Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

D ahlia was wakened by a tapping on the door. The room was gloomy in the early morning light and it took seconds for her to register her surroundings and fully recall the events of last night.

She was being held against her will in a dingy tavern halfway to Castle Mackinnon where the Laird Bairre Mackinnon awaited her with his infernal plan to make her his wife.

Dammit to hell!

"Who is there?" she called sleepily.

"'Tis Arran Mackinnon, milady. I've brought ye some nourishment tae break yer fast before we continue our journey."

She struggled out of the hard pallet where she'd spent the night, flung on her robe and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, a lopsided grin on his face, his big hands proffering a tray loaded with oat bannocks, sausages, boiled eggs and two bowls of porridge.

She followed him as he laid the tray on the table.

Observing him from the corner of her eye there was something about him that was familiar. Perhaps it was the rare smile, and the way his eyes crinkled, or simply the way he looked at her that, somehow, made her heart skip a beat, reminding her of someone she'd met before. He stoked the dying embers and placed to logs on the fire. As the flames blazed up, he rubbed his hands to warm them.

She looked askance at the food he'd placed on the table. "Two bowls? D'ye intend tae share this break-fast?"

"Aye, lass." The grin widened and he lowered his large form into one of the chairs beside the table. "And it's a pleasure to place me backside in a cushioned chair after the hard oak floor that was me bed last night." Groaning, he reached around and rubbed the small of his back. "'Twas much the same as attempting tae sleep on a rock."

She shrugged. "Too bad. Naebody asked ye tae keep guard over me. Ye've nay one but yersel' tae blame fer the cricks in yer bones this morning."

He placed a greasy sausage on one of the oatcakes and took a bite, leaning back in the chair with a sigh of satisfaction while Dahlia stirred a spoonful of honey into the porridge.

"What d'ye intend tae dae today?" she asked, supping the porridge.

"Once ye've finished yer repast and donned yer riding clothes, we'll saddle up and be on the road." He reached across for a second sausage. "We'll nae make it tae the castle afore dusk unless we ride hard."

Dahlia made a mental note to create as many delays and diversions as possible in the hope that some respite would come and she'd find a way to escape.

Once the meal was done, he didn't linger but rose to his feet, wiping his greasy fingers on a cloth beside the tray. "I'll be waiting afore ye by the stables. Be quick, I'm in nae mind tae dally." His voice held a cold, commanding tone that set her teeth on edge. Her faint hope that he might have some concern for her plight was clearly in vain.

She dawdled over dressing and gathering her things, hoping to delay their departure. But no time had passed before her door was flung open and Arran stomped into the room. He grabbed her open satchel, snatched up her robe and nightgown and stuffed them in. He reached for her hand and when she wrenched it away, he seized it in his steely grip.

"Nay more of yer childish games. It's time we were travelling."

"How dare ye storm intae the room like this? What if I had still been unclad?"

He gave a mirthless laugh. "Why then, me fine lady, ye'd be riding half-dressed fer the rest of the day's journey."

"Well, ye can at least give me a chance tae lace me boots," she snapped.

He glanced at her boots. "Then be quick about it, fer I'll nae tarry another minute."

"But me hair," she wailed. "I've scarce had time tae brush out the night's tangles."

He picked up the lace cap that she'd discarded when she had changed into the stable boy's clothes.

"Tie this under yer chin and stop yer complaining. I've nae time tae waste with yer foolishness."

With her travelling satchel in one hand and clasping tight to her arm with the other, Arran maneuvered her out of the room and down the stairs. A servant who was sweeping the front door stoop didn't even raise her head when a protesting Dahlia was whisked outside to the stables. It was clear there'd be no assistance there. She resigned herself to her immediate fate – to be placed unceremoniously on her horse and continue the journey to the home of the hateful Laird Bairre Mackinnon.

As they rode off with Arran in the lead holding the reins of her horse, Dahlia looked around. There was no sign of Arran's friend, the Mackinnon War Leader, Craig Donald, or the other two men who were acting as her guards.

"Where are yer men?"

"Why? Are ye missing their company?" A half-smile quirked his lips.

She huffed loudly. "The fewer Mackinnons around me, the better."

"Well, tae spare yer delicate MacLeod feelings lass, I've sent them on ahead of us tae ensure the road holds nay dangers. For instance, an ambush that might have been laid by ill-advised minions of yer brothers, hoping tae remove ye from me guardianship."

She cursed silently. His words dashed the faint hope she'd been clinging to that her brothers would attempt to rescue her along the road.

"Must I remind ye that the king has commanded this match tae end the fighting between two of his most important clans. Yer braithers would dae well to heed the command without interference."

Despairing, she gritted her teeth. But at least, now, she'd only Arran to deal with. "Thank ye fer sending me jailers away Arran, I dinnae enjoy being reminded I am a captive."

"I regret ye feel this way, melady. Most brides would be eager tae meet with their future husband, nae reluctant as ye are."

He spurred his horse forward before she had a chance to respond. Her horse followed his and their pace quickened.

They passed fields of barley and oats, where peasants were working on the harvest. At times the road was clogged with heavy farmers' carts on their way to the nearby market town. For a moment or two she contemplated leaping from her horse into a passing cart and concealing herself under the sacks of produce, but the cart-horse was plodding slowly and, of course, Arran would uncover her ruse in a trice. She gave up that idea and rode on with a heavy heart.

At midday they stopped at an inn along the way to rest their horses, quench their thirst and partake of a morsel of food.

Arran bid her to enter the tavern and she left him seeing to the horses and marched into the inn to be greeted by the innkeeper.

"Good day mistress," the man said obsequiously, clearly taking note of her fine velvet cloak and leather boots.

"D'ye have a privy, landlord? I wish tae relieve mesel'."

"Indeed. The privy is at the rear of the inn. Allow me tae show ye the way." He headed toward a door at the end of a long hallway.

Could this be me chance tae escape?

Following the man outside into a small yard stacked with barrels of ale and piled with firewood, she looked around hopefully. Alas, the space was surrounded by a high fence and there was no possibility for her to climb it without assistance.

She eyed it silently, flooded with memories of another time when she'd almost been able to escape from Castle Mackinnon by ascending a high wall. She'd often wondered what had become of the man who had tried so bravely to help her on that night, always fearing that Mackinnon's men had captured and killed him while she was being dragged back to her prison cell.

"It's over here, melady," the innkeeper interrupted her thoughts, beckoning her toward a low stone building. "Ye'll find a half-barrel of clean water outside."

After she'd relieved herself, she sluiced fresh water over her face and hands. She was drying her hands on a kerchief when Arran burst through the door, his face dark as thunder.

"What the…?" He looked around, his eyes flicking across the tall fence.

Feigning innocence, but guessing he'd been expecting her to have made a dash for it, she asked "What is it? Did ye nae wish me tae make use of the privy?"

He grunted and seized her arm. "Ye should make it kent tae me if ye intend tae leave the place I've told ye to wait. What were ye thinking? That ye'd be able tae run away?"

She shook her head, maintaining her innocent tone as he guided her through the door and through the hallway. "Why, I cannae imagine why ye would accuse me of such a wicked piece of trickery."

That brought an unexpected burst of laughter. "Ye're a minx, Dahlia MacLeod and there's nay doubting it." He shook his head and she caught a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

The landlord provided a repast of nettle soup, cheese and buttered oat-bread which they washed down with a tankard of ale.

Arran rose to his feet. "'Tis time fer us tae be on the road."

His moment of good humor had fled, replaced by a gruffness that made her wonder why it now seemed he was going out of his way to be cold and distant. Last night he'd been kind, and she'd garnered the belief that he shared her feelings about Laird Mackinnon. Now he seemed hell-bent on getting to their destination with all speed and the devil take her feelings in the matter.

Their horses were at the drinking trough being tended by a small boy, perhaps no more than nine or ten years of age. When they walked over the lad held out the reins to Arran.

"Ye've very fine horses, melord."

Arran smiled at the boy and ruffled his hair. "Did ye take care of our steeds while we were away?"

The boy nodded. "I let them drink their fill, I gave them hay and a brush-down. Now they are having another drink before ye ride away again."

He tossed the lad a coin. "Here's something fer yer trouble, lad. Ye're a good stable-boy."

"Thank ye, melord." The boy gave a deep bow to Arran. "I hope one day tae be a groom like me faither."

Arran chuckled as he assisted Dahlia into the saddle.

"And I've nae doubt ye'll make yer faither right proud of ye."

The boy's face was glowing with pride as they rode out of the cobbled inn-yard and Dahlia marveled at the warmth and kindness Arran had displayed. Mayhap it was only in her presence he was as cold as winter snow.

As they rode on Dahlia decided to put her theory to the test.

"'Tis a fine sunny day now, Mackinnon. I was afeared it may rain but the weather looks right bonny." She kept her voice light and pasted a smile on her face, venturing a glance at him as he rode beside her.

It came as no surprise when he kept his eyes straight ahead and made no comment in response.

"Did ye nae hear me?"

Again, there was no response except that he seemed to set his jaw a little tighter.

"Have ye all of a sudden lost yer hearing, or d'ye nae wish tae speak with me?"

Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, he gave a grunt of acknowledgment. "Aye. The sun is shining."

She made another attempt. "Will we be riding fer many more hours? Me rump is feeling the worse fer our two days of riding and I would welcome a rest."

He huffed loudly at that. "Apologies for the delicate nature of melady's derrière. Nae doubt it is more used tae being seated in a plush chair by the fireside while ye toil at yer embroidery, eating sweetmeats all day."

Now it was Dahlia's turn to huff. "What would ye ken about how a lady spends her time? Ye're nothing but a rough oaf." She tossed her head. "I've spent days in the saddle following paths through the glens and mountains on the Isle of Skye."

He let fly with a loud guffaw. "On yer sweet mare who never gallops or trots but walks at a demure pace to make sure ye're rear-end never receives a jolting."

Her face flushed with a fearsome heat. How dare he insult her like that? "I'll have ye ken that me braithers made sure I could ride hard and fast. When I was nay more than a wee girl, I rode with them across the crags and hillsides." She glared at him but, if anything, he seemed amused to have aroused her ire. "And, as fer riding a sedate mare ye ken naught. I've won many a race against me braithers on me hardy mountain pony jolting and dancing over the rocky terrain."

Subsiding into silence, bringing her indignant breathing under control, she cursed herself for letting the man's rudeness get under her skin. Her thoughts circled back to the carefree days with her brothers while her mother and father still lived. Back then, the world was a friendly place where she'd rarely heard the name "Mackinnon". Tears burned behind her eyes. She turned her head away so he could not see the emotions he'd awakened in her.

Yet, perhaps he did have feelings after all, for a short while later, when they came to a small village that was scarcely more than half a dozen tiny cottages huddled together at the edge of a woodland, he pulled up their horses.

"If ye dismount and give that lovely round backside of yers some respite, mayhap there'll be something here that can quench yer thirst."

He slid off his horse and raised a hand to assist her.

"Thank ye," she said, surprised at his sudden kind gesture. His grip on her hand was gentle and once her feet touched ground, he retained it for a moment longer than was necessary. At the touch of his hand and his closeness, she met his hazel eyes with her own and something flickered between them that belied the earlier vexing remarks they'd made to each other.

He turned away, but she was certain he'd felt it too. A connection between them that sent a dart of pleasure straight to her heart.

A woman with a babe in her arms and a small girl by her side approached them from a small cottage at the end of a long pathway. Beside the path grew an assortment of leeks, cabbages, radishes and carrots. Chickens pecked in the upturned soil.

Arran doffed his hat. "Greetings, mistress. Forgive us fer our intrusion. Might ye help us quench our thirst?"

The woman bobbed a quick curtsy to Arran and offered a shy smile. "I'm called Abigail, and this wee girl is Morag."

Standing back, Dahlia observed this exchange. It softened her heart toward Arran to hear him address the woman with respect instead of roughly demanding her to serve them. It was clear from the worn condition of the simple cottage and the few other unkempt buildings, that the family who resided there would have little to share.

"Aye, melord. I'll bring ye something from me kitchen." Before scurrying into the cottage, she handed her wean to the small girl who enfolded the baby in her arms and followed her mother inside.

"Go stretch yer legs, Lady Dahlia." Arran walked the horses over to a tree not far from the cottage. After tying both horses' reins together, he knotted them tightly around a low branch.

Dahlia needed no urging, and strode off ,keen to get the stiffness out of her shoulders and legs. Arran was beside her as she reached the edge of the woodland.

"Och, man. D'ye need tae keep yer eye on me all the time? Am I tae have nay time tae mesel'?"

He drew closer, speaking softly. "I'm nae concerned with ye running off, lass. I'm simply taking a moment tae enjoy yer company."

"Och?" She scanned his face for a hint of derision but his features were open, his green-and-gold eyes under long, dark lashes, holding no trace of suspicion or ridicule. In fact, if she dared to allow herself a renegade thought, his eyes held nothing but admiration.

"Now that we are away from prying eyes and listening ears I can confess Lady Dahlia, that the task of taking ye tae Castle Mackinnon is nae one I savor."

He met her gaze and there it was again, that missed beat of her heart and the strange pounding in her head.

"I regret I have been ordered tae become yer captor when, tae tell the truth, I dinnae care tae see ye suffering at yer fate. I would rather set ye free."

His soft tones took her by surprise. But there was something else that set her pulse racing. All at once she realized his voice was one that reminded her of the gentle voice she recalled from four years ago. Her thoughts tumbled her back to that ill-starred attempt at escaping from Mackinnon Castle and the Laird James's determination to force her to wed.

Black-Mask had been tall as Arran was but, as she'd never seen his face or hair, she was left with her suspicions.

She glanced up at Arran with curiosity, but she read nothing in his even features that indicated he had known her years before.

At that moment, wee Morag appeared beside them bearing two rough clay beakers filled with ale.

Arran undid the leather purse tied at his belt and took out two small coins. "Here, wee lass, this one is fer ye." He handed her the smaller of the two coins, "And this is fer yer maither."

The child ran off with a broad grin across her face, her pigtails flying behind her.

A smiling Dahlia watched the child go. "Ye've made that wee family's day. Mayhap their whole week." She took a sip of the refreshing ale.

"Dinnae sound surprised, Lady Dahlia. Me name may be Mackinnon but I'm nae a robber like me cousin. I wouldnae take from the poor people without making recompense."

Before she could respond there was a terrible sound of breaking and crashing, and a piercing scream rang out.