Chapter 12

12

M urdoch had been right to keep his troops quiet. The men under his command had obeyed his order to the letter, had lain in the darkness perfectly still, and almost crawled to within range of the rebels before making their presence known.

However, the rebels had been well-trained too, and as the guards pursued them into the forest, they found themselves slowed down by many trip wires, which the rebels had strung between the tree trunks after leaving their horses. These caused injuries and delays, enabling the rest of the rebels to cut their horses' hobbles, mount up, and ride away.

Murdoch cursed roundly when Dougie came back and told him what had happened. He had had a lucky escape when one of the robbers almost stabbed him in the heart, but his hard leather doublet deflected the blow, and it glanced off him, enabling him to move in and stab his opponent in the stomach. He did not think it was a serious wound, though, since the rebel was well- armored and the blade did not sink in very deeply. However, it gave him time and space to concentrate on the others.

It took only moments for the fracas to be over, and when Murdoch looked around, he could see two men whom he thought were dead and three wounded ones. The rest of the rebels appeared to have disappeared into thin air.

"Where did they go?" he asked Dougie, exasperated.

Dougie sighed. "It was unbelievable, Murdoch," he replied, shaking his head irritably. "They strung trip wires a' over the place. Our men kept fallin' doon, an' we couldnae ride before we could cut them a'. But we did get one o' them, a wee lad. Can ye believe it? They are usin' boys now." He sounded horrified.

"Good work, Dougie," Murdoch said angrily. "Maybe he can help us to find out what is going on!"

They marched into the woods, where the guards had set up a temporary camp. Inside a makeshift tent, the boy had been seated on a wooden crate taken from the store, and on another one lay two sharp knives, a pair of tweezers, a thumbscrew, and a length of rope. The boy wore a mask over the lower half of his face, but the eyes above it, instead of being wide and frightened, were furious.

They were dark blue and looked very familiar, and for a moment he and Murdoch stared at each other as realization suddenly dawned on him. This person was not a boy. His skin was too smooth, and that scent was so familiar… He stepped forward and pulled the mask off the person's face and then tore away the hat. A river of wavy red hair tumbled down Keira's back as she glared at him, her eyes blazing with rage.

He stood, staring at her stupidly for a moment. This cannot be happening, he thought. My eyes are playing tricks on me. Maybe I am in shock after the fight.

He blinked and looked at the boy—no, he reminded himself, this was not a boy. It was Keira McTavish, and her face was flushed and smeared with dirt, wearing boy clothes that were torn and muddy. And why did he find her even more desirable than ever? There was something wrong with him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" he demanded. "Do these bloody bandits work for you?"

He stepped forward and stared down at her, hoping that his height and bulk would intimidate her. Then he remembered that Keira was made of sterner stuff. This tactic had not worked the first time he had tried it, and it did not work now.

Her answer was a ringing silence.

Keira was terrified, but she would not let her gaze drop from his. He would not know how scared she was under any circumstances. She glanced for a split second at the thumbscrews, ropes, and pincers on the crate beside him, but her mask of rage did not change. Her mouth remained firmly shut. She had developed a technique of out-staring people by gazing fixedly at a spot between their eyes. She found that it nearly always worked, and it worked now, as Murdoch's gaze dropped to the ground and he turned away.

However, he had only given her his back in order to pick up the thumbscrews, and she watched in horror as he silently dangled them in front of her. They would not only be horrifically painful, but they would cripple her hands for life.

A fire had been lit just behind him, but not just to keep the men warm, for she knew that the pincers could now be heated. After that they would be applied to her flesh, searing it and disfiguring her in the most excruciating way possible.

Murdoch had not been able to frighten her before, but as she looked at the instruments of torture dangling from his hands, he could see the terror on her face, even though she tried very hard to hide it with a brave show of defiance. He felt utterly ashamed of himself as he saw her blanch.

I will not give my men up, Keira thought. The image of the many hungry children that she had seen on the estate gave her courage. She held out her hands, and he looked down at them in disbelief.

Murdoch had never had to and never intended to use the implements. Displaying them to the criminal, rebel or bandit had usually been enough, and he knew that faced with the choice of torturing Keira or not torturing her, he could only show her mercy. He was not the sadist she obviously thought he was, as she looked up at him with her bottom lip clamped between her teeth to stop it from trembling.

Her hands were still held out toward him, and suddenly she said, "Are you going to use them or not?"

"That depends on you," he answered, his glare boring into her eyes. "Are you going to give me the answers I seek or not?"

Keira could not hide the tears of fear in her eyes, but she was defiant to the last. "No. Kill me. Do what you like to me. If you turn me over to my father then I am dead anyway, so do as you wish."

She felt powerless and completely without hope as she dropped her hands onto her thighs, then combed them roughly through her hair in a gesture of complete agitation.

I am never going to get any answers doing things this way, Murdoch thought.

He went over to Dougie and passed his hands over his eyes. "What do I do now?" he asked, with a mixture of exasperation and anger. "I cannot get anything out of her at all. I might if I tortured her, but I cannot." He looked distressed, and Dougie put a hand on his shoulder and chuckled.

"Women are no' like us, Murdoch," he observed. "Their minds dinnae work the same way. Ye see, wi' a man, ye can just walk up tae him an' threaten him, insult him, or even punch him. Then ye will either get a straight answer or he will punch ye back, but women are much gentler creatures. Ye must flatter them, or charm them, or even make them think ye agree wi' them before ye get tae the point."

"Sympathize, you mean?" Murdoch asked hopefully, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

"Aye, now ye've got it," Dougie agreed, nodding.

Murdoch clapped him on the shoulder. "There will be a dram for you tonight if this works," he said with a wink.

Even though Murdoch had his back to her, Keira could see Dougie's face. Though he was too far away from her to enable her to lip-read, she could read the expression on his face and knew that they were discussing her. He grinned a couple of times and glanced in her direction, and she felt enraged again that they had not at least gone into a huddle and hidden their faces from her.

They must think I am completely stupid, Keira thought angrily, as Murdoch turned and approached her again. Despite herself, she could not help observing what a magnificent man he was.

Everything about him spoke of strength, from his square jaw, his muscular chest, and broad shoulders to his narrow waist and hips and the powerful muscles of his arms and legs. Then she reminded herself that he was the enemy. He worked for her father and obeyed his orders, and it did not matter how desirable she found him; he was still her foe.

Murdoch knelt down before her, then he took out a glass of ale and poured some into a cup for her.

She hesitated, then accepted it, but only because she was desperately thirsty.

"Mistress," Murdoch said gently, "I understand your position, and I know how much the people on the estate mean to you, but please understand mine. I swore an oath to work for your father and to uphold the honor of the McTavish clan, and I cannot run away from that responsibility. If I lose my position here, I will not find another, and the person who replaces me might not be so understanding. As well as that, you will not help the tenants of this estate if your father imprisons you or exiles you."

Keira smiled coldly. "Ah, I see what you are trying to do," she remarked. "Is that what all the sniggering was about over there? She is only a woman, try to charm her, pretend to see her point of view, soon she will be putty in your hands because women are soft and witless creatures. Do you really think I am so stupid that I cannot see through your deception? You may think we are idiots, Captain of the Guard, but we silly females can read faces as easily as you can read a book.

"Tell your idiotic second-in-command to keep his head turned in the future!"

Suddenly, on a wicked impulse, she threw the ale in his face and watched the shock on it with gleeful satisfaction. The ale was dripping onto his shirt, and he looked down at it stupidly for a moment before he stood up again, glaring at her.

However, Keira could see that he was quite simply at a loss as to what to do with her. He could take her to her father, and God alone knew what he would do to her. On the other hand, he could not leave her to roam about leading a band of rebels, and neither could he be responsible for her himself. He wiped the ale from his face and turned away, then sighed deeply.

Dougie, who had been watching with some amusement, smiled at his captain. "I take all hope of the dram has disappeared, then?"

"Yes," Murdoch growled. "Definitely. Take her home, Dougie. Let her ride her horse beside you and keep her safe 'til you get back to the castle."

Dougie looked at him in amazement. "Ye are no' takin' her back to her father?"

Murdoch shook his head firmly. "In all good conscience, I cannot, Dougie," he replied. "She is…different from any other woman I have ever met, and she deserves a chance to be free. I have the power to turn her into a fugitive or a criminal. I will do neither. Take her home."

He turned to Keira and said grimly, "You are free to go, Mistress McTavish." Then he turned and picked up the thumb screws and pincers again and handed them to her. "Take these and dispose of them as you see fit. They have only ever been used as a threat. They have never touched anyone's flesh, and they never will."

Keira touched the instruments of pain with great reluctance. She did not wish to accept them but was afraid of the consequences if she did not. Somehow, she believed Murdoch when he said he would not use them, but some of his other guards might. At last, after a silent battle with herself, she took them from him, and her hands touched his for a moment. She felt as though a shock had gone through her, and it was so sudden and overwhelming that when she stood up she stumbled a little.

Murdoch put out his hands and grasped her upper arms to steady her, and for a moment, their faces were very close. He looked down at her lips, and Keira saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed nervously. His head was dipping toward hers, the urge to kiss her almost overwhelming, but just before their lips touched, Keira turned away. He blinked, realizing what he had almost done. He flushed with embarrassment and let go of her arms. This was happening too often.

Keira was mesmerized as she watched Murdoch's lips approaching hers, but at the last second, she realized what it would mean if any connection between them was established. He would likely have to surrender her to her father, and if there was any emotional tie between them, it would be disastrous for both of them.

She turned away at the very last second and felt his mouth brush against her hair. Damn. Even now, her body was reacting to his nearness.