. I said nowt to make him leap to such a thought. Indeed, I hired horses in Annan town before visiting him."

"You had better hope he does not learn that I am here," she said. "What if he leaves his army at home and simply seeks help from Archie the Grim?"

"I have thought much about Archie," he said. "I've sworn to follow him in aught concerning Galloway. But he kens fine that I side with Maxwell in matters concerning Dumfries. That would include your father's dispute with Alex. In time, Archie will expect all in Galloway and Dumfriesshire to bend to him. Mayhap by then our various forms of government will all grow clearer. Meantime, I think he will leave Alex to settle disputes relating to Dumfries, as he should."

"But you forget my cousin Jenny's husband, Sir Hugh Douglas. If he should apply to Archie with my father, might they not all come here to talk to you?"

"Your father doesn't know you are here, either," he reminded her.

"He could guess," she said. "You introduced yourself as Trailinghail's laird."

"But I told him…" He realized that although he had told Dunwythie he had only heard of Mairi's abduction and wanted to help if he could, Dunwythie had doubted his sincerity. Rob wondered if he did suspect Maxell involvement and had hoped to disarm him by saying he would find Mairi himself.

She was still watching him, waiting, so he said, "Sakes, I cannot say what your father may suspect. He gave me no cause to think he blames any Maxwell for your disappearance. He suggested Englishmen or the Jardines may have taken you."

Shaking her head, she said, "He would not suspect the English, sir. Why would they? So that he might persuade Douglas to leave them in possession of Lochmaben? My father would laugh at such a notion. As for the Jardines, I cannot think why they'd want me, but you can blame your friend Will for drawing his suspicion."

"I told you, I don't know what motives he thinks anyone may have," he said. "He must have enemies other than the Sheriff of Dumfries, though, ready to seize on any situation that could aid them in achieving their own ends."

"Perhaps he does have such enemies," she said. "But he has not mentioned them to me. Moreover, he has a long reputation as a man of peace and would, I think, be slow to suspect that he is now at odds with more than one enemy."

Rob had no quick response, and he did not want to discuss any further the possibility that Archie might take even slight interest in a matter undertaken to aid the Sheriff of Dumfries. That would not only irk Archie and Alex but would create more trouble than anyone wanted. Having hoped only to avoid clan war and perhaps help simplify the administration of Dumfriesshire and aid his clan in the process, he had certainly made his own life far more complicated than he had expected.

He did not, however, wish any longer that he had never abducted her.

Mairi watched him, trying to gauge his mood, but when he grimaced and turned toward the open window without saying more, she could think of nothing to say, either. His posture seemed to suggest that his spirits were low.

In that moment, she could think only of the strong man who consistently showed concern for her, the warrior gentle enough to enjoy the antics of a kitten and so beloved by his own people that even when they did not approve of what he had done, they would defend him in the doing.

He was a man to whom she could talk as she could talk to no one else. She could express even her most basic feelings to him. After spending so many years having to conceal much of what she felt, such freedom was heady, especially as she had had to become his prisoner before she experienced it.

Although he was quick to criticize, quick to offer advice, and quick to condemn behavior he disliked, he was more self-contained, intelligent, thoughtful, and gentle than other men she had met. And somehow, she could draw strength from his whenever she needed it, without knowing how she did it.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was standing right behind him and had reached out a gentle hand to touch his elbow.

He turned, and a moment later she was in his arms.