Samantha James (4 page)

His slow smile sent a tremor all through her. “Because I am stronger than you, lass.”

Lass
. She shuddered, for upon this man’s lips, it sounded like a curse from the devil himself. Oh, aye, she knew what he thought of her.

He hated her, with every fiber of his being.

There was an air of expectancy about him, as if he awaited her challenge. None was forthcoming, for in truth Meredith was aghast at all she had dared already speak.

At length he released her. Meredith let out an uneven breath, relieved when he arose and started toward the horses. Though she strained to see, ’twas impossible; the night was dark and moonless, and it was as if the shadows had swallowed him whole.

He was back within seconds, and it appeared he was not through with her. She stared—indeed, warily!—as he dropped to one knee before her.

Dangling within one large brown hand was a small length of chain.

Boldly he reached for one slender wrist. Meredith jerked at his touch, for he was so very warm! He paid no heed but placed the shackle deliberately around her right wrist. In shock she watched as he then proceeded to place the other end about his left.

She wet her lips. “Is there a key?” she heard herself ask.

He raised his head, his smile almost goading.
“Aye, but you’d best watch your tongue and mind your manners, lest I lose it.”

A sizzle of anger shot through her. “Ah,” she said sweetly, “but I wonder…which of us is the prisoner?”

His smile vanished. He bestowed upon her a look so quelling, her bravado was gone in an instant.

Without a word, he turned to his side and lay down upon the cold hard ground. Meredith felt herself jerked down beside him, for the length of the chain was such that she could not sit while he lay. His back to her, he drew the corner of his plaid over his head and slept.

Meredith was left huddling in the chill night air.

Sleep departed little by little. Meredith was still caught in the murky web of the night’s slumber. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the awareness that morning was nigh, the light of day trickling brightly upon the world. She lay on her side, but her backside was still wretchedly cold, and the chill damp seemed to penetrate to her very bones.

But there was warmth emanating from somewhere. She could feel it, and instinctively snuggled toward it, this wall of ovenlike heat…ah, warmth! Faith, but it was bliss. Like a cat nuzzling its mother, she stretched into it and against it.

A vile curse ripped through the air just above her. Meredith’s eyes snapped open; the warmth she sought was no more, the swiftness of movement but a blur. She blinked as the shackle around her wrist dropped to the ground.

Cameron MacKay stood high above her, his feet braced wide apart. For the space of a heartbeat their eyes tangled interminably, his virulently accusing, hers still puzzled and confused.

All at once the air was filled with a thundering tension. He did not speak—and indeed, what need was
there? She glimpsed within those harshly drawn features a blistering condemnation.

Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, he spun around and was gone.

Slowly Meredith pushed herself upright. The venom she sensed in him pierced her to the quick. She could not fathom the burning in his soul. He regarded her as if she were some vile ugliness that stained the world, and all because she was a Munro.

Egan and Finn were just beginning to stir as she crept by them. After tending to her needs, she made her way to the stream. She splashed her face with water, then picked her way to a gnarled oak tree that stood guard near the pathway leading back to the clearing. It was here she knelt down upon the soft, mossy ground. The voices of the men flitted to her ears, but she ignored them. It was tranquil and peaceful here beneath the shade of the massive oak. Though her life was now in turmoil, she would begin this day as she had every day for the last year and more. Dutifully Meredith folded her hands, closed her eyes, and bowed her head low.

Her lips moved silently. She prayed for strength and vigilance, for the safety and wellness of her father and Uncle Robert, the sisters at Connyridge. She prayed most diligently…prayed for deliverance from Cameron MacKay.

A twig snapped behind her.

“It’s time,” intoned a voice that was already far too wretchedly familiar.

Meredith determinedly ignored him, continuing her prayers. Her skin prickled, for she could feel his regard as surely as if he touched her. Then, all at once, he
was
touching her. An arm slid hard about her waist, lifting her up and around and fully off her feet.
Her prayer—and her breath—were effectively cut off as she was turned to face him. His gaze slid over her, then fastened upon the silver crucifix which hung about her neck.

“Why do you wear that?” he demanded. “You said you’d not yet taken your vows.”

Meredith winced inwardly. “I have not,” she admitted.

“You should have taken them long ago. You’ve been at Connyridge long enough. Could it be you are not worthy?”

He sought to wound her. Meredith knew it and tried not to allow it, yet she couldn’t help it.

What was it he’d made her write in her letter to the sisters?
I am deeply ashamed that I am so weak in devotion and in spirit
.

Was it true? Was that why she had tarried so long in taking her vows? Pain wrenched through her. Confusion roiled within her, confusion that the days past had not erased. Throughout she had prayed for guidance to make the right choice, for direction from above. A voice within cried out. Why had the God she so entrusted forsaken her? Was she being punished for her doubts? She had disappointed Papa, and now the Lord as well.

She inclined her head. Yet the fervor of her words belied the meekness of her pose. “God alone judges our worthiness—and our worth.”

For an instant he looked ready to explode. Something raced across his features, an anger she could not begin to comprehend. He stepped close and raised his hand. Fighting back her fear, striving to ignore the power of the fist that hovered so near, Meredith braced herself for a stunning blow…

It never came. She gasped as warm fingers brushed
her skin. In shock she felt her crucifix ripped from about her throat.

“Do not prescribe to me, woman. ’Twould not take much to convince me that your blood would indeed be blood well shed.” His lips barely moved as he spoke.

Meredith was shattered but determined not to show it. Mustering all her dignity, she lifted her chin. “I do not preach to you—I simply state my beliefs, for as you have said, I am not worthy. And for now I will entrust my crucifix to your safekeeping”—her gaze skipped to the chain dangling from his fingertips—“but I vow it will soon be back in my possession.”

His lips compressed. Her heart leaped as he swung the chain and caught the whole of the necklace in his palm. His fingers tightened so that his knuckles showed white. For one awful moment Meredith feared he would fling it high and away and it might truly be forever lost to her.

His hand disappeared inside his shirt…and the necklace as well. All he said was, “Come. We dally no longer.”

Meredith’s fingers touched the place where the crucifix dwelled no more. She felt naked without it. But she would have it back, she vowed.

His low whistle cut through the air. Egan and Finn hurried forward, leading their mounts.

Panic raced through her. Beside her, she could feel his body—hard as a pillar of stone. The thought of riding with him again made her stomach curdle in dread. She could not do it. She would not!

She linked her hands before her to still their trembling. “I will come with you, but I will not ride before
you on your horse.” She swallowed. “Nor will I ride behind you, or with any of your men.”

She knew she did not imagine the stiffening of his spine. “You will not ride with me,” he repeated, “either before me or behind me? And you will not ride with Egan or Finn?”

Meredith shook her head. His tone was almost deadly quiet, yet the hint of a storm brewed in the depths of his eyes.

Behind him, Finn let out a growl. “By the Rood, woman, you will not dare such insolence—”

“Be silent, Finn!” Cameron sent his man a glare that was no less blistering.

“Yet you say you will come with me.”

Still that disturbingly quiet tone. Though she was filled with trepidation, she held her ground. “Aye,” she heard herself say.

“Mayhap you should explain.”

Her heart had begun to race. Vaguely she wondered what madness possessed her, that she should challenge him so. “I will not ride,” she said again. “I will walk.”

His gaze dipped to her toes, bare and pink beneath the ragged hem of her gown. Some of the sizzle had departed his features. A brow arched high. Indeed, he appeared almost amused…Meredith was not sure which she preferred.

“You wear neither slippers nor sandals nor boots.”

His unnecessary observation made her feel quite the fool. She angled her chin. “That is true.”

“I warn you now, we will soon be leaving the Borders. We will not be traversing through soft, grassy meadows.”

If her chin tipped any higher, her neck would surely snap! “’Tis kind of you to inform me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re very defiant this morn, aren’t you?”

“Nay, sir, ’tis not defiance.”

But in so saying, so it was…and they both knew it. Meredith held her breath, wondering wildly what he would do. Given the circumstances, she was surprised he had not brushed aside her protest and proceeded to bodily place her upon his horse. Indeed, his reaction was remarkably restrained given the fact that he had snatched her from her bed.

’Twas only later she realized she should have been wary.

“Your feet will be bruised and cut.”

“Your concern overwhelms me. But do not worry. What pain I may suffer shall be offered as penance for your sins.”

The sweetness of her tone goaded him—as she had meant. Nor was there any doubt she referred to his abduction of her…Thus began the battle between them. Meredith could not deny that were this a test of strength, he would undoubtedly emerge the victor. Yet there was a part of her that would not bend to his will as readily as she had already done.

Something flitted across his face, something that might have been anger. But he spoke neither in fierce admonishment nor in anger—indeed, he did not speak to her at all! Instead he crossed to Egan. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he bent his head to the scarred man’s ear. His instructions, whate’er they were, were quick and brief. In what seemed like mere seconds, Egan and Finn had gathered up their belongings and ridden away.

Meredith stared at the spiral of dust kicked up in their wake, then back to Cameron.

“Where are they going?” Her tone was sharper than she intended.

“Back to our home.”

Her mouth was dry as parchment. “And what of you?”

“Do not worry”—his mouth twisted into a leer—“we shall soon follow.”

Meredith spoke her thoughts aloud. “You sent them away, didn’t you?”

“That I did, lass. That I did.” He was suddenly far too relaxed, his manner far too easy.

“But now we are alone!” She colored when she realized how foolish that sounded.

She could not cast aside the sudden fear that clutched at her. Her thoughts were a wild jumble within her head. Her fears leaped apace with her heart. He had sent Egan and Finn away…yet why should he? Could it be he had another purpose in mind? Her breath came jaggedly. Would he rape her? Use her to slake his own base desire? Take her now that the others were gone?

She reminded herself he did not want her—he’d expressed his distaste quite plainly. Yet Meredith was not so innocent. She knew of the dark desires of men; she knew of the lust that drove them to think of naught but the lance between their legs. Nay, she was no innocent. A man need not feel desire or love to take a woman, to force a woman to his will…
against
her will. To some it was but a punishment. Was this what he intended? Did he seek to defeat her in the one sure way that man would ever defeat woman?

No. Surely he would not dare such a thing against a woman who had sought to be a nun…

But she was not a nun, nor would she ever be. Not now.

And he was a man who would dare anything. Had he not already? Why, he’d dared to invade the sanctity of the priory!

Or if not that…would he kill her? Yet if all he sought was her death, surely he’d have done so long before now…and before his men.

Her chin climbed high. “Know this, Cameron MacKay! I will never give myself to you!”

His lip curled. “Know this, Meredith Munro—chaste, virtuous lady, I have not asked you to!”

It spun through Meredith’s mind that she was neither chaste nor virtuous. She hated the shameful remembrance that gripped her mind—and she almost hated him for bringing it about.

“You accused me of being a coward,” he went on. His tone now rang with false heartiness. “You leave me no choice but to show you that I am not, that I do not need others to keep you in check.”

He strode to where his horse, Fortune, was idly grazing the lush grass near the bank of the stream. The animal was quickly saddled and ready. Meredith remained where she was, unmoving. Never in her life had she felt so foolish! If only there was some way she could escape! But on foot, he would be upon her in an instant…

He returned far more quickly than she wished. High atop his mount, he appeared big and brawny and thoroughly indomitable, much to her everlasting vexation.

He did not stop where she stood. Instead he walked the horse right by her, on toward the next copse of trees without a pause.

The usually soft line of her lips pressed together in a straight, mutinous line. Meredith stared at the long
line of his back, the square set of his shoulders. Did he expect her to run after him, like a child who was afraid of being left behind? By heaven, she would not!

Halfway there, he glanced over his shoulder. When he saw she’d not moved a muscle, he turned in his saddle and gazed back at her. His brows shot up before he retraced his steps.

“Do not tell me,” he said smoothly, “you’ve changed your mind?” He shook his head. “Too late, I fear. You wished to walk, therefore we shall proceed at a more leisurely pace. But I do believe I should make myself clear, lass. I will not pity you when you plead to ride with me. I will not carry you because of your stubbornness, I will not pick you up when you falter or stumble. You will do what I say, when I say. If I tell you to call me lord—”

“I have no Lord save one.” Meredith directed her eyes heavenward. “I will bow to no Lord save one.”

His smile held no mirth. “Believe me, lass, had you not come from the priory, we would debate that very point. But let us make no mistake. I allow you to walk, not because it pleases you, but because it pleases
me
.”

It pleased him! Meredith’s jaw opened, then closed. Merciful heaven, what had she done? She wasn’t certain if she was angrier at him or at herself for her own folly! Plead with him to ride, would she? Never!

Without a word he nudged his mount forward.

Meredith waited a full ten seconds before taking a step.

This time he didn’t bother to glance behind.

Nor had he lied. They were soon deep in the rolling hills of the forest. Dried needles that had fallen from the fir trees pricked at the soles of her feet like the sharpest of thorns. Tiny rocks dug into her skin until
every step made her wince. She had to force herself to walk, emptying her mind of all else, concentrating only on putting one foot ahead of the next. She plodded along, falling ever farther behind.

Near noon, he stopped his mount, waiting patiently for her to catch up.

He inclined his head as she approached. “How are your feet?” he asked pleasantly.

Meredith gritted her teeth. She was sorely tempted to retort that had he not snatched her from her bed in the middle of the night, she would not be in this predicament. Yet the choice to walk had been hers…