Chapter 11

Somewhere in Perthshire...

T he rain gave way to sleet then thick snow as Black’s carriage continued its journey along the road leading into the wild, desolate depths of Scotland. The hot bricks at Sarah’s feet had grown cold long ago and she’d given up trying to discern the features of the passing landscape. Whatever slid by, mountains and moorland, or forest and river, it was all obscured by a swirling white cloud. Even though spring was only a month away, it seemed this part of the world was still firmly in the icy clutches of winter.

Sometime during the afternoon—Sarah suspected they’d been on the road for at least five hours, if not more since they’d left the Stag’s Head—the carriage halted at a cluster of small, whitewashed dwellings beside a stone bridge that spanned a black rushing river; a hamlet in the middle of nowhere.

Black helped Sarah down from the carriage, and with his hand firmly on her arm, escorted her toward a low stone building that appeared to be a stable. Sarah had already decided it would be useless to try and run when there were only snow- shrouded braes as far as the eye could see. And no doubt, anyone hereabouts could surely be silenced by a handful of Black’s coin.

A freezing wind tore at her riding habit of royal-blue wool and thick navy cloak with a hood—it was another bespoke ensemble that had been pulled from the traveling trunk that was supposedly hers. Sarah still had no idea how Black had managed to procure so many clothes which appeared to have been made just for her, but right now, she set aside her questions and welcomed the warmth.

A stableboy stepped out as they approached, and Black greeted the lad in a tongue Sarah didn’t understand. Was it Gaelic? The youth responded, his words an incomprehensible string, and Black nodded.

The mystery of Alexander Black deepened. Not only did he speak with a soft Scots accent, but he knew Gaelic as well. But his surname didn’t seem Scottish—Sarah had always suspected it was a false name and the more she learned about the man, the more she was convinced he was hiding who he truly was.

Black issued a few more instructions to the boy, and after the lad disappeared, he turned back to Sarah. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to continue our journey on horseback from here. I know you are probably sore after last night, but I take it you can ride?”

Sarah tried to keep her expression neutral. “Yes.” If she could break away from Black?—

As if reading her thoughts, Black leaned close and murmured in her ear, “I know your mind is still working feverishly to hatch an escape plan, Miss Lambert. But I am not a fool. Your horse will be tethered to mine, and Aileen and Dobson will follow behind. You don’t know the area and this hamlet”—Black gestured to the buildings behind them—“well, the inhabitants are in my employ and barely speak a word of English. So fair warning, you’ll not find much support here if you decide to kick up a fuss.”

Damn and blast. Why could he read her so easily?

Sarah couldn’t suppress her scowl and Black’s mouth twitched with a smile. “You’ll be pleased to hear we only have a few more hours to travel before we reach our destination.”

“Which is?” Sarah asked with false sweetness.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Black’s gaze moved to the stables. The stableboy and another young man were leading out four well-groomed mounts.

“I suppose everyone in that corner of Scotland is in your employ as well.”

“More or less.”

Sarah frowned. Black’s influence was wide indeed. Who was this man?

From what Sarah had seen, he wasn’t short of funds by any means, and he clearly inspired loyalty wherever he went. Their early morning departure from the Stag’s Head Inn had been delayed as Black had sought an audience with the local magistrate in Dunkeld. He’d later informed her that the ostler and groom would be charged with assault and theft. Apparently the innkeeper had suspected the recently employed men of pilfering ale and other stock from the Stag’s Head for some weeks, and he was more than happy to support Black’s claim that the men attacked him and attempted to steal his coin last night.

Black hadn’t reported the attack on her and had sincerely apologized for the omission. Sarah didn’t quite know what to make of it all. Of course, the true crime which had occurred at the Stag’s Head had been hidden by Black because he was in the process of committing a crime himself—her abduction. She was his hostage and for that reason, she could hardly regard him as a champion.

The man was certainly a conundrum. On one hand, he appeared to have no scruples whatsoever. Yet he’d gone out of his way to make sure the ostler and the groom would receive some sort of punishment for what they’d done to her. And though he’d flirted with her on occasion, Sarah sensed that was all he would do. If he were going to take her by force, he’d had ample opportunity to do so over the last few days.

The man possessed a strange, warped sense of honor and Sarah couldn’t help but wonder why. What events in his life had shaped him? For much of the morning, she’d puzzled over the enigma of Alexander Black. There was one particular question, louder than all the others, that buzzed around her mind, demanding to be answered: what had Malcolm done to him?

If she could discover the truth, perhaps she could use it to free herself.

Night was falling by the time Black called a halt to their journey. Sarah was half-frozen and ached all over as her exhausted mount, which had been tethered to Black’s, drew to a stop too. Aileen and the gray-haired poker-faced coachman, Dobson, reined in a few yards behind them.

They were in a copse of pines on the edge of a loch. Sarah could hear the water lapping against the stony shingle and through the trees she caught a glimpse of dark water. Over the snow-covered peaks on the opposite shore, a full moon was rising in the dusky blue and lavender hued sky. The snow had mercifully ceased to fall and the wind had dropped so there was barely a rustle in the surrounding woodland.

Sarah surreptitiously scanned the trees. If she tried to run once Black untied her from her horse, how far would she get before he caught her? She was stiff with cold and even if she could lose Black in the fading light, she had no idea where she was or which way she should go in order to reach help. And if it snowed before she reached shelter... She shivered. She didn’t fancy spending the night in the open. She would surely perish.

Black dismounted with ease and placed a gloved hand on hers as she gripped the reins. “It won’t be long before you’re before a roaring fire with supper in your belly,” he said gently.

Sarah wanted to kick him. “Is that supposed to comfort me?” she snapped, her breath misting in the frigid evening air.

“No. But it’s the best I can offer you at the moment. It’s been a trying few days and I thought you would be pleased to know the journey is almost over.”

“How wonderful. It’s a shame this nightmare isn’t.”

Black’s mouth flattened. “I won’t disagree with you. For me, it’s been unending.” He swiftly untied her ankle, which had been lashed to one of the stirrups, before gripping her about the waist and lifting her down from her horse. “I wouldn’t bother trying to run. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise,” grumbled Sarah. “And I’m sure if I scream, no one other than you and your stubbornly loyal servants will hear me?”

Black took her arm. “Aye.”

Fiery resentment melded with icy trepidation and a small dose of sharp curiosity as Sarah reluctantly followed Black through the trees toward the water’s edge. Dobson had gone on ahead of them and she could hear a crunching, sliding sound as if he were moving something heavy. When they emerged onto the shore, she could just discern the manservant pushing a rowboat out of a stone and wooden boathouse onto the shingle…and several hundred yards away, across the water, loomed a rectangular tower on a small island.

Oh, no.

Sarah stopped and her stomach plummeted to the gray stones beneath her feet. Alexander Black was going to hold her prisoner on an island. And she couldn’t swim. Once he took her across, there was no way on earth she would be able to escape. She’d be trapped, well and truly.

“I cannot... You cannot...” Panic tied Sarah’s tongue in knots as she tried to wrench her arm free. “I will not go.”

Black’s grip grew firmer. “You must.”

“No.” Sarah pulled with all her might and her feet skidded across the stones.

“Sarah.” Black grasped her tightly by the upper arms. “Stop. No harm will come to you if you do as I say.”

A bitter laugh that was more like a sob escaped her. “No harm? I’ve already been harmed. Drugged and kidnapped and threatened and abused. How do I know you’re not going to throw me in the loch to drown, or abandon me to rot in your island jail?”

Black’s mouth was set in an obdurate line. “Miss Lambert, I give you my word. I will not hurt you. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“I don’t believe you! No!” Sarah pushed at Black’s far-too-solid chest and kicked at his legs, but her efforts proved futile. He simply picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like he had in Edinburgh.

As Sarah screamed and twisted and beat her fists against his back, Dobson tethered her ankles with rough rope. When Black lowered her onto the shingle, he held her wrists so Dobson could lash them tightly together as well.

Her struggles against her bonds were completely ineffectual. Her cries and frantic pleas fell on deaf ears. Black was resolute. Relentless.

The wicked rogue swept her up and unceremoniously deposited her in the bottom of the rowboat. Before she could sit up, Dobson and Black had pushed the small craft out onto the water and then Black climbed in.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Sarah pushed herself up and skewered Black with a fulminating glare. “You have no pity. No soul. I hate you.”

“So you should,” he replied calmly as he gripped the oars and began to row. His strokes were long and sure and within moments, they were pulling away from the shore.

The last vestiges of Sarah’s hope slipped away too, and she laid her head on the side of the boat and closed her eyes. Fear and anguish rolled through her, making her stomach churn. She didn’t want to look out across the dark still water or watch the grim tower draw closer. She especially didn’t want to see Black’s hateful face. His hard, determined expression.

For the first time since Black had taken her, she contemplated the possibility that she might never see Linden Hall, Aunt Judith, or any of her friends ever again. She might never see Malcolm again. Even though she didn’t think she could forgive him, she deserved the chance to confront him about his transgression and end things properly.

But Black had taken all these things away. And despite his assurances that no harm would come to her, she had no way of knowing if he would ever let her go. His thirst for vengeance seemed unquenchable.

And she had nothing to offer him—he’d told her that over and over again, but it was only now that she truly believed him. She was nothing but a piece to play in his wicked, selfish game.

Yes, she hated him. As far as she was concerned, Alexander Black could go to Hades.

A jolt and the scrape of the boat against rocks startled Sarah and she opened her eyes.

“Welcome to Eilean Dubh,” said Black. He leapt into the shallows and pushed the boat farther up the shingle.

Eilean Dubh? It sounded like a Gaelic name. Sarah wanted to ask what it meant but she was so angry with Black, she had no wish to speak to him. Instead, she straightened and tried to make out her surroundings. The moonlight revealed a squat rectangular tower surrounded by a dense copse—a mixture of snow-shrouded pines and firs and the skeletal forms of denuded trees. Aside from the lap of the water and the distant hoot of an owl, all was silent. The tower itself was in total darkness and had a desolate, abandoned air about it. Sarah shivered as an icy gust of wind swept by, tossing the tree branches and whipping her unbound hair into her eyes.

Black knelt beside the prow of the boat. “I’m going to free your legs, Sarah.”

She didn’t bother to reply but he appeared to take her silence as consent. The bonds were tight, and after a minute of trying and failing to loosen the knots, Black withdrew a wicked-looking knife from his belt. The silver blade flashed in the moonlight and Sarah swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. She hadn’t realized Black was armed. However, she didn’t have time to dwell on this disturbing fact as with a few deft cuts, Black sliced through the rough rope and it fell away.

Sarah held out her hands but Black shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said, resheathing his knife. “When we are safely inside I’ll release you. Can you hop out?”

“Yes.” Sarah stood carefully and Black steadied her at the elbows as she climbed over the side of the boat.

“This way.” His hand at her back, Black steered her across the rocky shore toward the trees.

It was too dark and there was too much snow underfoot for Sarah to note if there was a path, but it wasn’t long before they reached an ornate, wrought-iron gate set in a high stone wall. Black pulled a key from the folds of his greatcoat and unlocked it. The gate’s hinges were well oiled and it opened without a sound.

Despite her antipathy and despair, a question burned on the tip of Sarah’s tongue. “Is there anyone else here?” she whispered.

Black’s face was in darkness, but Sarah sensed his reticence to respond as he hesitated before replying. “No. But Aileen will return tomorrow.”

A shiver of apprehension washed over Sarah. She’d been alone with Black for hours on end over the past few days, but never in such isolated circumstances. And there was not a thing she could do. She was entirely at his mercy. She just prayed to God he’d meant what he’d said—that he wouldn’t hurt her.

Well, more than he had already.

Too exhausted, defeated, and heartsore to make a protest, she allowed Black to lead her through the gate toward an archway in yet another stone wall. Stepping through, she stopped and sucked in a startled breath. The light of the moon glanced off a deep snowdrift piled up against a section of crumbled wall and through a second archway, she glimpsed well-worn stairs. “You intend to keep me locked up in a ruin?”

“Eilean Dubh is very old, I’ll give you that, but the main tower is structurally sound.” Black clasped her arm. “Come and see.”

Sarah shook her head and wrenched herself away, stumbling back a few paces. Her throat constricted and her voice, when it emerged, was hoarse with terror. “N-No. I-I don’t want to.”

It suddenly struck her that Black might have a very good reason for bringing her to such an out-of-the-way, derelict place. He kept claiming she was safe, but perhaps he thought to lull her into a false sense of security. He could have freed her hands, but he hadn’t.

Why not?

She didn’t feel safe. Every little piece of her screamed she was in danger.

And there was a large knife at Black’s waist...

“Sarah.” Black closed the distance between them and gently framed her all but numb face with his gloved hands. “Good God, lass, you’re trembling.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say. Indeed, she was incapable of speech. Her lungs had frozen while her galloping heart stuttered madly as though it might stop at any moment. Black’s large hands were warm and gentle, but…but what if he slid them to her neck? He was so strong and her hands were bound. She wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

“Sarah. I swear to you, with God as my witness, I will not hurt you,” he persisted, his tone urgent. “I’m not the monster you think I am. You must believe me. Say you believe me.”

She nodded weakly. What other choice did she have?

“Good girl. I’d untie your hands right now, but if the knots are too tight, I’ll have to cut through the rope. And that’s far too risky in this poor light.”

Again Sarah nodded, a stiff jerky movement, but it seemed to satisfy Black. He took her arm, gently this time, and led her to the stairs. The shadows were black as pitch and she couldn’t see a thing.

“You go first,” he urged. “I’ll be right behind you. The stairs curve to the right and there are twenty.”

“I-I can’t,” she whispered hoarsely. “I cannot p-pick up my skirts properly. I’ll trip.”

Black cursed beneath his breath. “Hold on,” he said and before Sarah knew what he was about, he’d swept her up into his arms and had started up the stairs.

Oh, God. Sarah closed her eyes and gripped the lapels of Black’s coat with her bound hands, praying he wouldn’t stumble. She needn’t have worried as within the space of several heartbeats, she found they were at the top of the staircase. Moonlight streamed through a narrow window aperture, and she could see they were on a small stone landing. Before her was a sturdy-looking wooden door.

Black put her down, ensured she was steady, then pulled his keys from his coat again. Reaching around her, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Here we are.”

A pair of windows with diamond panes let in just enough light for Sarah to discern a large rectangular chamber furnished with a table and chairs and a dresser. A floor-to-ceiling tapestry adorned one wall, obscuring the stonework. A massive stone fireplace yawned darkly on the opposite side of the room.

At least Black hadn’t lied to her about the state of the building. On stiff and sore legs—it had been a long time since she’d ridden such a significant distance on horseback—Sarah crossed the room to one of the windows. A cushioned window seat beckoned but she was too on edge to sit down. Black was locking the door so she turned away to study the view from her island prison.

Night had rendered everything in shades of silver, gray, and black. The moon shone across the dark waters of the loch and the snow upon the distant mountains glowed with a faint pearlescence. There wasn’t a light anywhere on the far shore. Like the hamlet they’d passed through earlier in the day, Eilean Dubh was clearly in the middle of nowhere, too.

The glass panes reflected a sudden flare of light and Sarah’s gaze was drawn to Black. He’d lit a candle on the sturdy square table and was in the process of lighting several more in an iron candelabra upon the mantelpiece. When he was done, he crossed over to her and unsheathed his knife.

“Here, let me untie you.”

Sarah lifted her painfully bound hands and watched Black’s face as he set about cutting through the rope. His eyes were hidden by the sweep of his black lashes and his stubbled jaw was as hard as granite.

When the rope fell away, he swore. “Sweet Jesus, I should flog Dobson for this.”

“What? Why?”

“Look at your wrists, Sarah. The fool tied the ropes too tightly. You’re hurt.”

Sarah glanced down and winced. Her wrists had begun to sting and burn, now Black had drawn attention to them. Between the lace cuff of her sleeve and her gloves, her flesh was marked with angry red weals. Strange how she hadn’t noticed the pain until now. But then, she’d been so miserable and frightened, the irritation caused by her bonds had been the least of her woes.

“I’ll be fine,” Sarah murmured. She pulled off her gloves but had to bite her lip to stifle a gasp as the lace of her sleeve brushed over the fresh abrasions.

Black removed his black wool greatcoat and tossed it onto the window seat. “I’ll start a fire. Then after we’ve bandaged those burns, how about some supper and a cup of tea?”

Sarah nodded then asked haltingly, “Is there...? What about…?” Her cheeks heated. “Where is the necessary?” It seemed like an age since she’d attended to the call of nature, and Aileen wasn’t here to assist her.

Black didn’t seem perturbed. His expression a study in neutrality, he nodded at a door to the left of the fireplace. “If you go through there, you’ll find a garderobe before you reach the bedchamber.”

The bedchamber? Sarah really hoped there was more than one in this tower.

Thrusting all thoughts of Black in any kind of bed aside, she took one of the candles and found the medieval privy. After she’d attended to her needs, she decided to investigate the bedchamber beyond.

Raising the candle, Sarah scanned the room: a wide oak canopy bed with sage green hangings and a matching counterpane dominated the center of the chamber; a washstand, matching armoire, and a screen covered in Chinoiserie-patterned silk occupied the far corner; a large carved oaken chest stood at the end of the bed; and two oak wingback chairs upholstered in pale gray damask graced a plush Aubusson hearthrug in front of the massive stone fireplace.

It was a graceful, feminine room. And not what she’d expected.

Black continued to confound her. He clearly didn’t wish to mistreat her whilst he held her captive at Eilean Dubh…but there was the rub.

She was his captive.

Sarah Elizabeth Lambert, she admonished herself as she returned to the main chamber. Even if Alexander Black gifted you the Crown Jewels, it shouldn’t make one iota of difference to how you see him. He’s abducted you and you do not know his endgame. You cannot trust him. Don’t ever forget that.