Lord of the Black Isle (5 page)

She studied the beautiful musculature of his chest, the ripple of muscle when he moved, and then the rather melancholy face and long, dark, damp hair while she was, thinking… Something about him seemed familiar… for surely he had stepped right out of a dream. He was wearing only chausses—his bearing haughty and proud. She closed her eyes for a moment to clear the mental image of him from her mind, for she was certain he was a figment of her imagination, but when she opened her eyes, he was still there. No vision, but a mortal who stepped out of a dream right into reality.

For a brief moment, they were like Adam and Eve alone in the Garden of Eden, but then she came to her senses and realized that they might be alone now, but the MacLeans were sure to be looking for her and more than likely hot on her trail, so it was time to move on and leave this enchanted spot. With a sigh of disappointment, she regretted she had to turn away. She truly wished she could enjoy the scenery longer, but she had to put some distance between herself and the MacLeans if she ever hoped to escape.

She turned away and continued to follow the winding burn, careful to stay near the water's edge and on the rocks that lined it so she left no footprints. As she walked, she kept thinking about long, dark hair and well-honed muscles, and promptly fell over a log.

At that exact moment, she heard a rustling in the bracken and knew the MacLeans had caught up with her. She pounded the ground out of frustration and was starting to get up when she felt a hand clamp around her wrist and she was hauled ignominiously to her feet. She searched her mind for an excuse, knowing full well that Angus MacLean was going to be furious with her, and she was now wishing she had not tarried to look at the stranger.

“What do ye think ye are doing oot here? Are ye daft, woman?”

It wasn't the voice of MacLean but of one of his soldiers. She glared at the hand gripping her wrist, and then, without looking at him, she said, “I must be. I'm talking to you, aren't I?”

“Ye would do well to mind yer tongue. What are ye doing roaming aboot here alone and afoot? Ha' ye no sense?”

None of MacLean's men would ask her such a question, so Elisabeth turned her head and stared into the handsome, chiseled face of a man with the darkest blue eyes she'd ever seen, so dark, they were almost purple. But her wrist was starting to feel the loss of circulation.

“
Ouch!
You're cracking my wrist, you ogre,” she said angrily, and saw he looked irritated enough to really and truly put her head on a pike. And suddenly, she saw the way he was looking at her and she knew he was thinking about her having seen him sans clothing.
Well, if he thinks I'm going to mention it, he has a long wait.
However, she would have to admit that she was truly embarrassed to know he had seen her, and she could not help the rosy stain of mortification she felt spreading over her cheeks.

He removed his hand, ignoring the way she rubbed her wrist. “Who are ye, and what are ye doing out here alone?”

She waved her hands, hoping to quiet him, as she glanced back the way she had come, praying she had not been followed. “Shhh… they will hear you.”

He looked like he wasn't buying whatever she was selling, so she tried again. “Please, I was captured by the MacLeans of Mull. I managed to escape, but they are not far behind me. Please, let me go before they come looking for me, for they will most assuredly haul me back to Duart Castle and hold me indefinitely as their prisoner. Believe me, they have taken me captive before, more than once. I can tell you now that it wasn't a lot of fun, so I was hoping to be spared the indignity of it again.”

He stared at her as though he was talking to someone from Mars, so she tried smiling at him.

The hardness of his gaze softened somewhat as he asked, “What is this word ‘fun'?”

Good Lord
, she thought.
I'm about to be captured and he wants to play vocabulary?
She decided the best thing to do was to give him a quick synonym…

Entertaining
… “Fun means the same thing as entertaining,” she said, quickly glancing behind her.

“Then why didna ye say entertaining if it means the same? Why have two wirds with the same meaning?”

She was ready to throw her arms up in the air from exasperation. All she knew was that she had to end this running dialogue or they would be here all day, and time was something she did not have. “Look, I will explain that to you later,” she said, “but right now, I have to get away from here… and fast!” She turned to leave, but he caught her by the arm, more firmly this time.

“Listen! I am sure you mean well, but if you don't want to fight a dozen MacLeans, you should really let me go. Please! I don't want to be their prisoner again!”

“Where is yer home, lass?”

“The Isle of Mull, but I'm on my way to Soutra Aisle to study medicine there.”

He jerked her arm, which pulled her against him, and she stared into his angry face just as he said, “Ye lie! Soutra Aisle is a friary and they allow no women there.”

“They will allow me, for I have a letter from Lachlan Mackinnon, the abbot at Iona. I am going to Soutra to familiarize myself with the herbs and medicines the friars use and to learn their methods of treating the sick and infirm. And you really are cracking my wrist.”

Without saying a word, he hauled her against him and slung her over his shoulder like she was spoils taken in a raid. He carried her to the burn and waded across with the warmth of his hand spread across her posterior, and none too gently, mind you. However, she remained silent about the impropriety of that indignation, for she knew it would do no good to complain about it. Besides, he might just dump her in the burn and ride off without her, and she desperately needed his help, for anything seemed far better than being back in the clutches of Angus MacLean.

He did not put her down until he reached his horse, which was, appropriately, a black beast, just like its owner, and like his horse, the owner was, she would have to admit, a prime specimen. She drank in the sight of him as he saddled his horse, mesmerized by the play of muscles working in harmony to perform such a task and satisfied that he could not see her enjoying every moment of every little movement he made. She sighed, for it was like something from a movie. Here he was, a man to teach Hollywood's favorite idol a thing or two about playing the role of the hero. And why not, for this was no role-playing pseudo hero. This knight was the genuine article, the kind of man all modern heroes would try to emulate and never in a million years come close to.

Like the Mackinnons, he wore the regalia of a knight, for he was dressed in chausses, a hauberk, and over that, a tunic, which would set any woman's heart aflutter—and those long leather boots that came over the knee… Well, they seemed to put him right smack at the top of the desirability list, as far as she was concerned. She saw plenty of such boots at Màrrach, of course, but she had never seen them on him, and he did wear a knight's garb the way it was meant to be worn. Women in the twenty-first century did not know what they were missing. Sexy… sexy… sexy…

He was very good-looking, which would be enough to get him noticed. But he also had that certain something that made him stand apart from all others. It was something remarkable that made a woman notice a man the minute he entered the room, something that drew her to him and made her feel like she was melting inside. He was masculine and confident, and possessed a manner that said he was sure of himself and comfortable with himself and his place in the world around him. He had already proved he wasn't afraid to step forward and make decisions, even on the spur of the moment. And if there was anything she needed, it was a man capable of doing just that.

Her gaze went back to the coat of arms on his tunic, for there was something about the shield with the blue background and the three white stars… she frowned, recalling that the shield of the Black Douglas had a blue bar at the top with three white stars across it. Two and two were starting to make four, because strange things had been happening and they were beginning to bear the marks of the meddling of that vacuous vapor who seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in poking his nose in the lives of others.

“Are you a Douglas?”

He seemed surprised by that question. “Nae, I am of Clan Murray. What reason would ye ha' to think my name was Douglas?”

She had already committed herself, so she might as well finish it. “It's the blue bar with three white stars on your tunic. The arms of the Black Douglas are on a blue background with three stars.”

“Aye, 'tis said we both have Flemish ancestors.”

His ancestors could have been cannibals for all she cared, for he was simply a delight to look at, and she would have to say that his hawkish nose and the sensual fullness of the mouth below were quite distracting. The best part was that she was attracted to him, and that made her feel human again after suffering over her loss of Ronan, for she realized she had suffered his loss for some time. Apparently, she was truly over the worst of it now, for she was fascinated by the way her knight simply oozed masculinity.

He mounted his horse, and she was flooded with disappointment, for she knew he was going to ride off, taking his honor and his good looks with him, and leave her here to fend for herself. She was on the road to feeling sorry for herself, but before she could ask if he intended to ride off and leave her, he leaned forward, clasped her about the waist and hauled her up into his lap, and said, “Ye will ha' to put yer leg over to ride astride.”

She was already doing that when he spoke, and she replied, “I know how to ride. I learned when I was four years old.”

She could have sworn she felt his body shake a bit, which, to her, indicated a chuckle, but since she had no way of knowing, she decided to call it a chuckle, which made her feel more relaxed with him. She exhaled a long sigh and took back every dark thought, each critical word she had said about Sir James Douglas, for rescued by this dark knight was far superior to being in the clutches of the MacLeans, in spite of her being ninety-nine percent certain that running into the MacLeans was not happenstance.

She frowned at that thought, for she was trying to decide what Sir James hoped to gain by causing the MacLeans to ride into her life again, just as they had the day she and Isobella first set foot on the Isle of Mull. Was it his intent for the MacLeans to capture her so this knight of Clan Murray could rescue her? But try as she might, she could see no purpose in it, for this knight certainly had nothing to do with medicine. She decided to give up trying to read the mind of a ghost, for everything he did sounded a bit far-fetched, but then, “far-fetched” was familiar ground for Sir James, and he could navigate it blindfolded—if he was in human form, of course.

Either way, things were definitely looking better. But they should be thinking about putting some distance between them and the MacLeans, for no matter how good a warrior he was, the two of them would be quite outnumbered.

“I forgot to mention that the MacLeans are large in number.”

“'Tis naught to worry aboot, lass, for we shall be well away from here afore they arrive, and if we should encounter them, Angus MacLean is no threat to me.”

“Maybe not to you, but he is a
big
threat to me,” she said, “and he will fight you or anyone else to get me in his clutches again.”

“Nae, he willna, fer his sister is married to my uncle, and he will no' harm ye while ye are under my protection.”

She couldn't have been more relieved if a helicopter landed in front of them and offered them a ride, with a free lunch and a movie. She sighed with relief but then realized he was not saying he would keep her with him, even if the MacLean wanted her back. “You aren't going to hand me over to them, are you?”

“Nae, I dinna plan on it,” he said. “Is there some reason why I should? Or mayhap there is a particular reason why ye want to stay wi' me.”

She refused to tackle that one truthfully, on the grounds that it most certainly would incriminate her, so she simply said, “You are the lesser of two evils.”

He actually laughed, and it was a beautiful, rich sound that ended too soon.

She waited for a moment or two, but when he said nothing more, she had to ask, “Just what do you plan on doing with me?”

“Ye said ye were on yer way to Soutra Aisle, did ye not? So that is where I will take ye.”

She sighed happily and settled back against him. She closed her eyes, thinking about all that had happened to her of late. Life had certainly been one big adventure after another since she arrived. She found herself thinking that if she was sent back to her time, there were so many things about living here amongst these Scots that she would truly miss and being hauled around with her back resting on a hunk of a Scottish warrior from the past was definitely at the top of the list.

“Ye have an odd manner o' speech. Where did ye learn it?”

“From my father… he traveled a great deal and lost much of his accent when his became mingled with many other tongues.”
Please
don't ask me anything more…

“And yer name?”

“Elisabeth Rhiannon Douglas.” She was prepared for a comeback, but he remained mute. She wondered what he was thinking, but she wasn't about to ask. However, she did hope the Murrays didn't have some centuries-old feud going against the Douglases.

They rode for what seemed to her a long time, and perhaps it was, for the brilliant orange orb of sun was dropping lower and turning the sky a rusty red. Then, as if growing heavier, it began sinking into the treetops. Something about it reminded her of the crimson-colored flesh of a blood orange, which made her realize she was starving. She hadn't eaten since a very early breakfast, and she hoped he didn't hear her stomach growling or her ribs clanking together.