Chapter Eight

"I have to relieve myself!" she shouted at her captor, and it wasn't even a lie.

They'd ridden hard through the remainder of the night, and they had not stopped even when a torrential rain had taken the sky hostage or when the sun had finally risen. It was now fully out and beating down on Sorcha, and her head ached from dehydration. Yet, her bladder had not been relieved since the night before.

When the man didn't slow the horse, she tried again. "If ye dunnae let me relieve myself, I'll be doing so on ye momentarily."

That got the result she needed. Her captor pulled his horse to a stop, and as she started to dismount, so did he. "What are ye doing?" she demanded of the stranger.

He cocked his thick red eyebrows at her. "Ye dunnae think I'm going to allow ye to wander off alone, do ye?"

"How far do ye possibly think I could get before ye overcame me on yer horse?" she demanded, amazed at the lack of fear she felt. But considering this was her second time being snatched in less than two days, she supposed she was numb to it. And this man had told her plainly he didn't want to harm her, and his actions had supported that. He hadn't been rough with her, and when she'd tried to escape him and she'd gotten him in his groin, he had not retaliated. In fact, he'd told her that he wished he didn't have to take her, but that he had no choice.

"I dunnae care to think how far ye might get, which is why I'll be coming with ye."

The finality of his tone told her there was no arguing with him. Of course, she planned to escape, but she also did not relish the thought of a strange man watching her relieve herself.

With a huff, she strode past him toward the woods, shoving thick brush out of her way as she went deeper and deeper. The crunch of sticks behind her let her know he was close behind. She scanned the forest. Where could she relieve herself and escape the man? A breeze began, and the smell of water came to her on the wind, and with her back to her captor, she smiled. There was water ahead, and she fully intended to use it to rid herself of this man.

"Ye say ye dunnae have a choice but to snatch me, but yer verra actions are yer choice. Ye are choosing to force me somewhere I dunnae wish to be in exchange for coin," she said striding fast toward the water. She hoped her conversation would distract him, so he'd not consider she might use the water to try to flee.

"I did nae snatch ye for coin. I dunnae get any coin for where I'm taking ye. I keep my head."

"Yer head?" she stopped, turned, and faced the man. He had a friendly face, and a familiar look about him. Something about his eyes seemed familiar. "Do I ken ye?"

"Nay, though we likely passed each other at one point in the village. When I am nae on a mission, I live there."

She felt her eyes go wide. "Ye live in my village?"

"Aye," he said with a chuckle. "But I'm rarely ever there, and I could hardly believe it myself when I followed Alasdair to ye."

Her brows dipped nearly together, so deep was her confusion. "Ye ken Alasdair?"

"Aye. He's my cousin." That was it! This man's eyes were the same shape as Alasdair's.

"Ye stole me from yer cousin? That's despicable." She was perfectly aware that she should not feel incensed on Alasdair's behalf, and yet, she foolishly did.

The man's cheeks turned red. "Well, lass, men do despicable things when their lives are threatened, I suppose, and I did nae steal ye. He dunnae own ye. I simply used him to find ye, given his record for tracking."

"His record for tracking?" she asked.

"Aye. He's the best."

"Alasdair is a mercenary as well as a laird?"

The man shook his head. "Nay, he is nae a mercenary, but he's still the best tracker I've ever seen. 'Tis why—Well, I... I tried to find ye myself after the meeting with yer brother. Of course, under the guise that I was bringing ye back to him."

"Of course," she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

The man's lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure, or mayhap it was guilt. Despite having snatched her, he didn't seem like a horrid person, only like a person with a keen wish to stay alive, and how could she fault him for that?

"When I could nae, I was given a sennight more to find ye afore I lose my head. I made my way here to gather my belongings so I could flee. Running into Alasdair was a coincidence. I saw him, and I thought he could probably find ye."

"Why nae simply ask yer cousin for his aid instead of tricking him?" she demanded.

"Because I could nae trust that he'd allow me to take ye if he found ye, and I could nae risk him crossing me."

She gasped. "Ye think he'd choose to gain the coin rather than aid ye in keeping yer head? He must nae be a verra good man!"

"Nay," the man said. "I feared his honor would get the best of him, because I ken just how deep it runs."

"His honor?" she repeated, chuckling. "He took me! He was going to force me to a home I dunnae remember, to be wed against my will. Where is the honor in that?"

His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Ye dunnae ken him, so ye kinnae speak of his honor. Despite his own dire circumstances, I could nae be certain he'd allow me to take ye if he found ye or forced ye home himself for the coin. And as I said, I wish to keep my head."

She stared at the giant of a man. He must have hardly ever been in their village. He was so tall, it would be impossible to pass and not notice him, so she knew she'd never seen him.

"Ye dunnae appear to be a man who'd feel threatened by another," she said.

"Well, the king is nae just any man."

"The king!" she exclaimed.

"Aye. I'm a mercenary who has done many a mission for the king, so when he got wind of yer brother's reappearance and then his plans for ye—"

The wary look he gave her caused her to speak up. "I ken of the plans for my future," she bit out.

He nodded. "Well, the king is nae pleased with an impending alliance between yer clan and the Campbells."

"The king feels the clans will become too powerful?" she guessed.

"Ye're clever."

"Aye." She smirked. "Imagine! A lass who is clever. How extraordinary! Am I to be killed, then, because the king dunnae wish the alliance to proceed?"

He frowned. "If ye were simply to be killed, dunnae ye think I'd have already done the deed?"

"Good point," she replied, and her body relaxed a bit at his words. "What are the king's plans for me?"

"To wed ye to one of his trusted warriors, one whom he controls and one who will owe him for delivering a union with a clan such as yer brother's."

"I'd rather ye kill me than be forced to wed," she grumbled.

"Is that what ye told my cousin? Is that why he was nae watching ye as vigilantly as he should? 'Tis unlike him to be careless."

She shrugged. "I've nae a clue why he was nae watchful of me," she said, trying not to ignore the regret that had been tugging at her ever since she'd fled Alasdair. "How'd ye come to follow yer cousin?" she asked, shifting from foot to foot. The pressure on her bladder was now quite great, but the more she spoke with this man, the more relaxed he'd become, and she needed his guard to be lowered so that he'd let her out of his sight. Mayhap, if she could make him believe the idea of wedding a warrior was enticing, he'd think he didn't have a need to watch her. "What I told yer cousin," she said, talking slowly because she was figuring out how to spin her tale, "is that I've nae any wish to wed for the benefit of a brother I dunnae ken and who is only searching for me because I could gain him a strong alliance. But for the king, I will wed."

She had to bite the fleshy insides of her cheeks to keep from grimacing at her own words. Wed for the king! Ha! What had the king ever done for her?

A slow smile turned up the corners of the man's mouth. "Ye were raised with a great loyalty?"

Yes, yes, she was. She was raised with a loyalty to herself and her sister because there was no one else looking out for their interests, but she didn't say any of that. She widened her eyes and batted her lashes. She had seen enough lasses at the market do this to vendors to know men could sometimes be turned soft by a woman who seemed helpless. "Aye. My papa always said our first loyalty lies with our king." He'd never uttered the word loyalty in his life, and his allegiance was to mead and wine.

She held her breath for a moment, sure the gods would strike her down for such a bald-faced lie, but nothing happened. She exhaled a slow breath of relief. He was staring at her as if he was trying to make up his mind so she said, "What is yer name?"

"Ollie MacLachlan. Why?"

She shrugged. "Well, I figure if I'm to travel with ye and ye're to watch me relieve myself, I ought to ken yer name."

He glanced past her toward the water and then back, probably judging if he could trust her. He couldn't, but she sincerely hoped he thought so. "Can ye swim?" he finally asked. Oh, he was clever. He'd thought of her plan to jump in the river to escape him. She had to be very careful with what she said.

"Nae very well," she replied, hoping the truth would serve her best. She could not swim well, and it had been a very long time since she'd last tried, but she could not let that deter her.

"Fine. I'll walk ye to the edge of the embankment, then turn my back so ye can relieve yerself. But I warn ye, I'm a strong swimmer, and if ye jump in to flee, I'll simply retrieve ye, and then I'll tie ye to me until the day we part. Ye would nae want that, would ye?"

"About as much as I'd care for the pox," she assured him with blunt honestly.

That elicited a chuckle from him. "Come," he said and motioned her to follow.

She started behind him, her shoes sinking in the grass, soaking wet from the earlier heavy rain. As they moved closer to the embankment and deeper into the woods, droplets of water fell from the tree branches. She brushed a drop off her nose, and apprehension swirled in her belly, growing with each step. The steady rush of water caressed her ear. Surely, it was not so deep, not so fast?

Ollie stopped in front of her and then turned toward her. "We're here. I'll just wait for ye," he said, stepping around her and giving her his back.

She glanced at the water and frowned. It flowed fast, and from here, she could not make out the bottom of it. Dread knotted her stomach, but she had little choice but to proceed. She took a fortifying breath. "Could ye take five steps forward? I'm embarrassed for ye to hear me relieve myself." That was only a partial lie. If she was pausing long enough on dry ground to relieve her bladder, certainly she'd not want this man to hear, but the release of her bladder would have to wait until she hit the water.

She reviewed her plan in her head. Dive into the water. Swim downstream. Then swim to an embankment and make her way east and home. It was the only plan she had. She prayed she would not drown. She could feel herself trembling, and she curled her hands into fists. Her nails dug into the sensitive flesh of her palms, and she stood that way for a moment, contemplating the rest of her plan. This part she did not like, but she had little choice. She had to daze him so he didn't immediately follow.

Biting her lip, she bent down as quietly as possible, retrieved a stone big enough to daze Ollie but not to injure him gravely, and she stood. "Almost done," she called out, reared back her arm, aimed as she would for shooting her bow, and flung the stone at him. It hit him square in the back of the head with a thud. The loudness of it snatched a gasp from deep within her throat, and as he fell forward to his knees with a grunt, then sideways, lying perfectly still, black fright seized her.

She'd killed Ollie MacLachlan! She'd killed a man. She couldn't move. She stood there, every limb frozen, heart thumping rapidly, leaping forward at an alarming pace. "Ollie!" she called out from where she stood, but the man did not so much as twitch. She glanced behind her at the water, at her escape, and then back to him to his still form. She could not simply leave him, if she'd injured him gravely.

She forced herself to move, but her legs barely held her up they trembled so. She reached Ollie after what seemed an interminably long time. Somewhere in the distance, a flock of birds squawked, then flew upward to blanket the sky as if something had frightened them from their place in the woods. She didn't have time to fear what might be out there, as there was too much to fear right in front of her.

She reached a shaking hand toward Ollie's shoulder, certain at any moment he'd turn over, grab her, and give her a horrid lashing for throwing a rock at his head. But even when her fingertips grazed, then gripped his shoulder, he did not move. It occurred to her to check his head, so she slid her fingertips into his curly red hair, relieved when she didn't feel the slick of blood, but there was a horribly large lump on the back of his head. It was nearly the size of an egg already.

Tears blurred her vision, and she dashed them away. She turned him over, stuck her index finger under his nose, and nearly cried out when his warm breath wafted over his skin. She then pressed her finger under his chin to the vein that pulsed life through him. "Thank the gods," she muttered when she felt his pulse. She'd not killed him, merely knocked him out.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she stood. She started to step around him toward the water, then stilled as a realization came to her.

She didn't have to jump into the water to escape him. She could make her way back to his horse, take it, and be far away from him before he stirred. She didn't hesitate. She picked up her skirts, twirled away from him, and began to run. Above her, the birds crossed the sky once more, squawking and making such a fuss that her skin prickled from the base of her skull down the back of her neck, leaving a trail of raised gooseflesh behind it.

Something was amiss. Something was disturbing the birds, and it set a chill in her lungs as she ran. She jumped the log she'd stepped over before, but her toe caught the edge of a stray branch and she went flying forward. She landed in the dirt, twigs, and gnarled tree roots with such force that her teeth rattled and little specs of silver filled her vision for a moment.

The tree roots had cut into her hands with piercing pain, and when she pushed herself off the dirt and turned over, she stared at the twin thin lines of blood that cut both her palms. It so surprised her that she sat there for one, two, three breaths, stunned, until the birds flew overhead again, and then an owl hooted and another bird called out. It was as if the forest creatures were warning one another, or mayhap they were warning her.

"Margaret!" came a roar from somewhere ahead of her in the direction of Ollie's horse.

"Margaret Stewart! Call to me!"

She knew that deep-timbered voice! The instinct to cry out in gladness at the sound of Alasdair's voice alarmed her. She must have feathers in her head to feel relief that her other would-be captor was near and looking for her. Men were not to be trusted. Alasdair had snatched her for his gain and would force her to go where she did not want to go. She needed to remember that. With the thoughts in her head, she shifted direction, away from Alasdair and his cousin and toward her home and her sister. She'd need to be careful to stay as hidden as possible as she made her way there. If there were mercenaries other than Ollie who had found their way to her village, she didn't doubt they'd try to take her if they realized who she was. Once she reached her home, she would confront her father about hiding the truth from her, and maybe—just maybe—she'd discover he had some feeling in him for her after all. She paused for a moment as fresh worry gripped her.

What if her father knew there was a reward for her? Would he try to take her to her to her brother, to Laird Stewart? She snorted at the question. Of course he would, but what if—what if he didn't? What if he surprised her? She was a fool for the niggle of hope that rose, but she was not such a clot-heid that she would confront her father empty handed.