Chapter 9

Somewhere in Scotland…

S arah lay in a lumpy tester bed with a sagging blue canopy, listening to rain squalls viciously lashing the window of her bedchamber at some godforsaken inn—the Stag’s Head—in the middle of nowhere. Her prison cell…

She was utterly spent yet taut as a bowstring. Her eyes were gritty with fatigue and she would love nothing more than to go to sleep—but she mustn’t.

Because tonight she was going to escape.

To her relief, Black had taken the chamber adjoining hers and Aileen’s. Even though he’d closed the connecting door when he’d bid her goodnight, she still needed to exercise extreme caution—she hadn’t heard the lock tumble and Black could enter the room at any time. She prayed he was weary too and wouldn’t come to check on her in the next hour or so. Her plan, such as it was, depended upon it.

Aileen was currently tucked into a pallet bed to one side of the fireplace, and judging by the woman’s gentle snores, she was sound asleep. She had to be exhausted. They’d traveled through much of the night on the first day of their journey north, bumping along inferior roads in foul weather. Sarah, who’d been half-frozen in the relative shelter of the carriage, imagined that Aileen, sitting atop with the driver, would have turned into a block of ice if they’d continued on for a second night in such a fashion. She almost felt sorry for the woman. But considering the servant had helped Black to smuggle her into the inn, and then tether her to the tester bed, it was hard to summon much sympathy.

Of course, Sarah’s heart had pounded with excitement when Black had first announced they would be stopping for the night. However, all her hopes of entreating someone to help her were dashed when Black had also informed her that he’d made arrangements to hire not just two, but every single room at the inn. On their arrival, well after dark, he’d apparently instructed the staff to keep to the public rooms during their stay, so if she screamed, no one would hear her. To Sarah’s frustration, he also bound and gagged her again before taking her to her room—her cell, she reminded herself—via a side entrance, most likely one used by the staff. Aside from Aileen and Black, Sarah hadn’t encountered a single soul.

As Black had tied her to the bed, Sarah had decided then and there to do what she must in order to free herself. This was perhaps her very best chance. If she could break her bonds, get dressed, then procure the room key without waking Aileen, she’d make her way to the stables and take a horse. She was an able rider, and despite the fact the weather was abysmal, she’d rather brave the elements—even risk being turned into an icicle—than endure another minute as Black’s hostage.

The man was hell-bent on seeking vengeance against Malcolm, and Sarah had no idea how far he would go to exact it. Black had assured her he wouldn’t hurt her, but she didn’t trust him. Not at all.

From what she’d seen so far, Alexander Black had been plotting to kidnap her for some time—she shuddered every time she thought about how well orchestrated this whole scheme was. From the way he’d stalked her at Kenmuir House, then offered her false comfort. Drugged her and spirited her away. Provided her with a wardrobe that appeared to be tailor-made. Hired out every room at this inn. The man was as meticulous as he was diabolical and she must never, ever forget that.

Malcolm had already betrayed her, so she’d be foolish indeed to think she could rely on him to pay the ransom. And since early evening, as the light was fading, Sarah’s hope of negotiating her release with Black had faded too. Pleading with him to free her was a lost cause. Reasoning, honeyed words of persuasion, hurled insults, tears, nothing worked. The odious man was as implacable as the granite peaks they’d been heading toward this afternoon.

No, it was up to her and her alone to escape Black’s clutches. Somehow, she would get back to Edinburgh and Aunt Judith. Only then would she have the freedom to decide what she would do with her life.

Her heart hammering an erratic tattoo, Sarah sat up and pushed the bedcovers aside as quietly as she could. Thankfully, Aileen continued to snore steadily. Even though the dying fire was the only source of light in the room, it would be sufficient to allow her to do what she must.

Black had tethered her right ankle to the bedpost with another silk rope; she already knew the knots would be impossible to untie so she’d made a plan. When Aileen had left her alone to fetch their supper from the taproom, Sarah had broken a small spill vase that had sat on the nearby bedside table. She’d then hidden the tapers and all the vase’s pieces, bar the biggest and sharpest one, beneath the bed in the farthest, darkest corner; the largest shard was secreted within easy reach beneath the mattress.

With a shaking hand, Sarah pulled out her makeshift knife, then drew her right knee up so she could reach her ankle. Fortunately, Black had left enough length in the rope to enable her to move about a little. Gritting her teeth against the bite of jagged edges pressing into her palm, she began to saw feverishly at the silk rope. It was a tight bond and more than once her grip slipped and she cut her ankle, then two fingers, but the pain mattered little. She was determined to free herself as quickly as possible. If Aileen awoke, or worse still, Black came in... She really didn’t want to think about what he would do.

At last, the silk began to fray and unravel and Sarah choked down a sob of relief. She tugged off the rope and ignoring the sting of her cuts, slipped from the bed. The floorboards were icy-cold beneath her bare feet and she shivered in her thin shift. Outside, the wind howled like a wild animal; it rattled the windows and every now and again a flurry of hail dashed the mullioned panes. Although she was loath to waste time dressing, she couldn’t leave here in next to nothing. She would need to dress warmly if she were to avoid freezing to death.

She was lucky Aileen had been too tired to put her clothes away; the servant had left everything lying on a worn damask armchair by the bed. Working swiftly, Sarah donned her stockings and stays, then the petticoats, undershirt, and red riding habit as quietly as she could. Her hands trembled so much, it was difficult to do up all the tapes and ribbons and buttons, especially with bleeding fingers, but in the end she managed everything.

Last of all, she threw on Black’s own woolen cloak, tugged on her new boots, and then a pair of leather gloves—Black had provided them the day before when they’d stopped in the middle of nowhere for another comfort break.

Sarah released a shaky breath as she tucked her loose hair behind her ears. Now she was dressed, God willing, she’d make it outside.

Picking up her skirts, she tiptoed across the chamber to the fireplace. Aileen had placed the key on the mantelpiece before she’d climbed into bed. Not daring to breathe, Sarah snatched it up then crept back to the door. When the key scraped inside the old iron lock, and Aileen turned over and mumbled in her sleep, Sarah’s heart stopped and she willed herself not to faint.

Frozen, too terrified to draw another breath, she waited for Aileen to settle again. Please, God…

Several taut seconds passed but when it was clear the servant was still fast asleep, Sarah lifted the latch with painstaking slowness. She almost cried with relief when the door eased open without so much as a creak.

As she’d expected, the hallway was deserted and dark, save for a faint strip of light escaping from the bottom of Black’s door. Praying the blackguard wouldn’t hear her, Sarah walked as swiftly and silently as she could on her tiptoes, past his room, heading toward the set of servants’ stairs that Black and Aileen had used to smuggle her up to her room a few hours ago.

Sarah offered another silent prayer of thanks to heaven when she discovered the door at the bottom of the stairs was only bolted rather than locked with a key. But when she drew back the bolt and inched open the door, she cursed beneath her breath.

The stable yard was awash, the rain coming down in sheets, and the stables were as black as Hades.

It’s only rain. It won’t kill you, Sarah. And you’ll never get another chance like this.

It’s now or never.

Inhaling a lungful of frigid air, Sarah raised her skirts, then dashed toward the shelter of the stables.

By the time she reached the other side of the yard, she was half soaked and shivering, but it seemed she hadn’t been detected. Wiping the raindrops from her eyes, she squinted through the darkness at the back of the inn. It was quiet as the grave and all the windows—bar the one she suspected was Black’s—were dark. So far so good.

On entering the stables, she noticed that somewhere toward the back, near the tack room, was a glimmer of light. It seemed someone—perhaps the ostler—had left a lantern burning. She waited in the shadows by the door, listening for any sounds of human activity, but all she could hear above the pounding of her heart was the rain drumming on the roof and the occasional equine snuffle.

There were a dozen or so stalls, at least half of them occupied. But she only needed one mount. And a saddle and a bridle. Thankfully, she knew how to ready a horse. Her dear father had taught her to ride when she was only eight years old, and by the time she was twelve, riding was a part of her morning routine whenever they stayed at Linden Hall.

However, her good fortune appeared to run out when Sarah tried the door to the tack room and discovered it was locked. Hell and damnation. Why hadn’t she anticipated such a possibility? Tears pricked but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t be defeated. She would ride bareback all the way to Edinburgh if she had to?—

“Weel, what do we have here?” demanded a gruff male voice from the shadowy darkness.

Oh, no. Sarah spun around and her stomach plunged to the hay-strewn floor. A middle-aged man with a wild mane of red hair and a bush of a beard was descending a ladder that appeared to lead to an overhead loft. She’d obviously woken the ostler or one of the stablehands.

Before she could formulate some sort of plausible reason for being in the stables—it would be foolish of her to admit she’d been trying to steal a horse—another man peeked over the edge of the loft. “Looks like a bonnie wee lassie to me, MacMunn.”

The redheaded man, MacMunn, smirked and pulled at the crotch of his breeches beneath his filthy shirt. Even though the light was dim, Sarah could detect the glint of lust in his small, pale eyes. “Aye, she’s verra bonnie, Angus. Is there summat in particular that ye wanted, miss?” He emitted a low rough chuckle. “Seekin’ some male company, perhaps?”

Sarah shook her head and stumbled backward toward the stalls. This could not be happening. “N-No. I d-don’t need anything,” she stammered as sharp fear spiked through her. It seemed she’d unwittingly jumped from the frying pan straight into a blazing inferno. “I’ll just g-go back to the inn. M-My traveling companions are expecting me.”

Angus, a tall and gangly youth dressed in a rough cambric shirt and patched breeches descended the ladder. “Mayhap she is after a tumble in the hay, MacMunn?”

MacMunn’s smirk widened to a grin as he stepped closer. “Aye. I ken ye might be right, m’lad.”

Oh, dear God, no. Bile burned the back of Sarah’s throat. The servants’ entrance wasn’t far and the door would still be unlocked. She was sure she could outrun them.

She turned to flee, but faster than a striking adder, MacMunn lunged and grabbed her by the arm. When she sucked in a breath to scream, he clapped one dirty hand over her mouth and hauled her against his bony chest. “Whisht. Keep the heid, lassie.” His voice was a low growl and his breath stank of stale ale. “The three of us will have a braw time. Just you wait and see.”

Thought-obliterating terror turned Sarah’s legs to water as MacMunn and Angus dragged her into the nearest vacant stall and threw her face down onto the floor. The stench of dirty, damp hay and unwashed male assaulted her senses and her stomach rolled. Tears scalded her eyelids. Oh, dear Lord, please help me.

But it seemed no help was at hand. MacMunn roughly gripped her by the head and pressed his knee into her shoulder at the same time Angus threw up her skirts and cloak. She dragged in another breath and managed a short scream before MacMunn pushed her face into the hay again. Anger and despair clogged her throat as Angus forced her legs apart. She twisted and bucked but he grabbed her hips and pinned her down with his weight. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Oh, no. No, no, no!

And then MacMunn swore and let go of her at precisely the same moment Angus rolled away, howling in pain. Startled by the unexpected reprieve, Sarah turned over and pushed herself against the side of the stall, scrabbling to pull down her skirts…and gasped.

Black. She’d never thought she’d welcome the sight of him but at this precise moment, she most certainly did.

A vicious snarl contorting his handsome features, he advanced farther into the stall and felled MacMunn with two swift punches—one to the stomach and then another bone-crunching blow to the man’s face. The ostler crumpled to the floor where Angus still lay, moaning and clutching his groin.

“Sarah.” Black stepped around her assailants and pulled her to her feet. His hand touched her cheek. “Can you walk, lass?”

“Yes...” Her voice caught and she had to clear her throat before she added, “I believe so.”

“Good girl.” Black’s brow was furrowed with an emotion which might have been concern. Yet how could it be? He was her kidnapper after all . “Go and wait by the door for a minute whilst I deal with these two disgusting dogs.”

More than happy to oblige, Sarah nodded, and on shaky legs made her way to the entrance. It was still pouring and an icy wind swept gusts of rain inside. Leaning against the stone wall behind the shelter of the door, Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. She was shivering uncontrollably and despite her best efforts not to cry, tears kept slipping from her eyes.

How low she had fallen. To think that only two days ago—on Saint Valentine’s Day—she’d been counting the days until she wed Malcolm.

And now...now she was Black’s hostage again and she’d been physically assaulted and almost raped. Not only that, but she couldn’t be certain of Malcolm’s commitment to her. Truth to tell, the idea of marrying such a faithless, despicable, lying rogue made her stomach turn.

A sob rose in Sarah’s throat and she swallowed hard to stop it escaping. She felt as hopelessly crushed as the sodden straw beneath her feet.

“Sarah?”

She looked up to find Black standing beside her, but she didn’t say anything. Weariness and despair weighed so heavily upon her, she couldn’t summon the will to speak.

“I’ve contained the bastards that hurt you, Sarah. I know the innkeeper, and they will be dealt with.” He raked a hand through his wet, disheveled hair then blew out a heavy sigh. “We need to go back inside.”

“I know.” Even to Sarah’s own ears, her voice sounded dull with defeat. She supposed, if the circumstances were different, she might have thanked Alexander Black for coming to her aid. But he was going to take her back up to her room and tie her up again.

Her life had become a nightmare that seemed never-ending.

Guilt crushed Alex’s chest as he escorted Sarah through the driving rain, back to the inn. He couldn’t blame the lass for wanting to escape. It was only natural; he would do the same thing if their positions were reversed.

Of course, it was well and truly his fault that she’d grown so desperate she was willing to take such wild risks. When he pictured what the ostler and stablehand had been doing to her, incandescent anger flared to life inside him. The Stag’s Head was one of his commercial property acquisitions and he couldn’t believe the innkeeper had hired such disreputable staff. Taking a woman by force, it was an unconscionable act. Those two curs were lucky they were still breathing.

But aren’t you hurting her, Alexander MacIvor? Kidnapping and manipulating an innocent woman are unconscionable acts too.

Sarah tripped on the threshold as they entered the servants’ entrance and she gripped Alex’s arm to steady herself. That she would voluntarily touch him—her captor—spoke volumes about her mental state. She was clearly still shaken. Indeed, the lass was as docile as a lamb as he guided her up the stairs and back to her room.

Aileen scowled when she saw Sarah. “Ye’re a crafty lass, I’ll give ye?—”

“Now, now, Aileen. We’ll have none of that,” chided Alex as he closed the door. “Miss Lambert has been through a terrible ordeal?—”

“T-Two m-men attacked me and tried to…tried to use me.” Sarah’s voice was flat, her lovely blue eyes unusually dull as she stared at the floorboards. Pieces of straw were caught in her tangled, dripping blond hair, and her red habit and his cloak were sodden and streaked with mud.

“Och, weel, that’s truly dreadful.” Aileen crossed her arms and gave Sarah a stern, narrow-eyed look that reminded Alex of a nursemaid who was scolding a naughty child. “But really, ye only have yerself to?—”

“That’s enough, Aileen,” snapped Alex. “She is not to blame for the actions of those sorry excuses for men.” He drew a measured breath then added in a gentler tone, “Miss Lambert needs to get into dry clothes.” Without thinking, he touched Sarah’s arm, and when she flinched, guilt stabbed him anew. “Sarah, I must change then talk to the innkeeper, but after that, I will bring something back from the kitchen. Tea, perhaps?” He’d also speak with the local magistrate in Dunkeld first thing in the morning. He couldn’t afford to officially report the attempted rape upon Sarah, given he’d kidnapped her, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the men get away with what they’d tried to do. Between the innkeeper and himself, he’d make sure the contemptible maggots paid.

Sarah nodded without looking at him and it made Alex wonder how far the assault had gone. In the firelight he could easily see an abrasion on her ashen cheek.

He caught Aileen’s attention on the way to the door. “Please treat her with care,” he murmured. “She may have been injured in ways that are not obvious to the eye.”

Aileen’s expression was grave. “Aye, sir.”

When Alex returned to the room a half hour later, he found Sarah seated by the fire in an armchair with a rug across her lap. Dressed in a simple flannel night rail and a pale blue shawl, she looked a little better. Her hair was brushed and braided and there was more color in her cheeks.

Aileen grunted with approval when she saw the tray he carried, but Sarah ignored the cup of tea and piece of almond- studded fruitcake Alex placed on the table beside her. She stared into the fire and gripped her shawl about her chest so tightly, her knuckles were white. Alex suspected she would need something stronger than tea. It was a good thing he’d also procured a bottle of whisky from the innkeeper’s illicit stash.

“Aileen, I would like to talk with Miss Lambert. Privately,” he said quietly, nodding toward his chamber.

The servant glanced at Sarah then drew close. “She has a few minor cuts and bruises and grazes, but I…weel. I ken she’s still a maid,” she whispered.

Alex nodded. “Thank you. After everything that’s happened, I think it would be best if I stayed here and you took my room. Get some rest.”

When the door shut, Alex poured two drams of whisky then pulled a straight-backed wooden chair closer to the fireside. He offered Sarah the drink and she took it from him with a trembling hand. He noted two of her fingers were bandaged, and considering there was blood on the bedsheets and the silk rope, he suspected she’d injured herself when she’d cut through her bonds.

He’d clearly underestimated how determined she could be. And wily.

“What’s this?” Sarah asked after she’d sniffed the contents of the glass.

Relieved the lass wasn’t entirely uncommunicative, Alex gave her an encouraging smile. “Whisky. I think it will make you feel a wee bit better.”

She cast him a suspicious look through her eyelashes. “I’m sure.”

He tossed back a large mouthful of his own drink—partly to show her it was safe and partly because he was in desperate need of it—then Sarah sipped hers. She gasped and coughed and somehow managed to glare at him even though her eyes watered. “It’s terrible. It’s like swallowing fire.”

Alex’s smile widened. “Ah, but it’s sure to warm you up.”

“Or burn a hole in my stomach,” she grumbled, putting the glass aside. “I’d rather drink laudanum.”

Alex sighed. “Sarah, I’m sorry about that?—"

“No, you’re not. And I don’t want a hollow apology from you,” she flashed back at him. “I just want you to let me go.”

“I cannot.”

“Cannot, or will not?” Sarah’s blue eyes were bright with anger.

“Both.” Alex put down his whisky and rested his elbows on his thighs. “Sarah, what those men tried to do to you was despicable. Loathsome. In Edinburgh, I threatened to ruin you and I…I truly regret what I said. I would never force myself on you, or indeed, any woman. I think it’s important you know that.”

“But by holding me captive, I’m already as good as ruined,” she rejoined. “In Malcolm’s eyes and in the eyes of Society, if anyone finds out. Besides, how can I trust you...?” Sarah’s voice cracked and a tear slipped onto her cheek. “You are mistreating me too. Let me go. I implore you.”

Ignoring the pain in his chest, Alex straightened in his chair. “No.”

Sarah dragged in a shuddering breath and lifted her chin. The expression in her eyes was colder. Harder. “Why won’t you tell me what Malcolm did to you?” she demanded. “I keep thinking about the blond woman, at the ball. Who was she to you? You say this isn’t about her and what she did with Malcolm, but surely it is.” Her eyes narrowed and her gaze grew fiercer. “Was she your lover and you’ve decided to retaliate by taking an eye for an eye?”

“She is no one of consequence.”

“Well, she is of consequence to me. Malcolm’s not going to pay your ransom. I thought he cared for me, but he was with that other woman—” Sarah turned her face away and stared into the fire, her lower lip trembling.

Alex fought the urge to touch her, to offer comfort. Christ, this was hard. Harder than he’d thought it would be. He’d never bargained on feeling anything for Sarah Lambert.

Of course, he’d harbored carnal thoughts about her since their very first meeting—what man wouldn’t? She was beautiful, after all. But now...now he was beginning to admire her in more ways than he cared to think about. Even worse, he was beginning to care about how she felt. He didn’t like seeing her so upset.

He was off balance and shaken. Off kilter. Like the rug beneath his feet had been yanked away and he was teetering on the edge of the unknown.

Alex’s heart had been as cold and hard as a lump of lead for so long, he didn’t know how to deal with the tender emotions stirring within his chest. Part of him wished he could tell Sarah the real reason behind his plan for revenge. But then she would learn who he was. And he couldn’t risk giving her that sort of information. Too much was at stake.

His life and his legacy, his leaderless clan, were at stake.

But the way she was looking at him—the despair in her gaze… He hated himself for engineering the situation between Malcolm and Nell. For every hurt he’d caused. He’d made Sarah Lambert feel worthless. But she wasn’t.

“Sarah...” He wanted to say something to make her feel better but didn’t know what.

She brushed another tear from her cheek as she turned to look at him, a question in her sad blue eyes.

And then the words fell from Alex’s lips before he could stop them. “If you were mine, you’d never have cause to doubt me.”

Sarah stared at Black, searching the turbulent gray of his eyes. For a moment, confusion clouded her mind. He looked so sincere . If she weren’t his prisoner, she might be tempted to believe him. “I don’t understand you,” she said, furrowing her brow. “At all. Why would you say such a thing?”

She dare not think that Black might actually have a flesh and blood heart rather than one made of obsidian. She would be a fool indeed to entertain such an outlandish idea about her captor.

Yet he’d saved her from MacMunn and his vile companion... In the stables, Alexander Black had been angry. No, it was more than that. She’d seen murder in his eyes. He’d looked like a man who’d wanted to rip her assailants apart with his bare hands.

Black looked away from her and picked up his whisky. Took a sip then poured himself another dram, all the while avoiding her gaze as if he regretted what he’d just said. “I simply meant you deserve a man better than Lord Tay.”

“Really? That’s rich coming from someone like you,” Sarah scoffed. “I deserve better than this too”—she gestured about the room—“yet here I am.”

“Sarah, I understand you are angry?—”

“I’m more than angry. I’m livid,” she retorted. “And stop using my Christian name. I’ve never given you permission to use it.”

Black’s mouth flattened as he rose to his feet. “Very well, Miss Lambert,” he said with a mocking bow. “The hour grows late so I think it’s time for both of us to get some sleep. We have another long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

He shrugged off his coat then tossed it onto the back of the chair before crossing to the pallet bed.

“Wait. Wh-What are you doing?” Sarah’s heart pounded with panic as Black began to unfasten his black waistcoat. In the firelight, his distinctive onyx and gold ring seemed to glint impudently at her as he worked at the buttons.

He cocked an eyebrow and dropped the garment on the end of the pallet. “Getting ready for bed.”

“But...but what about Aileen? You staying here with me... It’s…it’s not appropriate.”

“Miss Lambert, we’ve already spent countless hours alone in each other’s company,” Black said as he tugged off one boot and stocking, revealing a muscular calf and a long, rather elegant foot. “So I hardly think it is a breach of etiquette when the inn is all but empty.” The other boot and stocking followed. “And I rather thought you would prefer it if I didn’t tie you to the bed again.” He unfastened his jabot and quirked an eyebrow again. “If that’s all right with you.”

Sarah tried not to stare at Black’s naked lower legs and the triangle of bare throat and chest revealed by the open neck of his shirt as she contemplated what he’d just said. Of course she didn’t want to be tied up. And she also didn’t want Black to leave. Despite everything he’d done, tonight she would feel a little safer with him in the room. What had happened in the stables had shaken her. Badly.

She gave a hesitant nod. “Very well. You may stay, Mr. Black. On that side of the room in that pallet bed.”

“Of course. I’m glad you agree,” he said with a wry smile. He crossed to the door, locked it, then with a waggle of his eyebrows, slipped the key into the pocket of his breeches. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Miss Lambert, but...” He shrugged as though she had given him no choice.

“Perhaps you should stash the poker away too,” said Sarah dryly as she rose from her chair. “On second thoughts...” She took a step toward the hearth and grasped the fireiron, preparing to remove it from its wrought-iron stand. “Perhaps I should take it to bed with me. It’s not that I don’t trust you... Oh, wait a moment”—she shot him a narrow look over her shoulder—“I don’t.”

Black prowled across the room and she would have retreated except she had nowhere to go. His fingers gently curled over hers so he was holding the poker as well. “I don’t think so, Miss Lambert,” he said, his voice a low, seductive purr. His gaze trapped hers. “You won’t need to arm yourself against me. I meant what I said before. I would never force myself upon you.”

Sarah swallowed. Black’s hand was large and hot and a strange flickering warmth spread from her fingers, all the way up her arm and through her body, setting her nerves alight and tightening her nipples. Whilst her heart and mind railed against Black, it seemed her traitorous body had other ideas. She was acutely aware that she wore only a night rail and shawl, and Black was only half-dressed as well.

And they were quite alone.

Whilst Sarah was inclined to believe his assertion, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to seduce her. He was a handsome devil and charm was one of the many weapons in his arsenal. Indeed, right at this very moment, his smoldering gray gaze was fixed intently on her mouth, and to her dismay, she suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by someone other than Malcolm. Black smelled wonderful—both clean and masculine, like whisky and rainwater and citron. Her breath quickened and she had to resist the insane urge to press herself against his lean, muscular body. If she closed her eyes, would he lower his mouth to hers? Would he be gentle or would he kiss her with ruthless purpose? How would he taste?

Sarah, stop it. You are clearly mad. He’s kidnapped you. You should hate him, not be in his thrall.

Drawing a shaky breath, she pulled her hand away, breaking the bizarre spell he’d cast over her. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t believe you, Mr. Black,” she said in a voice that was far too breathless for her liking. Her heart racing, she stalked over to the tester bed. As she climbed in, Black snuffed out the candles on the mantel with a pinch of his fingertips.

“Good night, Miss Lambert,” he said softly. “I hope you sleep well.” He lay down on the pallet bed and pulled the quilt over his long body before turning toward the fire.

Sarah didn’t know what to say so she simply lay down as well. In the uncertain light of the fire, she noticed the poker was still in its stand on the hearth. Interesting. Black was a cocky devil to be sure. He obviously didn’t think she had the courage to strike him whilst he slept.

If she were honest with herself, she wasn’t certain she could do it either.

She briefly considered then discarded the idea of making a second escape bid. She could always try to sneak out of the room where Aileen now slept—she was sure the interconnecting door wasn’t locked. But that would mean she’d have to get dressed again, without waking Black. Even now, fatigue weighted her eyelids and her bruised body ached. She didn’t think she’d be able to stay awake until he was sound asleep. As much as she longed for freedom, she knew she couldn’t possibly manage another attempt tonight.

She’d also have to brave the stables again and she couldn’t bear the thought of catching sight of the ostler and stablehand, even if Black had tied them up. Sarah shivered and pulled the quilt and blankets up to her chin.

No, she would sleep and regain her strength. There would be another chance, another day.

And next time, she would not fail.