In the Highlander's Bed (12 page)

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Heexpected her to follow. Just as Charlotte and Miranda expected her to do as they instructed. No one ever listened toher.

The memory of the kiss rose unbidden in her mind.

He’d completely humiliated her with it, and if he thought to do such a thing again, he was wrong. She’d not go to his quarters with him. Let him be the one made out to be the fool.

Constance resisted him one more time, throwing all her weight into refusing to take one more step, and it worked. She stopped him in his tracks.

The pain shooting through her hands from the tightening rope was excruciating, but she held back. Better that the rope sever her hands than he be allowed to best her one more time.

Gordon turned. Realizing that she had made him do that gave her courage.

His eyes met hers. The Scots had gone quiet, as if holding their collective breath.

Constance didn’t know if she could continue to hold out. Her hands had gone numb—

He took a step toward her, loosening the tension in the rope.

She’d won. The thrill of victory overrode any pain.

He had backed down first.

Gordon walked toward her, stopping when they were toe-to-toe. His fingers relaxed the tightness in the rope around her wrists. Constance could have cried out in triumph and relief.

However, her pleasure was short-lived, because without preamble, without completely untying her, he hoisted her up over his shoulder and carried her through the crowd.

The Scots went wild with laughter. They danced with glee as they followed Gordon through the camp.

Children skipped in front of them and the adults acted as if they were on their way to a fair.

Constance couldn’t look at them. She’d lost the will to fight. No matter what she did, how she resisted, he had superior strength, and he would use it.

She lowered her head, not wanting to see the jeering faces. “Send her back with a bairn” was the rudest and most oft-repeated suggestion. Their coarseness reminded her of the trappers and frontiersman back home, reminded her of what shehadn’t liked about the valley. Their father’s drinking and often violent temper had made herself and her sisters outcasts and prey to rough characters. But it also taught her how to hold her head high in the face of public scorn.

Gordon carried her to a tent, one that was little different from the others in the camp, and perhaps in some way a bit poorer. His huge dog had followed at his heels, and now, tail wagging, pushed aside the leather flap that served as a door and went inside. Gordon flipped back the same flap and ducked inside.

In one last act of defiance, Constance grabbed at the tent’s frame. It was a pitiful attempt and her fingers could not hold onto the canvas.

Page 60

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

The crowd would have invited themselves inside except that before Gordon dropped the flap, he said to the dog, “Tad, guard.”

Tad dropped before the door, the length of his body from paw to tail blocking the entrance. Someone tried to peep in. Tad growled and the person quickly backed away. Apparently the clan had a healthy respect for Gordon’s dog.

The tent’s low ceiling brushed the top of Gordon’s head. Without ceremony, he set Constance down on her feet. She wavered a moment, regaining her balance, then raised her tied hands and attempted to strike him with all she was worth against the side of his head.

Gordon easily ducked her swing. The dog rose, barking, but not leaving his post.

“Quiet, Tad,” Gordon said, catching Constance by the waist before she fell and dumping her into a rickety chair by the tent’s center pole. The only other furnishings were a small table and a tack chest.

“Stay,” he ordered, as if she was his dog.

Constance wanted to defy him. She wanted to rise to her feet and stomp him.

However, sitting felt good, and the pain in her hands was almost unbearable. But she would not ask for quarter. No, her limbs could fall off before she begged.

Gordon’s rude voice said, “You shouldn’t have let that damn rope become so tight.” He knelt in front of her, to look at her wounds.

Constance frowned at him. “Ishouldn’t? How odd. I thought you were the one who tied me up, who wanted to humiliate me, who was on the other end of the lead rope,yanking on it.”

The set of his mouth tightened. “You’d be wise to learn when to keep quiet,” he answered through clenched teeth.

He loosened the knot he’d tied. Blood flowed through her hands, making her gasp in pain. He turned to the tack chest a few feet away, but couldn’t go that far from her without stretching the rope between them.

Constance drew in a sharp breath as her binds began to tighten.

Gordon paused, saw what was happening, and swearing under his breath, came back. He unbound her hands completely. “You won’t be going anywhere. Not with Tad and me as guards.” He went to the tack chest and pulled out bandages and a salve for her wrists. Returning, he dressed her wounds with efficient movements.

He then pulled out a bottle of amber liquid and poured some into a pewter tankard. “Here, drink this.”

“What is it?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Whiskey.”

“Are you attempting to subdue me with spirits?” After witnessing her father’s weakness for drink, she
Page 61

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

usually avoided strong spirits of any sort.

“Would it work?”

She shook her head.

He sighed. “I didn’t think so. But it will ease the pain.”

Constance drank.

The whiskey didn’t taste as she imagined it would—but then it hit her stomach. Her whole being revolted, throwing her in to a coughing fit.

Gordon was completely unsympathetic. Still kneeling in front of her, he rested an arm on the table. “Next time, sip it.”

She nodded. She couldn’t speak. She pushed the tankard toward him.

He smiled, his expression grim. “Finally. You have nothing to say. ’Tis a blessed moment.”

If looks were daggers, she would have cut the smile from his face.

This time he laughed with true amusement. Then he used the salve and bandages to doctor her wrists.

The salve burned slightly, and as her eyes watered from the pain, she was glad that she’d had that bit of whiskey. As if to cool the salve’s sting, Gordon blew softly on her wrist.

For a second her heart seemed to stop. She looked down at his blond head bent over her hands. His touch was gentle, caring…kind. These were not words she would have applied to a man before, especially a warrior. Then again, he was a warrior who noticed even trapped doves.

He glanced up as if noticing her shock. “I could say it is your own fault,” he said. He made a rueful gesture as he reached for the bandages and began to carefully wrap her wrists, his gaze returning to his work. “The truth is, I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

If the earth had suddenly opened beneath her into a huge gaping hole, Constance could not have been more surprised.

Men didn’t apologize.

Exceptthis one had…and in her mind, he was more manly for it. He was crusader and king, humble and yet, if need be, ruthless. He could fit anywhere in the world and survive.

Walls around her heart that she’d never noticed before seemed to melt away. His touch did that. His simple kindness had challenged everything she’d thought about her world.

She watched him tie off the knot of her bandage, wondering if he was experiencing what she was…and knowing it was not so.

If ever there was a reason to escape, this was it. These tender, new feelings for him made her vulnerable, and she didn’t like being vulnerable.

Page 62

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Gordon finished knotting off the second bandage and then rose. He poured himself a draught of whiskey into the tankard and downed it, without any sputtering. His gaze met hers. “’Tis good.”

She shuddered her distaste. It was a way to hide the turmoil of her true feelings and to exert some semblance of control over herself.

He laughed and put the cork back in the bottle. “I’m going out. When I return, I’ll see you fed. In the meantime, you will wait here.”

“You’re going to leave me?” She didn’t want to be alone. Everything was too strange, too new. “I thought I was going everywhere with you.”

“Obviously not.” He placed the whiskey in the tack chest before reaching for a dark wood writing case and a small leather purse, which he tucked inside the case. He closed the tack chest.

As he headed toward the door, Tad rose, tail wagging as if in anticipation of going wherever his master was. She noticed Gordon hadn’t bothered to retie her.

Did he think her beaten?

Never.

As if reading her mind, Gordon said, “You won’t be leaving this tent, Constance. Not tonight. If all goes well, in two weeks’ time you’ll be sitting at Colster’s table. So, stop playing as if this were a game or some drama for the stage. Be wise and stay here. I shall be back shortly. Tad,guard .”

The wolfhound’s tail stopped wagging. The dog’s happy grin turned to what appeared a frown of disappointment as he swung his great shaggy head in her direction, and she knew whom he blamed.

“He can outrun any deer on this mountain. I’ve seen him take down a boar with his bare teeth. You’ll be here when I return,” Gordon assured her.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked, wondering if the dog ever acted on any of his grudges.

“Until I’m ready to return,” Gordon responded, as if she were a distraction and little more—but then, at the door, he stopped.

He turned and walked back to the tack chest. He set aside his writing case, opened the lid and took out two pistols, a powder horn, a dirk, and a sword. He placed the dirk in his boot, tucked the pistols in his waistband, lifted the horn’s cord around his neck, and attached the sword around his waist with a belt. “I don’t want you tempted,” he explained to her before picking up the case and leaving the tent.

Constance sat back. The tent’s canvas was heavy and muffled most of the sounds outside. For a moment she gave in to defeat, but only for a moment…until she realized she had a new enemy—boredom.

There was nothing to do in the tent. After two minutes of sitting, she was ready to move. She didn’t bother trying to slip out the door. She knew Gordon well enough to know he meant what he’d said, and if he claimed Tad could stop her, then it was true.

However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t while away the time satisfying her curiosity about Gordon. She
Page 63

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

opened the lid to the tack chest. Tad watched with undisguised curiosity, one ear cocked higher than the other.

Gordon’s clothes were folded neatly. Constance ran a hand over them. He was not a vain man. They were plain and hard worn.

Beneath them she found a Bible with an inscription on the inside cover. The light in the tent was too poor to read the writing. She poked around the chest, found a tinder box, and lit the oil lamp hanging from the tent’s center pole.

The boldly written inscription said:

To my son, in whom I am well pleased.

Remember justice without heart mocks the very meaning of the word.

Your father.

September 8, 1797

Amidst the Bible’s pages she found a watercolor miniature of a woman with Gordon’s sharp, intelligent green eyes. She turned the portrait over. Someone had written:d. 1788.

There was not much else in the tack chest other than some tools, the whiskey, a jug of cider, and miscellaneous leather pieces of tack. She wished he hadn’t taken his weapons.

Constance replaced the Bible under his clothing. The huge dog had watched her every move. He didn’t seem so mean. She’d always had a way with dogs. She could usually coax them into doing what she wanted them to do.

Closing the tack chest, she rose and cooed, “Nice Tad.” She took a step toward the door.

Tad leaped to his feet and barked furiously.

Constance pulled back in surprise. The animal even bared his teeth. Fearing he would attack, she fell back into the chair.

As if having said his piece, Tad flopped down and with a sigh placed his head on his paws, peacefully returning to his post.

Constance sat still. There must be a way out of the tent, she thought, one that didn’t involve having her head bitten off by either the dog or his master. And she was determined to discover what it was.

Dusk had settled over the camp. Gordon crossed to Thomas’s tent and found the giant sitting outside before a small fire, a bottle in one hand and Grace McEachin on his knee.

“I don’t think it wise of you to be free with your hands and your drinking when we have women and
Page 64

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

children around,” Gordon said.

Thomas raised the bottle to his lips. His gaze held Gordon’s in open defiance. The man was tired.

Gordon understood. Still, he would do what was necessary to have the rules of the camp followed.

The bottle came down. Thomas hadn’t taken a drink. Instead, his lips curved into a lazy smile as he shifted his weight, sliding Grace off his lap. “I was teasing you, Gordon. I know my place.”

Gordon doubted that.

“Where’s Miss English Princess?” Thomas asked. “Or are you out hunting her now?” he said, nodding to the weapons Gordon carried.

“Tad’s watching her. I removed these for safety. I’ll place them in your tent.”

“You believe that dog can do what we haven’t been able to?”

“Aye,” Gordon answered, giving a passing glance to the insolent young woman who now stood at Thomas’s side. She was a former vicar’s daughter who lived by her wits and her looks.

She was comely enough to do so. ’Twas rumored that more than one man had been tempted to stray because of her silvery blue eyes and black curling hair. Gordon didn’t mind if she was Thomas’s plaything. Single men needed their release. But he’d bluntly warned her off the married men.