There would be no help for her; no ransom paid, no way back to the cemetery, and no way home.
So, now what did she do
?
***
An hour later Kellen was convinced the woman was a half-wit. And so was he for not putting a guard on her door after she’d gone to bed the night before.
She’d snuck out at dawn without protection, which meant she’d been gone for hours at this point. One of the guards remembered a maid carrying a basket, and it had been found at the edge of the village.
Guilt tightened his chest as he crossed the bailey, dodging people scurrying hither and yon. The entire keep and village were still in an uproar looking for her, but Kellen was convinced she wasn’t about. He never should have accused her. This was his fault for making her unhappy.
She’d told Marissa she was going home, which made no sense. The horses were all accounted for and she could not walk the entire way. She’d be accosted or murdered if she tried. She had never struck him as stupid, but obviously he’d have to rethink his judgment.
Some of his men were already on the way to her father’s keep with instructions to retrieve her even if she’d made it all the way home, which he deemed doubtful. If she had gone that direction, she would not have gotten far. Kellen would follow the minute he was convinced he’d done all he could here.
One of his men brought a young village boy forward. “This child claims to have witnessed a man on horseback early this morn.”
The thin boy’s frightened eyes were visible under his cap of messy blond hair and Kellen knelt before him and tried to tamp down feelings of dread. “You saw a man on horseback?” he asked softly.
“Aye, my lord.”
“Did you know him?”
“Nay, my lord. I tried to see, but ’twas too dark and too far away to see much of anythin’. But I saw him riding up toward the graveyard. I thought maybe it ’twere a headless ghostie comin’ for the dead.” The boy suddenly grinned, showing he’d recently lost a few baby teeth. “Me brother would have near died of envy had I seen such!”
With a nod, Kellen sent two of his men to the cemetery. They mounted horses and were gone within moments.
“Did you see or hear aught else?”
“I waited, and then he went back the way he come, and ’twas the slightest bit brighter and I saw hair flying about his head, so I knew he weren’t headless.” The boy’s disappointment was palpable.
“Did he have anyone with him?”
The boy shrugged, then looked up, hope gleaming in his eyes. “Think you he carried a spirit or two?”
“Mayhap. Where did he go?”
The boy pointed toward the northern tree line and Kellen’s teeth clenched. Scots? Would they dare? “Did you see my lady?”
“Nay, my lord.”
After dismissing the boy and telling him to find a treat in the kitchen, Kellen paced as he waited for his men to return. Minutes later, one rode fast through the gate house, only pulling up short when he approached Kellen. “My lord!” He lifted Gillian’s pack. “We did a quick search, but did not find her.”
Kellen’s jaw tightened as he grimly accepted the bright pink bundle. She was very attached to her treasures and would never have willingly left her possessions behind. Could she have been taken so close to the village? Perhaps by the man who’d tried to murder her?
His guts clenching, Kellen mounted up and he and his men headed toward the tree line. After only a short search they found evidence of three or four horses. And tied to a tree branch was a piece of Scottish cloth.
A message? Or a trap? Either way, Kellen was immensely relieved they’d not found Gillian’s dead body. “Gather the men,” Kellen yelled. “And bring the Scottish prisoners.”
If Gillian had been harmed, he’d gut the men while their people watched. Then he’d slaughter the lot of them.
Gillian heard people before she saw them.
Her captors, fists raised in the air, shouted in triumph as they rode out of the trees and into a camp where a band of wild-looking, filthy men gathered. Some stopped their training, others came out of tents, and more stood from where they lounged near a campfire. But one and all, they moved forward, at least forty men, some shouting responses to her captors, and every one of them staring at her.
Gillian’s throat tightened and, mouth dry, she gripped Quinn and watched as a huge guy made his way toward them. Men moved out of his way and, the closer he came, the more Gillian tensed. The man’s dark hair and beard, thick to his shoulders, was randomly braided and messy, though it at least appeared clean. His shoulders and arms bulged with muscle. Tall, strong, and in command, he was obviously their leader. When he reached them, Quinn half-turned, a wide grin on his face.
“Laird MacGregor, meet Lady Corbett, recently of Marshall Keep.”
The laird bowed mockingly. “My lady, welcome.” His voice was deep, loud. “I am most pleased to make thy acquaintance.”
The men around them laughed.
Before she could respond, he spoke to the men on horseback in a language she couldn’t understand and, when Quinn laughed and responded in kind, the laird grinned. Without any warning, he grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her off the horse, catching her before she plummeted to the ground. She screamed, slapping, scratching and pushing for freedom, her feet touching the ground as the men around her laughed. She could barely walk after hours on the horse, but tried to run anyway.
The behemoth easily caught and held her, her back against his front, his arms around her, her wrists crossed and captured in his large hands. He laughed. “Little cat, sheathe thy claws.”
Gillian bucked, trying to get away, but all she did was amuse the crowd, if their hoots and hollers were any indication. “
Let go of me
!” Breathing hard, she twisted and turned but remained trapped.
The man’s warmth seeped into her chilled body, his wild, campfire smell settling over her with every gasped breath. The guy simply held on and let her wear herself out.
She finally stilled. Was he planning to assault her? Kill her? It was too much: leaving Kellen, being captured, the travel, the men surrounding her, her helplessness. She started to cry. “Leave me alone.” She bucked one more time. “Just leave me alone.”
“Calm thyself.” His chest rumbled against her back. “You willna be harmed, lass.”
“Then why am I here?” She kicked at his shins with a running shoe. He grunted, but remained unbending. “What do you want?” When he didn’t respond, she tried to think of a way to keep herself unharmed. “Do you want to marry me? Is that it? For my family’s wealth?”
He turned her around to look at her, keeping one hand tight on her wrist, speculation in his expression as he looked up and down her body. He grinned, his gaze settling on her chest. “Ye come well dowered, do ye?”
As the men around them guffawed and snickered, Gillian ignored his lewd implication and decided Kellen was the best weapon to threaten him with. “Yes, my family settled a large amount on me. Lord Marshall already has it.”
The laird chuckled. “Clever man. But it doesna matter. We simply mean to use you as ransom to get our men back.”
“But Kellen . . . Lord Marshall, doesn’t know where I am.”
“He does by now.”
Gillian stared at him for a moment and then tension drained from her, leaving her weak and unsteady. “You left a note?”
He nodded once. “Aye. My men left a message.”
Kellen would be coming for her
? Gillian bowed her head as relief surged through her. With his hand still clamped around her wrist, Laird MacGregor hauled her, unresisting, to a tent, and she stumbled behind him. He pushed her inside, and pointed to a blanket. “Sit there, lass. I’ll return directly.”
Gillian considered running but, realizing how pointless it was, sank to the blanket, and pulled her knees to her chest.
A moment later Laird MacGregor returned with meat and dark bread. He passed her a portion and sat across from her. “Eat.”
Gillian hadn’t eaten since noon the day before and didn’t have to be told twice. She bit into the meat, some kind of fowl, and the wonderful, campfire taste hit her tongue and she moaned, then glanced up to find him watching her. Self-conscious, she stopped chewing. “What?”
“Ye just surprised me, lass. Ye didna cross yourself against me, nor,” he pointed to a stick nearby, “wave the elder branch over thy food, nor even pray over the fare. I hazard I am used to the superstitious lot out there.” He jerked a thumb toward the tent’s entry.
Gillian swallowed, then broke off a small piece of the dry bread and popped it into her mouth. “How are they superstitious?”
The laird shrugged. “In all the ways a man can be. My men think me a warlock if I forget to stir my oats in the proper direction to ward bad spirits.” He pointed to the stick again. “I humor them in favor of peace.”
When she snorted, his brows rose. “Have I shocked you, lass? Do you fear me the worse now?”
She chuckled, and relaxed a bit more. “No. I don’t believe in warlocks.”
He smiled slightly. “Don’t you then?”
She shook her head. “I believe in evil men and women doing evil deeds, but not in witches and warlocks.”
He studied her for a moment. “Now ye’ve shocked me, lass. I’ve not met a female who doesna cast wards against evil, cross herself ten times in a day, throw salt over her shoulder, and plant mugwort, foxglove, and the like. Do ye none of those things?”
She chuckled again and shook her head. “I’ve been known to salt my food on occasion, but only for the taste.”
“Hmm.” He finally applied himself to his food and she had the chance to study him while they ate. He truly was scary to look at. Savage. His brown tunic, stained at chest and hem, hit his knees when standing but now, rucked up, exposed most of his strong, bare legs. Fortunately he looked to be wearing shorts of some kind. He also wore an animal skin vest and had wool plaid draped over one shoulder, fastened somehow. There wasn’t a kilt in sight, which she had to admit surprised her.
He met her gaze and she asked, “Have you been planning to kidnap me for long?”
It was his turn to snort. “We had no thought to take you at all. We thought you too well protected. You fell into my men’s hands like a plump partridge.”
Well, of all the rotten luck. Brows drawn together, she bent her head to hide her chagrin. “Why were your men there then?”
“Hoping for the chance to rescue their kinsman.”
“You sent them?”
“Aye.”
She finally lifted her head. “You’re very loyal to your men.”
He laughed in a humorless way. “I could but wish my men were as loyal to me.”
“What do you mean?”
He didn’t explain and resumed eating.
“What do you mean?” she asked again.
He shrugged.
Gillian sighed. “So . . . Scotland is nice. It’s really pretty. I’ve always wanted to come here.”
He shot her an incredulous look.
“So . . . who are you, anyway? What’s your name, rank, and serial number?”
He ate some bread.
“So . . . why are you camping in the forest? Are you related to Robin Hood?”
He gnawed the meat off a bone.
She took a breath and he threw up a hand. “Stop nattering on!”
“Then tell me why you think your men aren’t loyal!” she whispered fiercely.
He sighed. Shrugged. “’Tis no great secret. My mother is English and I did much of my training in England. When my father died, I was expected to come back and lead. Which I did. But loyalty has to be earned through time and action.” He threw a handful of bones through the tent opening.
Gillian resumed eating and studied the man. While he looked and acted tough, he’d actually seen to her comfort, fed her, and put her at ease. Maybe she could do something to help him? “I once read a book called
How to Win Friends and Influence People
by Dale Carnegie. It said that you need to smile, be friendly, treat people kindly, and find out their interests and try to share them.” She nodded. “You need to make people feel important and appreciated and always try and remember their names. Maybe you could try that with your men?”
He stared at her, brows raised, mouth agape, then laughed. When she glared, he laughed harder, openmouthed, until he fell over backward.
Gillian straightened her spine and pursed her lips. When he finally sat up, his laughter subsiding to chuckles, she said, “Don’t knock it until you try it. When I was in junior high, I didn’t have any friends and my mom read the book to me. It’s good advice.”
He chuckled a few more times, then shook his head and wiped at his eyes. “You’re an agreeable lass to talk to. You must keep Lord Marshall well entertained.” He studied her, and she refused to look away. “You’re also verra easy to look upon.”
She grinned. “Flatterer. You’re kind of cute, too, in a barbarian-at-the-gates sort of way. A girl could feel very protected with you around.”
He actually looked down and blushed above his facial hair and it was Gillian’s turn to laugh at him.
He glared. “Watch yourself ere I lose my patience.”
She managed not to roll her eyes. The guy was turning out to be a pussycat. “So, obviously you don’t live here in the forest. Why aren’t you home? What
are
you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
He shrugged. “The usual. Trapped between two kings who use us as puppets for their own amusement.” Gillian heard bitterness in his tone.
She studied him for a moment. “You don’t seem very happy in your chosen occupation. Couldn’t you just give it up? Stop being Laird and go back to England?”
He shrugged. “I am the MacGregor, lass. There’s no altering that. Ye cannot change what is.”
“You’d be surprised.”
When she finished her meal, he cut an apple with his knife and gave her a piece, then grinned when she made a face at its tartness. He then cut and ate a slice himself, before giving her another.
“Are you married?” she asked.
“Are ye offerin’ for me, lass?”
She looked at him. Under all the hair, he was young, probably mid-to-late twenties, and might even be good-looking. He was as tall and broad through the chest as Kellen, and had shown he could be kind. All in all, he sort of reminded her of Kellen. A decent man hardened by the time he lived in. “Let me ask you something. Would you take a wife without a dowry?”
“O’ course. Chances are I will. Heiresses are not thick about the ground for men such as me.”
“What about Lord Marshall? Do you think he’d take a bride without a dowry?”
“Why do ye ask, lass? I’ve said I’ll return ye to him, and I will. So if you’re worried on that score, put your fears to rest.”
“Just answer the question.”
He shrugged. “By all accounts, the man is wealthy, but you ne’er ken. Some men are ne’er satisfied but with more. You know him. What is your take on the man’s character?”
Gillian shrugged and looked down. That was the problem. She did know him. She knew how much his land and people meant to him. How responsible and practical he was. She loved him, but didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth about herself and hope he’d choose her over Edith and her money.
“So what’s it to be, lass? Did you not fancy Lord Marshall then? Is he a cruel man? Disfigured? Would you prefer to take your chances on me? Lord Marshall would never give up your dowry, but I’d never rebuke ye for the lack.”
Startled by what sounded to be a genuine proposal, she glanced up, warmth flooding her. Would Kellen feel the same? She smiled at Laird MacGregor and gently said, “I’m afraid my heart has already been given to another. But thank you. I’m honored.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Ye’ve crushed me, lass.”
She laughed. “Like I said. Flatterer.”
He grinned, and when she’d finished the apple, gave her some water from some sort of bag. He stood and held out a hand. “Come, I’ll let you have privacy behind a tree, ere we get ye settled for the day.”
Embarrassed, but grateful, she was once more dragged through camp and allowed a few minutes to herself. She was thankful for the thick foliage and, after briefly considering escape, discarded the idea as foolish and impossible and returned. Wouldn’t this group of crazy men just love to chase her through the trees? The laird took her by the wrist again and led her back to the tent. She noticed the men breaking camp.
“Why are you packing up?”
He didn’t answer, but simply stopped in front of his tent and shoved her inside. “You’re to stay here and keep quiet, ere my men decide you be a witch with your strange way of speaking.” He followed her in, pulled out some long cloths and took hold of her wrists, pushing her to the blanket and kneeling beside her.
She glanced up, startled. “What are you doing?”
He quickly bound her wrists together.
She tugged against his hold. “
Stop it
!”