Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

A rran smiled to himself. If the lass believed this swift transformation from raging vixen to submissive maiden would fool him into believing she'd given up her battle to escape and was now resigned to her fate, she was sadly mistaken. It was an old trick and one he'd become familiar with as a wee lad learning his warrior skills. An enemy could feign weakness and at the very instant you lowered your guard, he'd have his sword at your throat.

Still, it would be interesting to see what this feisty lass intended.

Moments ticked by and he deliberately slackened his hold on her waist, immediately feeling the tension ripple through her body as she prepared to make her move. He further released his grip. Then, exactly at the moment he'd anticipated, she flew from his arms like a ball from a cannon and raced toward the stable where her horse waited.

He hesitated, observing her fleeing figure, half amused and half admiring. She was determined, he'd give her that.

He reached her as she fumbled with the latch on the stable gate. Seizing her around the waist from behind, he snatched her up again. She kicked out wildly, scratching with her fingernails at his arms where he held her fast. All the while she was shrieking and screeching loud enough to challenge the banshees across the sea in Erin's Isle, using language that no lady should ever allow to issue from her mouth.

"Put me down, ye God-fersaken bastard. Ye poxy villain. Ye low-life, worthless scum."

"Hush, melady. If ye bring some poor lad running tae help ye, using language like that, he's bound to believe me when I tell him ye're a whore luring unsuspecting customers tae bed her in the stable hay."

She opened her mouth as if to utter a further shriek, but only a loud and indignant squeak emerged before he hoisted her over his shoulder with one easy movement, as if she was nothing more than a sack of barley. Her fists drummed his back but he paid no more heed to her frantic blows than he would to the bite of a bed bug.

"I caution ye, lass. Keep yer voice down afore ye lose the respect of every farmer and decent man in the tavern."

She growled a moan but, to his relief, she ceased her shrieks and her pummelling as he carried her across the courtyard and pushed the tavern door open.

"Good, wee lassie. Ye're showing some common sense at last."

There was that growl again. "Och ye test me sorely, Arran Mackinnon," she muttered, a sound that seemed to issue through gritted her teeth.

Arran wasted no time weaving his way through the tables and heading up the stairs. The denizens of the tavern hardly bothered to throw a glance his way. Obviously, they were used to the sight of a wench slung over a man's shoulder being lugged upstairs to bed. He chuckled to himself. His threat had worked and there wasn't so much as a peep out of Dahlia until they entered the room.

He lowered her onto the bed in the corner of the tiny room, where she lay, arms akimbo, glaring up at him. Her dress and lady's riding outfit lay across the chair in the corner where she'd discarded them earlier, along with the leather satchel containing more of her clothing. In the corner was a large copper tub filled with hot water, cooling now. He'd ordered it earlier so she could bathe after their two-day ride and prepare for the journey tomorrow, when she would be presented to Laird Mackinnon.

He could restrain his ire no longer. "Ye're a foolish, spoilt lass," he bawled at her, "who cares naught fer the ones who've been tasked tae guard ye, whose lives depend on bringing ye safely tae Castle Mackinnon." He was intent on impressing on her the futility and selfishness of any escape plan she might yet contemplate. He would have gone on, but he was held back by the sense that she could not be trusted to know the inner workings of his heart and the knowledge of the hold Bairre Mackinnon had over him and his overriding fear for the wellbeing of his precious mother, Emilia.

Dahlia huffed, levering herself into a sitting position. "Ye may shout at me all ye wish, Arran Mackinnon. I dinnae care a fig fer ye and yer kind, who'll dae the bidding of a monster like yer laird." She scowled at him and he felt his heart miss a beat. "And, nay matter what ye say, I'll scream me heart out if I so wish."

Masking his concern for her, he glowered, shaking his head. "Stop yer caterwauling. There is nay one here tae come tae yer yells. Ye're nae in yer brother's castle now with all the servants at yer beck and call."

Instead of having the desired effect of silencing Dahlia's tirade, his words seemed to spur her on to greater heights of rage.

"Ye're a pestilent, vindictive knave," she jeered loudly, tossing her head back, fixing him with an unwavering glare. "Ye're unscrupulous, dishonorable, false, worthless…" Looking around the room as if searching for something bad enough to name him, she turned her pretty lips into a sneer, spitting out her next words with a vehemence that set him reeling. "Ye're nothing better than a… a… jack-in-the box, doing the bidding of an evil, contemptible, loathsome…" She gasped in a breath, "…fiend."

Although her words stung, his annoyance dissolved as he took in the sight of her, chest heaving, her glorious breasts half exposed over the fabric she'd used to disguise them, her hair dishevelled as if she'd only just risen from his bed after a bout of lovemaking. And the boy's britches she had on only accentuated her womanly waist and hips rather than disguising them.

He bit down the urge to laugh. She really was a most delightful creature. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, her hair falling in ringlets over her shoulders most fetchingly, and her eyes, of the deepest periwinkle-blue, were alight with a wildfire that set his pulse racing and ignited his desire. If only they could shine for him, not with fury as they were now, but with passionate desire.

But she was never meant to be his. Her fate was to be taken by the Laird to be his plaything, to do with her as he wished.

The darkness in his soul grew even blacker at the thought of the Mackinnon laying his hands on that pearly white skin, crushing her delicate lips under his cruel mouth and ravishing her soft body.

This is madness. I cannae allow mesel' the indulgence of such thoughts. Me task is clear. I must deliver the lass tae Castle Mackinnon. Nay matter how much it pains me to dae sae.

"Enough," he muttered in a voice that made it clear he'd brook no further complaints or resistance. "Ye've said yer piece and I'll listen tae nay further griping, nor will I tolerate any further attempts on yer part tae leave me care."

She pshawed loudly, frowning up at him from the edge of the bed where she perched cross-legged. " Yer care? At least ye could be honest and admit ye've nae care fer me. If ye cared even a jot ye'd nae be taking me tae a wedding that is a match with the devil himself."

"So, ye've nay wish tae marry me… master?" His heart lifted a little. Mayhap she hated the man as much as he did.

She shrugged. "Ye'd be a fool tae think aught else when I've been at such pains these past hours tae leave ye and return tae me family. I'll dae all in me power tae avoid marriage with Bairre Mackinnon." She turned her gaze to a blank space on the wall somewhere beyond his shoulder. "Even if it should lead me tae a deathly fate."

"Nay lass." He reached over to envelop her small, elegant hand in his. "Ye mustnae think such thoughts. The king has commanded that ye should wed and bring peace tae the war between our clans. Can ye nae consider it yer duty?"

Gazing up through her long dark lashes she seemed to be assessing him. A ripple of something unsettling rattled through his veins. It was as if she could see into his soul and understand the darkness haunting him. He wanted nothing more than to trust this woman and to earn her trust in return. Yet to trust her could lead to his own deathly fate.

Tonight was not the time for such dangerous thoughts. Insofar as they were both concerned, he was to take her to Mackinnon Castle, where she would take part in the preparations for her wedding to the laird. There was no space for any other thinking. He must subdue his desire and treat her coolly, hide his empathy for her plight, focus only on what he'd been tasked to do to ensure she arrived at the castle.

Above all, he had to carry out his duty to ensure the safety of his captive mother, whose very life hung in the balance. She was ironically at the mercy of a man without mercy, Bairre Mackinnon.

"The king doesnae ken what he's asking of me family. I am the third he has commanded tae wed. Me braithers are happy with their wee wifeys but I will find nothing but heart-sorrow and sadness in the castle of the Mackinnon."

He wrinkled his nose. "Whatever yer fate melady, I think ye'd be better tae face it sweet- smelling instead of with the rank stench of ale that's soaking ye now. Why, me nose is fair twitching at the scent of ye."

Her lips gave a tiny quirk that could have been the beginning of a smile.

"Och. Ye're right, I reek like the ripe inside of an unwashed tankard." She glanced up, arching a dark brow. "Mayhap if I greet yer laird as I am he'll nae be sae eager tae wed me."

"On the contrary, lass. The Laird Mackinnon is bound tae fancy ye even more if ye carry the scent of a brewery. He fair minds his ale, does Bairre."

He watched her face fall and her shoulders slump and his heart ached for her. He was under no illusion that Bairre would treat her well. He was a violent brute who thought nothing of delivering a cruel beating to anyone who displeased him, whether they be a lad or a lass.

"I'll pay a visit tae the kitchen and find us something fer our supper. I've had naught tae line me belly since midday and I daresay ye're hungry too." Looking Dahlia up and down he ignored the forlorn shake of her head. "There's still warmth in the water in that tub. When I leave the room, strip off those stinking, wet clothes, untie that pointless strip of cloth from around yer… er… chest, dip yer body in the water and cleanse yerself."

With that, he swivelled toward the door. "I'll expect ye tae be sweet-smelling and sweet-tempered when I return."

He stepped through the door, pulling it closed on the sound of her loud "harrumph," turned the key in the lock, pocketed it, and headed down the stairs without waiting to hear what curses she might be laying at his head.

After ordering leek soup and a venison pie from the kitchen he made his way back to the table he'd previously been seated at. Most of the tavern's customers had departed, leaving few to occupy the now quiet place. He sat with a tankard before the fire, reviewing the events of the day, praying quietly to himself that by the time he returned to Dahlia's room she would have seen reason. He was confident she could not escape from the securely locked room. Its small, high window was far too tight a squeeze for even the slenderest lad to fit through.

It was not difficult to understand her resolve and her loathing for Bairre. The man he called ‘cousin' was loved by very few. He smiled grimly to himself. Mayhap the man's mother had been the only one to bestow any affection on her son. And, as she'd passed away when Bairre and his late brother James were little more than babes, perhaps not even she had been able to offer him a mother's love.

He finished the ale and trod wearily up the stairs. Unlocking the door of Dahlia's room with a sense of foreboding that she might make another attempt to evade him as he entered the room.

She was standing by the fire, her cheeks glowing pink, her still-damp, long, silvery hair tumbling down her back. His fingers itched to reach out and smooth a wayward lock from her forehead and tuck it behind her ear. She was clad in a cream silk night gown and a dark-blue fur-lined velvet robe which she tightened around herself as he stepped further into the room. The air was filled with the fragrance of roses and cinnamon.

He gasped, his senses reeling as he struggled to hide the powerful effect her beauty was having on him. He steeled himself against the twitch and ache in his groin as he gazed at her.

"I am pleased ye're seeing sense, melady."

She snorted, her eyes flashing. "I'm seeing sense enough tae ken ye've foiled me attempt tae get away this night. But dinnae think I'll nae try again as soon as there's a chance."

He chuckled softly. "Why, lass, I'd never be so foolish as tae believe ye've been tamed by one foiled attempt."

"That is wise of ye." She held her head proudly, and even though he sensed he was in for more trouble before he'd delivered her safely to Castle Mackinnon, he could only admire her feistiness and determination.

He allowed his gaze to wander over her, observing the details of her delicate form, feeling like some besotted troubadour composing verses to honour his lady's beauty.

Those thoughts put him in imminent danger of wandering into forbidden territory, so it came as a relief when a sharp rap on the door drew his attention and he hastened over to open it. A small kitchen maid entered the room bearing a tray with the meal he'd ordered, alongside two tankards of ale, and placed it on a small table beside the fire.

Drawing up a chair for Dahlia, he waited while she arranged herself before taking the seat opposite.

They ate in silence, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fire. Once the meal was finished, he feigned a yawn, placing a hand at his mouth, and got to his feet.

"'Tis time ye took tae yer bed, Lady Dahlia. Ye'll be needing yer rest as we've a long day's ride ahead of us tomorrow."

She didn't reply and he could almost see the wheels of thought turning in that charming head of hers.

"Are ye thinking there'll be a moment fer ye tae gallop off and leave me, Craig Donald and our two guards behind?" He grinned as her cheeks blushed pink, not meeting his gaze. Of course, he'd been reading her thoughts correctly. Tomorrow he'd make sure he never allowed her out of his sight. There'd be no opportunities for her to slip away.

"And ye'll be making fer yer room tae sleep now?"

He shook his head. "I'll nae be leaving ye alone this night, I'll be keeping a close watch over ye while ye're sleeping."

At that she squared her shoulders and fixed him with a blue-eyed gaze that came close to robbing his breath. "I think it isnae so, Arran Mackinnon. Ye ken Bairre Mackinnon would never tolerate ye sleeping in the same room as mesel'." She gave a sharp laugh. "If I told him ye'd slept beside me, he'd make short work of ye with his long sword."

"And d'ye wish me tae sleep beside ye, Lady Dahlia?"

He enjoyed watching the bright colour flush her face. It was clear the thought had crossed her mind.

With a sigh, he shook his head. "Mayhap that's a dream we both might share." He noted that, as their eyes met, she schooled her features to give no hint of what thoughts might be passing through her head.

"But, never fear. I'll nae remain in this room but spend the night outside, lying across yer doorway. If ye think tae somehow unlock the door and sneak away, I'll be awake in an instant and ye'll nae get past me."

Outside the bedroom door he pulled his cloak around him and hunkered down on the hard oak floor, using his bunnet to rest his head. Thoughts of Dahlia whirled through his mind keeping him from sleep. She was more beautiful now than he remembered when he'd first set eyes on her four long years ago when she was held captive by Bairre's older brother, James Mackinnon. The man who had murdered Dahlia's brother, Thor, and himself been slain by her brother the Laird Haldor.

He could only dream on what she would say if she realized he was the young man who had made an ill-fated attempt at rescuing her from James Mackinnon's clutches all those years ago.