Authors: Lynsay Sands
“God, woman, I do love you,” Dante groaned, hugging her tight.
“It's a good thing, because you're stuck with me now,” she informed him wryly, and then pulled back to peer at him solemnly, and added, “Because, although it's too early to say it, I love you too.”
“Oh, Mary,” he breathed and covered her mouth with his.
“Hey! Lovebirds?”
Mary and Dante broke apart and glanced around to see that Lucian had returned and was scowling at them.
“Move your asses,” he growled. “We leave for Venezuela as soon as we get to the airport.”
“I thought we weren't leaving until tomorrow?” Dante said with a frown.
“That was before we knew exactly who we were looking for. Now that we do, I want to get moving on this,” Lucian snapped and turned away to head for the doors again.
“What about Bailey?” Mary asked with a frown as they started to follow Lucian.
“Mortimer said that she could stay at the house and they would watch her,” he said reassuringly. “It is better she not be dragged around with her broken leg.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed, and then noting the worry on his face, she squeezed his hand reassuringly. “We're going to get Tomasso back.”
He swallowed and then offered her a weak smile. “Yes, we will and it will be all thanks to you. A gift that is almost as good as the gift of your love,” he assured her.
Mary suddenly wanted to kiss him again, but they were nearly running now to try to catch up to Lucian.
Later, she told herself as she smiled back at him. There was no rush. They had all the time in the world now.
She
had all the time in the world now . . . thanks to the strong, sexy, and sweet man running beside her. He might think her love was a gift, but she thought his was too, and Mary intended to enjoy every minute of it.
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“I
can't believe the bastard tried to sell his sister fer a couple horses.”
Dougall grimaced and glanced at his brother Conran at those bewildered words. After the debacle at Danvries, they had ridden to the village inn for a meal ere starting the long trek home. The conversation there had been focused on who they might sell the mare and stallion too now and to wonder how they would find things at home. Not wanting to shame the sister in her own village, no one had even got near the topic of Danvries and his offer . . . until now as they left Danvries' land.
“Aye,” Dougall acknowledged quietly.
“Ye do no' seem surprised.”
“People rarely surprise me anymore,” Dougall said grimly, and then added in a lighter tone, “The only thing that surprises me is that ye were kind enough no'
to discuss it in the village and waited so long to bring up the subject.”
“
'Twas no' kindness,” Conran denied quickly. “I just did no' want to ruin me meal. Was like to give me indigestion.”
“Oh, aye, o' course it was,” Dougall agreed with amusement. He knew that wasn't true. Conran just didn't like to appear soft. Although, Dougall thought, talking about it now was making his own lunch roll in his stomach.
“Ye ken that now the idea's occurred to him, he's going to sell her off to his friend fer coin,” Conran said heavily.
“Aye. He'll use her to make what money he can to make up fer his gambling,” Dougall said with distaste, recalling the glowing woman.
“If she allows it,” Conran said with a shrug. “Mayhap she'll refuse.”
“Hmmm.” Dougall muttered, but thought she might not be given the choice. Danvries was obviously her guardian, although she was of marriageable age. “Why is she still unwed?”
Conran shrugged. “As I said, talk is he gambled away her dower.”
“Aye, but how? It should have been protected,” Dougall said with a frown. “And she should ha'e been betrothed as a child and collected long ere this.”
“Mayhap her betrothed died,” Conran suggested, and then added, “And I'm sure the King would have stepped in and no' allowed Danvries gambling away her dower . . . had he no' been the one who won the wager.”
“So she'll ne'er marry,” Dougall said thoughtfully.
“And be at the mercy of her brother all her days,” Conran commented, shaking his own head.
“Dear God,” Dougall breathed and almost felt bad that he'd turned down the man's offer. At least he would have been kind to her, and mayhap had things worked out . . . Well, he had grown quite wealthy through his horse breeding. The only reason he hadn't already purchased himself an estate was that their older brother Aulay had needed his aid raising their younger brothers and sister when their parents had died. A dower wasn't an absolute necessity in a wife for him. On the other hand, he didn't know the woman. She was pretty enough, but her brother was a weak man with a few bad habits, drinking and gambling among them. He also apparently had little in the way of moral fiber to him. For all Dougall knew, the same was true of her. But that gasp from her when her brother had offered her . . .
Dougall pushed away the memory. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He didn't even know the lass.
“
'Tis a shame,” Conran said quietly. “She's a lovely lass.”
Dougall merely nodded. She was indeed lovely.
“She looked sweet and demure,” Geordie commented from his other side when he remained silent.
“Aye, she did,” Dougall said on a sigh. “Mayhap me refusal to sell him horses no matter whether he has the coin or no' will stop his plans.”
“For now, maybe,” Conran said dubiously. “Though I suspect he'll go ahead with it in hopes ye'll change yer mind when he presents the payment. On the other
hand, he could buy horses elsewhere . . . were he to get the coin.”
Not wanting to encourage this line of conversation, Dougall didn't comment. He had no desire to think the woman would still be sold off like a cheap light skirt. Besides, he could see something on the path ahead and was distracted by trying to sort out what it was.
Noting his sudden stillness in the saddle, Conran glanced ahead and squinted. “It looks like someone on horseback, but . . .”
“But 'tis a very strange horse,” Dougall murmured. It looked short and wide, a squat creature that moved with a somewhat awkward gait.
“Is that a cow he's riding?” Conran asked with amazement as they drew closer.
“A bull,” Dougall corrected as the rider shifted and he spotted a horn poking up into view. “And if I'm no' mistaken, he is a she. That looks like a gown to me.”
“Hmmm,” Alick murmured behind them. “A rose gown. Lady Danvries was wearing a rose gown.”
“Aye, she was,” Dougall agreed, and urged his horse to move more quickly.
“D
amn,” Murine breathed when she heard the approaching horse. She'd spotted the men on horseback behind her just moments ago and had recognized them as the Scots Montrose had been trying to buy horses from. It could have been worse. Montrose could have
discovered that she'd fled and come after her, but this was bad enough. These were the men her brother had tried to sell her to and the embarrassment and shame of what he'd done was overwhelming. She'd really rather not have to face them again.
“M'lady.”
Murine kept her gaze straight ahead, hoping that if she pretended not to hear him, the man might just leave her be and travel on.
“Lady Danvries,” he said, a little more loudly and when she again didn't respond, commented, “Yer brother did no' bother to mention ye were deaf when he offered ye to me. I should ha'e guessed as much, though. He's obviously a cheat and a louse, so o' course he'd try to pass off a defective lass in exchange fer me high quality beasts.”
Gasping in outrage, Murine gave up her pretense and turned to glare at the man as she snapped, “I'm no' defective! And ye'd ha'e been lucky to ha'e me, I'm worth a hundred o' yer horses.”
When his mouth quirked up on one side and one eyebrow rose high on his forehead, she realized what she'd said and quickly added, “Not that I'd ha'e agreed to such a shameful bargain.” Turning forward again, she muttered, “Me brother has obviously lost his mind to sink so low.”
“And so ye're running away before he offers ye to someone who is no' as honorable as meself and might accept?”
Murine's mouth flattened with displeasure. That was exactly what she was doing . . . or trying to do. But now
she was fretting over the possibility that this man might somehow interfere and prevent her escape.
“Dougall.”
Murine glanced around at that shout, her eyes widening when she saw that his men, who had been keeping back apace, were suddenly urging their mounts to catch them up.
“What is it, Conran?” Dougall asked with a frown.
“Riders,” the man explained, glancing worriedly toward Murine. “And I'm thinking it's Danvries' men after the lady here, to take her back.”
Cursing under her breath, Murine started to turn her bull toward the trees intent on hiding, but found her way blocked by horses as the other men caught up and surrounded them.
“No time fer that, m'lady,” Conran said sympathetically. “They're moving fast, ye would no' make cover.”
“Then we shall have to be her cover,” Dougall said grimly. “Surround her, and cover her hair and dress. I'll meet the riders.”
Murine opened her mouth to protest, but then let out a startled gasp when a cap landed on her head.
“Tuck yer hair up, lass,” someone said.
“And here, put this round ye to hide yer pretty gown,” someone else said, dropping a plaid around her shoulders.
Murine didn't argue, but clumsily shoved her hair up in the cap, then clutched the plaid around herself and glanced about at the Scots and their horses. Her bull sat perhaps a hand lower than their mounts, which helped hide what the plaid didn't cover of her skirts, but
there were only three of them now and the two riderless horses they'd hoped to sell to her brother.
“Mayhap we should . . .” Rather than finish the suggestion, someone suddenly tossed another plaid over her, this one covering her head as well. She then felt pressure on the back of her neck as someone silently urged her to press herself flat to the bull's back. Hoping it was enough, Murine ignored the fact that she found it difficult to breathe in this position with the heavy cloth over her, closed her eyes and began to pray.
D
ougall managed to get about twenty feet back up the path before the oncoming English riders reached him. He hoped it was far enough away from the woman his men were trying to provide cover for, but there was little he could do if it wasn't. The choice then would be whether to fight for the lass or not and he wasn't quite sure yet whether he would. It wasn't the fact that there were twenty of them. He and his brothers were skilled fighters. They could easily beat twenty lazy, poorly trained English soldiers. But he wasn't sure if Lady Danvries was worth fighting, and killing, over. If she was anything like her brother, she definitely wasn't . . . and really, this was none of his business. He supposed he'd have to play it by ear.
“Did Danvries find coin fer the horses, after all?” he asked lightly by way of greeting once the riders had stopped.
“Nay.” The man in the lead glanced past him to his
brothers and then back. “We are looking for Lord Danvries' sister. She went out for a ride and has not yet returned. Her brother grows concerned.”
“A ride ye say?” Dougall asked, feigning surprise. “Are ye sure? I understood she was without a mount. Sides, she was sitting in the hall when we arrived and 'tis sure I am that she went above stairs ere we left.”
“Aye.” The man frowned and glanced back the way he'd come. “I gather she left after you and your men, and we did not pass her ere encountering you. She must have gone another way.”
“That would make sense,” Dougall agreed and he supposed it did make sense if you didn't know that he and his brothers had stopped for a meal ere leaving Danvries land.
The man nodded, and spun his horse back the way he'd come with a brusque, “Good journey to ye.”
“And to ye,” Dougall said cheerfully and grinned as he watched the English soldier lead his men away. He hadn't even had to lie. Gad, the English were stupid. Of course, now he had to deal with the woman, he acknowledged, his smile fading.
Ah well. Dougall shook his head and turned to ride back to his own men.
“Lookin' fer the lass, were they?” Conran asked as the men eased aside to allow Dougall to move his horse up beside the woman's bull.
“Aye.” Dougall glanced toward Lady Danvries, expecting her to thank him for his aid. But she proved she was English by refusing to even acknowledge his pres
ence. The woman was still huddled low on her cow, the plaid covering her like a sack of wheat.
Scowling, he tugged the plaid off of her, and then leaned quickly to the side to catch the woman when she started to tumble from the back of her beast.
“Well,” Conran breathed with disgust when Dougall pulled her unconscious body across his horse to peer at her. “It looks like she's gone and died on us. That could cause trouble with the English.”
“Nah, âtis a faint,” Dougall said, but then had to tear his gaze from her pale face to her chest just to make sure she was breathing. She was, but shallowly.
“It can no' be a faint,” Alick protested at once, standing in the saddle and craning his head to try to get a look at the woman. “If the lass is brave enough to run away on her own, she's hardly the type to faint o'er a little scare like this.”
“Unless it was no' courage that had her running away,” Conran pointed out.
“What else would it be?” Alick asked with a scowl.
“She could be lacking the sense God gives most,” Geordie suggested.
“Or she could be a few men short o' an army,” Alick added reluctantly.
“This lass is no' daft,” Conran snapped. “Nor is she witless. The two o' ye ought to be ashamed to suggest it.”
“Well, why do ye think she's fainted then?”
Conran eyed her briefly and then said, “Well, now, mayhap she's ailing. âTis obvious her brother cares little for her wellbeing. Mayhap she's taken ill.”
“And mayhap,” Dougall said, shifting the woman to
a more comfortable position on his lap, “Ye should stop acting like a bunch o' old women so we can continue on with our journey.”
Conran raised his eyebrows. “Are we takin' her with us then?”
“Well, we can hardly leave her here by the side o' the road in her state, can we?” he pointed out with exasperation. “We'll carry her with us until she wakes.”
“And then what?” Conran asked, eyes narrowed.
“And then we'll ask where she's heading and if 'tis on our way, we shall escort her there,” he decided with a small frown. The woman was turning out to be a bit of trouble and he wasn't happy about that.
“And if where she is going is no' on our way?” Conran asked. “Or what if we've carried her right past where she was headed?”
“Then we'll deal with that at the time,” Dougall said with forced patience, and then added irritably, “Right now, I'd jest be well pleased if ye'd get yer arses in gear and yer horses moving.”
“All right, no need to holler,” Conran said soothingly. “
'Tis obvious the lass has set ye aback.” He glanced around and then asked, “What about her cow?”
Grimacing, Dougall glanced at the beast and shrugged. “Leave it behind. It'll most like return to the keep. Then mayhap they'll think she took a tumble and'll waste days searching Danvries' woods fer her.”
“But then she'll have naught to ride when she regains her wits,” Conran pointed out.