Captured by a Laird (6 page)

She shifted her gaze to her daughters. They were stuffing bread and dried beef into their mouths with both hands, as if they feared she would tell them they could not have it.

“Aye, feeding them,” Wedderburn said, drawing her attention back to him, “something you neglected to do.”

“
I
neglected?” she said. “How dare you. If they’re hungry, ’tis because ye cut off our supplies.”

“It tastes good, Mama,” Beatrix interrupted, speaking around the food in her mouth. “Ye must have some.”

The smell of the bread made her suddenly lightheaded, and stars sparked across her vision. She gripped the table to steady herself, determined not to show weakness in front of this man again.

The next moment, she found herself leaning backward and staring up into Wedderburn’s hard, handsome face. She blinked several times, attempting to clear her vision. Had Wedderburn truly bounded over the table and swept her into his arms? The heat and strength of the body encircling hers told her she had not imagined it.

For a fleeting moment, his brows were drawn together in what looked like concern. Then his eyes darkened with an intensity that stole her breath away. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she had the wild notion that this stranger was going to kiss her right here in the hall in front of his men and her entire household.

***

David lost himself in fathomless violet eyes. Her body felt deliciously soft and compliant in his arms, and he sank into her, pulled as if by a lodestone to her red lips. But before he reached them, he felt her stiffen in his arms.

“Remove your hands from me,” she said, and pushed at him.

He never forgot himself like this. He was always in control. This lass was dangerous.

“Stop struggling,” he commanded, and under his glare, her limbs wilted. He carried her around the table and sat her down between him and the younger girl. “Ye should be grateful I saved ye from falling. Ye were fainting again.”

“I was not.”

Why did she find it necessary to dispute an obvious fact?
Females.

“Mama’s weak from hunger.” The older girl, whose name he’d learned was Beatrix, spoke up.

Once again, fury flooded through him at the unnecessary suffering caused by the lady’s stubbornness.

“Eat slowly or you’ll be sick,” he said, and pushed the platter in front of her.

He needn’t have warned her. Even starving, Lady Alison ate with the delicacy of a wee bird. It annoyed the hell out of him.

“When did ye run out of food?” he demanded.

The lady gave him a scathing sideways glance but did not answer.

“We’ve had nothing but thin broth the last two days,” Beatrix said. “But Mama refused her portion.”

Lady Alison gave her daughter a quelling look.

“When was the last time ye ate?” he asked her.

She shrugged and continued nibbling at her food.

“When?
” he repeated, keeping his voice low, though he was so furious he saw red around the edges of his vision.

“She didn’t take her share yesterday,” Beatrix said, blithely ignoring her mother’s glare. “Or the day before.”

David clenched his jaw so tightly it ached, but he waited to speak again until the three of them had eaten their fill.

“Escort the ladies upstairs and guard their door,” he said, pointing at two of his men.

As soon as they disappeared up the stairs, he strode out of the keep and into the courtyard, where the captured Blackadder warriors were being held. He ordered them on their feet and paced up and down before them.

“What kind of men are you,” he thundered at the prisoners, “filling your bellies while your mistress, the lady ye were supposed to protect, went hungry?”

He could have dismissed, though not excused, their failure to protect her door as a grave error made in the confusion of battle. But taking their meals while she sat at the table having none showed a blatant disregard for her well-being. No matter what Lady Alison had done to earn their ire—and she must have done something—there was no excuse for their dishonorable treatment of the lady of the castle.

“I should have all of ye whipped within an inch of your lives,” he shouted at them. “As your laird’s widow, ye
owed
her your protection.”

“She’s a Douglas, not one of us,” one of the prisoners muttered under his breath.

“By God, I will teach ye respect,” David said, and hauled the Blackadder warrior forward.

The man was as big as an ox and proved he was no brighter by sneering at David.

“Give him a sword,” David called out as he brandished his.

As soon as one of David’s men gave the big Blackadder warrior a sword, he charged at David as if he expected to cut him down with his first swing. When David spun, the blustering fool lost his balance, and David slammed him to the ground on his arse. David let him get up and try again, just to have the satisfaction of hitting him once more.

He backed the Blackadder warrior across the courtyard with their swords clanging. When he had him pinned against the wall, David took one last powerful swing and knocked his opponent’s sword out of his hands. The man dropped to his knees, acknowledging defeat.

David turned to the other prisoners. “Who will be next?”

He fought half a dozen Blackadder warriors, one after another, pounding them with his sword until each submitted and no more would come forward.

When he was finished, every Blackadder man knew that he lived only because David Hume, Laird of Wedderburn, had shown him mercy—
this time
.

“Take them to the dungeon,” he ordered. “I shall decide their fate later.”

And now, it was time to tell the lady of the castle hers.

***

Alison’s head throbbed from the clank of swords. And yet she had been unable to tear herself away from the window until Wedderburn defeated every Blackadder warrior willing to raise a sword against him. What in heaven’s name was the point of that display?

Admittedly, she felt some satisfaction when she first looked out of the window and saw Wedderburn fight Walter, the huge, black-haired warrior who refused to deliver her message, and defeat him with lightning speed. The Hume laird exhibited a violent grace with his sword and never showed any sign of tiring, though he fought man after man. He must have grown warm from the effort, however, because after a time he removed his tunic and shirt.

Alison continued watching him as he rinsed off with a bucket at the well in the courtyard. Though he was a vile brute, she understood why other women might sigh over the sight of him shirtless. How different his lean, muscled torso looked from her husband’s. She shuddered at the memory of Blackadder’s sagging belly and his barrel chest covered with gray hair. Praise God she would never have to see her husband’s flesh, feel his touch, or hear his voice again.

She shook off the bitter memories and joined her daughters, who were playing with their rag dolls on the bed as if this were a day like any other. She brushed their hair back from their foreheads and kissed them.

“Did that man hurt you?” she asked them again.

“No, Mama,” they said in unison as they continued their play.

Her children believed the danger was past. They did not understand that they were now at the mercy of a violent man, the Beast of Wedderburn.

When word of their plight reached her brothers, they would come to her rescue with so many Douglas warriors it would not matter how well Wedderburn fought. They would drive him and all the Humes out of Blackadder Castle.

Alison’s task was to make sure that she and her daughters survived until then.

At the sound of the broken door scraping across the floor, she spun around. Alarm shot through her with the force of a lightning bolt as Wedderburn entered her chamber without knocking, as if he had a right to. He looked even more dangerous with his shirt plastered to his damp skin and molded to the muscles of his chest.

His gaze traveled over her slowly, from her head to her toes and back again. “I see you’re feeling better.”

His remark might have seemed civilized, but his eyes had the feral look of a hunter.

“’Tis best we discuss our business alone,” he said with a glance toward Beatrix and Margaret, who had forgotten their dolls and were staring at him wide-eyed.

By “business,” she assumed he meant ransom. She did not want to discuss her daughters’ worth in front of them, so she did not argue.

“I brought the nursemaid,” he said, nodding toward the door, “though I can’t see that she’s much use.”

Alison saw the skirt of Flora’s drab gown through the splintered door.

“She’d be fine if ye hadn’t frightened the poor soul half to death,” Alison said, startling herself with her boldness. “Girls, go with Flora to one of the other chambers.”

Beatrix and Margaret looked at her over their shoulders as they trailed out of the room. Alison attempted to give them a reassuring smile, then swallowed hard when Wedderburn shut the door behind them with a thump.

She was alone with her captor.

CHAPTER 7

Wedderburn’s unwavering stare made Alison feel like a rabbit caught in an open field beneath a circling hawk. When she realized she was still sitting on the bed and leapt to the floor, Wedderburn stopped staring at her long enough to carry a chair from the hearth and bang it down in front of her.

“Sit.”

She had an overwhelming urge to run, like the rabbit when the hawk drops from the sky with its talons out.

“That was not a request,” he said. “We must talk, and I can’t have ye fainting again.”

Escape was impossible, so she sank into the chair and folded her arms across her waist. He pulled the other chair up and sat facing her, uncomfortably close. She scooted back to keep her knees from touching his. If he was trying to intimidate her, he had succeeded.

His silent scrutiny strained her nerves until she had to speak.

“Since ye haven’t murdered me and my daughters, I take it you’ve decided to hold us for ransom.” She licked her dry lips and prayed that he had not merely delayed murdering them. “My family will expect ye to treat us well until the ransom is paid.”

“A ransom,” he said, his hard green eyes assessing her. “Is that what ye think I want?”

“It would be foolish to harm us,” she said. “I am the queen’s sister by marriage.”

“From what I hear, the queen is none too fond of Douglases these days.” He tilted his head to the side. “I suspect the only way she’d like to see her husband is hanging from a rope.”

Alison had hoped word of the queen’s disenchantment with Archie had not reached Wedderburn’s ears, but clearly it had. No wonder he did not fear royal retribution.

“Ye make too much of a lovers’ spat,” she said. “I assure ye the queen loves my brother most passionately.”

“She did once, and that is the problem, aye?” Wedderburn gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Violent love slips easily into violent hate.”

In the queen’s case, that appeared to be true. Alison drew in a deep breath and decided to try a different tack.

“The Douglas clan is powerful in its own right,” she said. “My brothers will arrive soon with hundreds—nay, thousands—of warriors to rescue me.”

“I doubt that,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Then ye are mistaken, Laird Wedderburn,” she said, annoyed that he did not appear the least bit concerned by the prospect of hordes of Douglas warriors coming to wreak vengeance upon his head.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His coldly handsome face was so close to hers that she could see flecks of gold in his green eyes and drops of water from the well glistening in his hair.

“Perhaps I should tell ye,” he said, “I caught your messenger.”

“Ye caught Garrett?” Despair washed over her, quickly followed by guilt. “What did ye do to the poor man? Murder him?”

Wedderburn drew in a deep breath before answering. “Nay, I didn’t kill him.”

“Then what did ye do to him?” She would never forgive herself. “How could ye hurt Garrett? He’s an old man.”

“He’s unharmed,” he said.

“I don’t believe ye.” She turned away and blinked back tears.

“I am guilty of a great many transgressions, lass,” he said, “but I’m no liar.”

He got up and went to the door, where he spoke in a low voice to someone outside. Unease settled in her stomach as he leaned against the wall with his arms folded and once again examined her at length. The man’s capacity for stillness was unnerving.

“I’d prefer that ye leave my chamber now,” she said.

“You and I are far from finished, Lady Alison.”

Her pulse jumped at the implied threat. “Then I beg ye to say what ye will and be done with it.”

She barely got the words out when Garrett stumbled into the room, pushed by the guard at the door.

***

“I praise God that you’re alive,” Lady Alison said, taking Garrett’s hand and squeezing it.

David watched her greet the old man. Though he was a servant, she treated him with a warmth that put David on edge. She was too soft-hearted. Not the sort of woman who should be with him.

And yet there was no denying he wanted her. Badly.

“I am well, m’lady,” the old man answered.

“Though ye did not succeed in reaching my brothers,” Lady Alison said, “I am exceedingly grateful that ye tried.”

“But I did, m’lady,” the old man said, bobbing his head.

“Did what?” Alison asked with a puzzled expression.

Old Garrett displayed several broken and missing teeth in a wide grin. “I took your message to ’em, m’lady.”

He was still clinging to her hand and gazing at her with calf eyes as if he were a lovesick lad of twelve.

“That’s enough,” David said. “Release the lady.”

The old man dropped her hand as if it were a burning pot on the fire.

“Leave us,” David told him, and waited to speak again until the door closed behind the old man. “Ye made a good choice with Old Garrett. Though I had all the roads watched, he got by us the first time.”

David had been sitting on his horse on a hill above the Edinburgh Road when he spied the lone figure crawling on his hands and knees through the tall grass. For days, he had expected the Lady of Blackadder to attempt to get a message through to her Douglas kin. He and his men kept watch on the road, hoping to catch the messenger on his way to Edinburgh, or failing that, to see the Douglas warriors galloping out of Edinburgh in time to withdraw and postpone their attack on Blackadder Castle.