An English Bride In Scotland (16 page)

Annabel found his manhood and closed her fingers eagerly around it to slide gently up and down. She stopped that though and squeezed when he suddenly thrust a finger into her. They both groaned then and Annabel felt his shaft jump in her hand.

In the next moment, Ross bent her forward. Annabel grabbed at the post in front of her with her free hand and gasped in surprise when he pulled his manhood free of her other hand and thrust it into her from behind. She was a good deal shorter than him, and his legs were on either side of hers, bent to lower him enough to do that. Annabel had the momentary thought that the position could not be comfortable for him, but then he withdrew and thrust back into her even as the hand still between her legs began caressing her again and she forgot the worry. Still, she wasn’t surprised when he suddenly stopped, withdrew, and scooped her up to carry her to his plaid in the hay.

He dropped to his knees with her once there, then laid her on his plaid and shifted over her. Annabel reached for him, but he caught her hands at once and pressed them down on either side of her head, holding them there as he bent to nip at her lips and then claim them. Annabel moaned into his mouth as she felt his manhood slide across her slick skin, she then spread her legs and arched and shifted in an effort to help him enter her. But it seems he didn’t want to enter her yet for he was enjoying tormenting her by rubbing his hardness against her again and again without actually joining with her.

Annabel suffered it for a time, enjoying the excitement he was continuing to build in her, but then frustration rose up. She wanted him inside of her, she wanted . . .

Twisting her mouth away from his, she gasped, “Dammit husband. Please!”

For some reason that made Ross chuckle, and then he released her wrists and rose up on his knees between her spread legs. Grasping her hips, he raised her bottom off the hay and thrust into her.

“Oh God, yes,” Annabel groaned with relief. He then simply held her there, joined with him with one hand at her hip while his other moved between them to caress the bud weeping for him. Annabel groaned again, her heels digging into the hay so that she could shift herself against his hard, still shaft, dancing to the tune his lovely fingers played on her flesh.

Panting with excitement and exertion, Annabel opened her eyes and found that he was watching her. Suddenly self-conscious, she stopped.

Ross removed himself and lowered her to the hay, then turned her onto her stomach and pressed down on her to kiss the side of her neck before murmuring, “Ye shouldn’t ha’e stopped. I liked watchin’ ye take yer pleasure on me.”

Annabel’s eyes widened as she realized that was exactly what she’d been doing, and then she gasped as he suddenly rose up off her, lifting her to her knees with him so that he could plunge into her from behind again. Using her hands to brace herself the best she could in the hay, she gasped and moaned as he drove into her over and over again. But Annabel wasn’t sure she liked this position as much since she couldn’t kiss or touch him like this, and then she stiffened and gasped out a breath when he reached around to touch her again.

In the next moment, they were both crying out in pleasure and collapsing onto the plaid-covered hay. Ross was still on top of her at first, but quickly shifted off and onto his side next to her. He then turned her onto her side as well and wrapped his arm around her waist, cuddling her so that her back was pressed tight to his chest.

She heard Ross’s breathing slow and even out and knew he’d fallen asleep. Content where she was, Annabel dozed off as well, but didn’t think she’d managed to fall into a proper sleep before a sound stirred her. Opening her eyes, she peered drowsily at the swath of sunlight stretching across the floor from the open barn door behind them. It was long and wide and had a shape in it, Annabel noted, frowning as she tried to sort out what the shadow in the middle of the sunlight was and why it was growing smaller. The answer came when the shape shifted and shrank toward the ground, almost disappearing into the shadow cast by her and Ross’s bodies. It all clicked then. The shadow in the light had been a figure approaching, and he was now kneeling behind them.

Annabel lay completely still, ears straining and eyes locked on the swath of light, and then she saw an oddly shaped, thinner shadow rise out of the darkness cast by their bodies. Even as she realized it was an arm with some sort of club in hand, she shrieked and sat up. The thud came as she did and she whirled on the plaid as the man from the previous attacks glanced up from clubbing her husband over the head.

Annabel’s eyes shot to Ross. She couldn’t see blood yet, but he was unmoving. Rage merging with her terror, she shrieked furiously and glanced wildly around for a weapon. What she spotted was Ross’s sword at the edge of the hay on her side. Scrambling to it, she grabbed up the heavy metal and pushed herself to her feet in one stumbling move, then whirled holding the sword out before her, arms shaking with the effort.

“Now, lass, ye don’t want to be doing that,” he said in a low rumble, casting Ross a wary glance as he straightened to stand behind his prone form.

“I did not wish to stab you in the bluebells, but I did,” she pointed out, and then added coldly, “Now you have harmed my husband and I
do
want to hurt you.”

“Now, now,” he cooed, easing sideways until he could step around Ross’s body to move toward her. “I only knocked him out. He’ll be fine. Lower yer weapon before ye hurt yerself.”

“Go to hell,” Annabel growled and swung at him. She didn’t know which amazed her more, that she’d cursed him to hell, which was really quite fitting and somewhere she had been warned repeatedly that she would go, or that she actually winged the man, catching the same arm she’d stabbed during their last encounter. She’d caught his lower arm previously, but this time she creased his upper arm with the blade, cutting a nice straight line across it before her momentum and the weight of the sword spun her around so she couldn’t see him anymore.

Cursing, she started to turn to face him again, and then stumbled forward as she took a blow to the back of the head. Lights flashed briefly behind her eyes, but she remained conscious, on her feet, and even managed to shift the sword out of the way in time to avoid slicing off her own leg.

A hand closed around hers on the sword before she had quite recovered. Annabel struggled briefly to keep her hold on it, but he was crushing her fingers into the metal and she finally let it go with a cry of pain and stumbled away toward the corner of the barn and the shadows offered there.

“There’s no sense in trying to run,” her attacker said behind her. “We’ve got yer horses. We’d just ride ye down.”

Annabel didn’t respond, she simply continued into the shadows, hands outstretched to avoid running into anything as it got darker and darker around her.

“And ye can’t hide either. I ken yer here, I’ll just find ye,” he pointed out.

Her hand bumped against and then closed over a piece of wood when it started to slide along what she thought must be a wall. At first she snatched at the wood to prevent it crashing to the ground and giving away her location, but as she felt the wide plank and judged the length and strength of it, she picked it up to use as a weapon.

“If ye make things too difficult we might harm yer husband,” the man warned now. “And ye wouldn’t want that, would ye?”

Annabel didn’t think, she simply raised the wooden plank over her head and charged at him, shrieking like a banshee. She must have been something to see—a naked woman, hair wild around her head and mouth open on a mad scream as she raced out of the darkness at him. The man didn’t even think to raise the sword until the last moment; he simply stood there gaping until she was almost upon him. Only as she started to swing the plank did he lift his weapon, but before he raised it halfway, she was slamming the wood into his head with all the strength she had.

His head swung on his neck, the skin on his face vibrating with the impact, and then his body seemed to follow his head’s turning and he stumbled around and away from her. Annabel waited for him to fall, but he didn’t, he took several stumbling steps to the open door of the barn and then sagged against the wooden frame briefly. Mouth tightening, Annabel started forward, prepared to give him another whack, but she’d only taken a couple of steps when he slid off the frame and fell forward, collapsing on his face in the dirt.

She hesitated, still considering another whack, but then glanced to Ross and hurried to his side instead.

“Husband?” Annabel said worriedly, looking him over with concern as she knelt at his side. She carefully felt his head until she found a bump and felt damp blood on her fingertips. His eyes didn’t flicker at her touch, not even when she slapped him lightly, “Husband, please wake up.”

She tried to rouse him for several minutes, and then glanced toward their attacker, stiffening when she didn’t see him lying where she’d left him. Her heart stilled briefly, and then she tightened her grip on the plank, and forced herself to her feet. Annabel took a step, but on the second one stubbed her toe on something. She glanced down blankly at Ross’s sword, realizing only then that the man had dropped it. After a hesitation, she bent to pick it up. It was heavy and awkward for her as a weapon, but she didn’t want to risk leaving it there for someone else to use, so she held the plank in one hand and dragged the sword with her as well as she moved cautiously to the door to peer out.

Annabel had expected to see the man either stumbling or dragging himself away from the barn, but he was nowhere to be seen and she suddenly recalled the man speaking in the plural, saying,
“We’ve got yer horses. We’d just ride ye down.”
And,
“If ye make things too difficult we might harm yer husband.”

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she peered toward the trees not far away. Annabel didn’t see anything, but suddenly felt as if she were being watched.

After a quick glance to see that, indeed their horses were gone, Annabel backed into the barn several feet, and then whirled and hurried back to Ross.

“Husband, please,” she hissed, dropping to her knees beside him and releasing her weapons to shake his shoulders. “You have to wake up. We must get out of here.”

Annabel knew even as she did it that he wasn’t going to rouse and lead her out of there. She was on her own, and had to save not only herself, but him. Somehow she had to drag her unconscious husband out of the barn and to safety. She didn’t dare leave him there.

Grinding her teeth, she glanced around. The afternoon was waning, the sun heading for the horizon to make way for night. Soon it would be dark and she had no intention of being there when that happened. Turning back to Ross, she tucked his sword under his arm where she hoped it would not be found and used against her should their attacker return. Annabel then stood to move to the two posts and board where her gown still hung. She grabbed it up, pausing to unhook it when it caught on a raised nail. Once it was free, she donned it quickly, keeping her eyes locked on the open barn door.

Annabel felt a bit better once she was dressed, but she still watched the door nervously as she began to explore her surroundings. After several minutes of searching, she came up with a second long plank, some rope and little else of use. Annabel carried what she’d found to Ross and tried again to wake him.

When he didn’t stir, she glanced nervously toward the door, then sat down cross-legged and set to work tying one corner of the plaid by his head around the end of one plank. She then shifted down to the bottom of the plaid her husband lay on and tied that corner to the far end of the plank before shifting to the other side of the plaid to do the same with the second plank.

Annabel then picked up the rope and stood to consider her next move. She needed to fasten the rope to the top ends of the planks, but in such a way that it wouldn’t slide off. After a hesitation, she glanced toward the two posts with the rail across them and then hurried over to examine the nail that had caught on her gown. She tugged on it briefly, but when it wouldn’t budge, she rushed back to fetch Ross’s sword and used it to pry the nail free, nearly slicing her hand off in the process at one point.

Once Annabel got it loose, she searched for, found, and pulled out three more nails before taking her booty back to her husband. She used the sword hilt as a hammer to drive them into the planks where she needed them. She attached the rope to the planks, tying each end just past the nails at the top of either plank so that it wouldn’t slide off.

She then considered her makeshift pallet and her naked husband on it. After a moment, she bent to collect handfuls of hay and dropped it on his groin, hiding his manhood. Satisfied that she had done the best she could, she then reluctantly set her husband’s sword on the plaid with him and knelt by his head. Taking up the rope, she wrapped it around her shoulders and upper arms, and then straightened with a grunt.

Her husband was a big man and heavy, and the rope burned as it tightened around her skin, but she set her teeth and began to drag him out of the barn. By the time she reached the door, she was less concerned with their attacker than how far the village was.

Chapter 12

A
nnabel opened her eyes to find Seonag standing at the foot of the bed. Her hands were on her hips, her head was tilted, and she was eyeing Annabel and Ross with pursed lips. When the maid saw that Annabel was awake, she gave a “hrrumph” and said, “Yer a pair o’ bookends ye two are, with yer bruised faces.”

Grimacing, Annabel sat up and turned to peer at the man she’d dragged, for what had seemed like miles, to the safety of the village last night. The sun had long set and the cottages were dark, their inhabitants apparently sleeping, when she’d finally arrived. She had stopped at the first cottage, intending to roust the people inside and ask for assistance for their laird, but even as she started to lower to a kneeling position to remove the ropes around her arms and shoulders, the sound of pounding hooves caught her ear. Stilling, she’d stared worriedly toward the opposite side of the quiet village until Gilly and Marach rode into view, leading a party of at least twelve men.

Within moments she’d been surrounded, her burden removed, and Ross, who had long ago lost his covering of hay, raised up to lie on his stomach before Gilly on his horse, while Annabel was lifted up before Marach. It was on the ride back to the castle that she explained what had happened and learned that Jasper had returned to the keep hours earlier. No one had been terribly concerned at first, but when night fell without Annabel and Ross returning, a search party had been organized. Sixty men had been divided into four groups and had ridden out in different directions. Gilly and Marach had headed to the village because that was where they’d last seen their laird and lady.

Annabel now scanned Ross’s pale, unmoving face and asked, “Did he wake up at all in the night?”

“Yer asking me?” Seonag asked dryly. “Ye were the one who insisted on watching over him.”

“Aye, and I did,” she assured her. “The sun was coming up when I finally laid down next to him. I did not intend to sleep. The chair was just so bloody uncomfortable after so long in it . . .” She shrugged unhappily and brushed the hair from Ross’s face. “I should not have risked lying down.”

“ ’Tis just past dawn now,” Seonag said soothingly. “Ye’ve naught to feel guilty for. Why do ye no’ go rest a bit? I’ll watch over him now.”

Annabel hesitated, tempted by the offer, but then shook her head. “Nay. But if you will stay with him for a few minutes, I will go below and break my fast. Perhaps that will wake me enough to keep me up until he wakes.”

Seonag opened her mouth in what Annabel suspected would have been another suggestion that she rest, but then closed it again and simply nodded.

“Thank you,” Annabel murmured pushing herself from the bed and heading for the door. “I will only be a couple moments.”

“Take yer time,” Seonag admonished. “I’ll call ye does he wake.”

Annabel didn’t comment. She didn’t want to be called when he woke. She wanted to be right there, holding his hand and peering into his eyes. With her luck, however, he’d open his eyes the moment she left the room and think she hadn’t cared enough to sit by him while he was injured.

Grimacing at the thought, Annabel pulled the door closed and then stood for a moment, listening. When several minutes passed with no sudden cry of joy or even a wry, “So ye’ve decided to wake, have ye,” from Seonag, Annabel reluctantly turned away and headed for the stairs.

The great hall was full with servants and warriors breaking their fast, and every single one of them seemed to turn to peer at her as she descended the stairs. Questions rode on every face, and Annabel considered whether she shouldn’t make some sort of announcement about Ross’s state as she walked to the table, but there was really nothing to tell. He hadn’t woken yet, and she didn’t know if he would.

She sighed at that thought as she settled at the head table, and then sighed again when Gilly and Marach immediately stood and moved to sit on either side of her.

“There is no need to guard me. I promise you I will not be leaving the keep so long as my husband is unconscious,” she said with grim dignity.

“So he hasna woken yet,” Marach said morosely.

Annabel shook her head and picked up a piece of bread, but only tore at it absently, her gaze drifting back to the stairs.

“Well, that just makes no sense,” Gilly burst out after a moment and when Annabel peered at him uncertainly, he added, “He’s a big braugh lad, strong and sure and yer a weak, wee woman, yet ye’ve come around after two blows to the head, but one lays him low?”

“Head wounds are—” Annabel began automatically, only to be interrupted.

“A tricky business. Aye, I ken,” Gilly said with disgruntlement. “Still, it makes no sense.”

Annabel patted his hand soothingly. “I am sure he will wake up soon. As you say, he’s strong. We must just give him time.”

“Lady MacKay?”

Annabel was slow to turn at that name, mostly because she was not yet used to hearing it and it took a moment to realize she was being addressed. When she did turn and glance over her shoulder, it was to find Father Gibson standing there.

“Oh, Father,” she murmured, getting to her feet.

“I just wanted to say, I understand that after this latest incident, you most likely would prefer to be at your husband’s side than at mass.”

Annabel winced guiltily, for here she was willing to leave him to break her fast, but he was right and she hadn’t intended to attend mass. But mass was soooo long.

“So I thought to offer to give mass in your bedchamber,” the priest went on. “That way neither of you will miss it at a time when prayer is surely needed most.”

“Er . . .” Annabel said uncertainly, not sure Ross would be pleased to wake up and find everyone gathered around his sickbed for mass.

“A private mass,” Father Gibson clarified and Annabel relaxed.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “That is very kind.”

“Not at all. ’Tis my place to minister to those in need, and the two of you are surely in need what with these continued attacks.”

“Aye,” she agreed and then agreed again when he suggested he join her and Ross in their room after he’d done the usual mass in the chapel.

Annabel thanked him again, watched him walk away and then dropped onto the bench and said grimly, “We must sort out who is behind these attacks.”

Marach and Gilly exchanged a glance, but it was Marach who said, “That is what Ross was doing in the village yesterday when ye tricked us and slipped away on yer horse.”

“Was he?” she asked with interest. “What was he doing exactly?”

“Talking to Fingal,” Gilly answered. “The blacksmith.”

“The illegitimate son of Ross’s grandfather who tried to claim a right to the title of clan chief?” she asked, and when both men looked surprised she rolled her eyes. “Giorsal told me all about it.”

“Oh, aye,” Marach said.

“Did he find out anything?” she asked.

Gilly raised his eyebrows. “Yer asking us? We did no’ speak to him after that. He was with you.”

“Oh, right,” she murmured. Ross hadn’t mentioned anything about it. Would he have if he’d suspected the man of anything? She wasn’t sure.

“Then I should probably talk to this Fingal myself,” she decided.

“Did ye no’ just promise us but moments ago that ye’d no’ leave the keep while Ross is ill?” Gilly asked with exasperation.

“Aye, but I have changed my mind,” she said apologetically.

“Well ye can change yer mind all ye want, but the laird ordered us no’ to let ye leave the keep and I fer one intend to follow orders.”

Annabel scowled at him. “Gilly, who am I?”

“The laird’s lady wife.”

“And who is in charge when my husband is unwell or away?”

He cursed under his breath and looked away, refusing to answer, which was answer enough for Annabel. Gilly and Marach, and everyone else, had to obey her orders now.

“I will not leave the keep do I not have to, but I will get to the bottom of this. I want one of you to go down to the village and ask Fingal to come up here so that I can speak to him,” she said, and then added, “And the uncle too . . . Eoghann, I think Giorsal said?”

“Aye.” Gilly nodded. “Eoghann.”

“I want to talk to them at the same time,” she decided.

“Why?” Gilly asked. “Ye can no’ watch both o’ them at the same time and may miss a telling expression from one while looking at the other.”

“I might, but not if I have you two there while I talk to them,” she said and then pointed out, “They may give away more together than apart. They may exchange a glance at a certain point, or one may show surprise or disbelief if the other lies.” She shrugged. “Each of you can watch one of them the whole time and then we can share what we saw.”

“That’s a good idea,” Marach said with admiration.

“Aye,” Gilly agreed with a grin. “The lad did well marrying ye.”

Annabel smiled faintly at the praise, but then asked, “What is your opinion of Derek’s mother?”

“Miriam?” Marach asked with surprise.

Annabel nodded, and then said, “Giorsal said she hated Ross for killing Derek, blamed him for the whole thing.”

“Aye, she did, but—”

“Was that hatred enough for her to seek revenge?” she asked.

The two men exchanged a frown, and then Gilly shook his head. “Nay. I mean, aye, she may have. But then she would be attacking Ross, no’ you.”

“Mayhap,” she agreed, “Unless her revenge took the form of taking something or someone from him.” When the men stared at her blankly, she sighed and said, “In her mind, Ross took away the son she loved. Is it possible she decided her revenge should be—”

“To take away someone Ross loves from him,” Marach finished with understanding.

“Well, mayhap not love,” Annabel murmured. She didn’t think her husband loved her. At least he had never said anything of the like. He liked her though. She was pretty sure about that. And he seemed to enjoy bedding her, and he was caring and—

“That’s clever, that is,” Gilly said slowly, considering her suggestion. “And sneaky like a woman.”

Annabel scowled at the insult and he grimaced.

“Sorry, I mean sneaky like some women,” he muttered.

“Hmmm,” she said with displeasure, and then sighed and added, “Ask around and see if you cannot find out where Miriam has got to and if anyone has seen her in the area.” She paused briefly and then added unhappily, “Although not seeing her may not mean she is not behind this. After all, ’tis a man doing the attacking. It could be someone she hired. She would not need to be in the area at all if that is the case.”

“I heard she went back to her kin,” Marach said thoughtfully. “If she did send someone, it’s most likely kin. We can ask if anyone has seen members of her family about, or if any of her kin fit the description of the man that chased ye in the clearing,” he suggested.

“Aye. Good thinking,” Annabel praised, and then stood. “I am going back up to check on my husband.”

“But ye’ve no’ broken yer fast,” Gilly pointed out with a frown.

Annabel glanced down at the bits of bread littering her spot. She’d torn her bread to shreds but had not eaten a bite. Shrugging, she said, “I am not really hungry anyway.”

“I’ll ha’e a maid bring ye up some cider and food,” Marach said quietly. “Ye must keep yer strength up. Ye may need it in the future.”

“Thank you,” Annabel murmured and turned for the stairs. But as she walked, it suddenly occurred to her to wonder what he’d meant. Did he mean she needed to keep her strength up in case of another attack, or in case Ross died? Her mind shrank from the second possibility. Annabel simply didn’t want to think about that. She liked her husband. Perhaps even was coming to love him. He was caring and concerned in his treatment of her, and he made her blood burn and her body sing. She didn’t want to think of never experiencing any of that again.

“
L
IKE
I
TOLD
the laird, Ainsley, Eoghann and I were drinking the night we decided to put in a claim to the title.”

Annabel nodded to encourage the man to continue, and then glanced over her shoulder to be sure Gilly and Marach were each paying attention. A snort from Eoghann brought her gaze back around.

“We weren’t just drinking, we were sotted,” Ross’s uncle put in. “We were supposed to be playing cards, but instead the three of us were yammering on about Derek.”

“Aye,” Fingal agreed. “We all three were annoyed with the little idiot blathering on about his being four years older, and how it would make him the wiser and better chief than Ross.” He scowled. “And some folk were falling for it.”

“Can ye imagine?” Eoghann asked with dismay. “After all Ross had done to prove himself, stepping up repeatedly and takin’ the reins when his father, God rest his soul, was away or unwell. The lad is a born leader.”

“Aye, and what had Derek done?” Fingal asked, and then answered in unison with Eoghann, “Nothing.”

They both nodded together, looking like the brothers they were, and then Fingal muttered, “The lad’s ridiculous yammering made us fair froth.”

“Froth,” Eoghann agreed.

“So, we decided if he wanted to play the age card, we could beat him there and we’d all put ourselves forward as runners for the title,” Fingal continued. “Give the little bastard a scare.”

“Aye,” Eoghann agreed, and then added quickly, “But none o’ us really wanted it. I’m a farmer at heart. Always ha’e been. Can’t be bothered with all that political nonsense. Give me some good, fertile soil and I can feed the village. Give me a sword and I’d most like poke meself by accident,” he said with a grimace. “I’d rather slop me pigs than kowtow to the English and our neighbors . . . and our father kenned that. Set me up with a fine bit o’ land to till when I was still a boy, and I’ve made fine work of it. I’m content.”

“And I like being blacksmith,” Fingal assured her. “Always had a temper, and I can beat that out hammering me metal. I’d forever be at war were I clan chieftain.”

“Aye, he would,” Eoghann said with a grin.

“And that’s no’ a good thing,” Fingal assured her. “I can hammer a fine sword, the best in the highlands, but wielding it?” He grimaced and shook his head. “I’d get meself stuck through, the first battle.”