Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
I despise ye. I have never despised anything or anyone in me life as much as I despise ye in this moment.
Her thoughts had been loud and clear, but Keane was not overly fazed by them. Besides, what did he expect? He had stolen her from her betrothed and was now forcing her to marry him. Though, he had to admit, she was far feistier than he had imagined she was going to be. He was surprised she hadn’t tried to escape yet.
His earlier words could not have been truer, however, for he could not care less about how she felt. That being said, he had not meant to tug on the rope so hard she would fall. That had been an oversight on his part, for at times, he did not know his own strength. Her humiliation in front of his men had only meant to have been a little fun, but seeing the tears in her eyes when he had helped her up had made him feel a little guilty.
Once she was dressed again, he tied her to a tree. There was still work to be done, and knowing she was secure, he headed to check on the horses. While the men readied themselves to leave, Alisdair approached from behind.
“Ye ken,” his companion said, “ye’re playing a dangerous game.”
Keane turned and frowned at him, not understanding his meaning.
Alisdair jerked his head across the camp in the general direction of Elspeth. “Making yer future wife hate ye isnae exactly a smart move.”
Keane shrugged, and, looking as indifferent as he felt, shook his head. “I dinnae care. Anyway, it’s fer the best.”
“Aye, ye say that now,” Alisdair smirked, “but ye’ll care a lot more when she tries tae kill ye in yer sleep.”
Keane grinned then. “Now, that’s a form o’ foreplay I’ve yet tae experience.”
Alisdair laughed, while at the same time, shaking his head. “Ye’re nae wise, me friend.”
A more somber feeling came over Keane at that point, a flicker of the pain and anger that ate at him daily. The pain he would continue to suffer until he had made Laird Gunn pay for snuffing out his father’s life.
“Aye, well. Who can we blame fer that?” he growled.
Alisdair sighed heavily. “I ken ye’re hurting, Keane, but I still dinnae think this is the best way tae go about enacting yer revenge.”
“Ye would have preferred I kill her?” Keane scowled, knowing full well that was not what Alisdair meant.
“I would prefer she wasnae involved at all,” Alisdair came back, his frustration evident. “What ye’re daeing is madness. Ye must ken that?”
“I’m doing what needs tae be done. Ye and nay other can convince me otherwise.”
There was one other who might be able to convince him, but he had purposefully avoided having any contact with her for that very reason. Iseabail, his younger sister, had now, on several occasions, invited him to visit her and Owen, her husband.
Newly married before their father had been murdered, she had settled into her new life with joy in her heart. At hearing about Hamilton’s murder, however, she had been devastated, but at least she had Owen to support her.
The last time they had seen each other had been at the funeral. Even through her own grief, she had tried to offer Keane comfort, especially after learning of the circumstances in which their father had died. Keane had been right there and had witnessed it.
Since then, the darkness had consumed him daily, the blood running through his veins, black as night, pumping from a heart of stone that continued to beat, if only for him to complete what he had vowed to do.
Thus, Iseabail had reached out, sending invitations that Keane ignored by throwing them into the fire. She had no idea what he had become, and he had no intention of telling her, or letting her see. There was only one thing driving him now. The death of Laird Gunn.
Keane glared at Alisdair. “Now, tell me the reports.”
Alisdair looked as though he might argue, but then stopped himself, blowing out a measured breath.
“The men have searched around the camp and there are no signs that anyone has been about. If Gunn’s men did come looking fer us, they didnae come in this direction. We seem tae be safe, fer now.”
“Aye, for now,” Keane agreed. “But Gunn willnae give up without a fight. We need tae remain alert and keep our wits about us at all times.”
“The men ken that, Keane.” Alisdair paused for a second before continuing. “Are ye still certain ye want tae go ahead with this? There’s still time fer us tae change course. We can leave the lass somewhere she’ll be found and be on our way.”
“Or, I can just kill her and be done with it,” Keane spat.
Alisdair’s face softened while he shook his head. “Killing her will only torture ye. Ye may well be hellbent on revenge. Ye may even have changed intae a man I hardly recognize, but yer conscience willnae allow ye tae kill an innocent woman.”
Keane looked Alisdair directly in the eyes. “Ye dinnae understand, Alisdair. I have nay conscience left.”
For the next half hour, Keane and the rest of his men packed up camp. Every blanket, piece of rope, and uneaten morsel was lifted.
“I dinnae want a scrap o’ evidence left that we were here,” he commanded, gathering dead leaves and covering the burnt patch where the fire had been.
Of course, a trained eye would be able to tell there had been a camp, but the less obvious their trail, the harder it would be for Gunn’s men to follow. He would catch up with them sooner or later, but Keane wanted to be safely behind his castle walls when that time came.
Alisdair arrived at Keane’s side and said, “I think ye’re missing something.”
“What?” Keane frowned, checking the ground he had just covered for anything obvious.
“Nae that,” Alisdair said. He then jerked his head across the camp. “That.”
Keane spun around to discover the tree where his prisoner was supposed to be tied up now stood without the lass in sight.
“God damn it,” he spat.
“Shall I get the men?—”
“I’ll find her,” Keane growled. “She cannae have got far.”
He headed toward the tree and then made his way behind it. It was the most obvious direction she would have run in. She certainly hadn’t crossed his or any others path. Making his way through the dense trees, he continued up the steep incline. She couldn’t have gone far. Apart from the fact that she likely had no idea where she was, she was clearly a woman who had spent most of her life tucked away in a castle. Last night had proven that.
She had been so confident she would be fine sleeping alone, but her shivering and chattering teeth had woken him up several times. He had tried to offer her warmth, for it would have been far better for her had she been wrapped in his plaid, but she was as stubborn as they came.
Reaching the brow of the hill, he noted the terrain now leading down again. But before he ventured down the steep bank, he stopped dead, peered through the trees ahead, and turned his ear to catch any sound that might lead him in the right direction. For a second, he heard nothing other than the birds singing above him. It was a rather peaceful sound and he allowed himself to enjoy it.
But then, a strange noise reached him. A sound not ordinarily heard in a forest of dense trees. Someone was taking small intakes of breath, while at the same time, sounding like they were in pain.
Moving slowly down the bank, he followed the noise, which was getting louder the closer he got. When he eventually saw her, he automatically winced at her situation, for she had clearly fallen down the bank and had tumbled into a patch of thistles.
Elspeth was currently trying to get herself untangled, hissing with the pain of a thousand needles that pierced her from every direction.
“Dinnae move,” he called out.
She jerked her head up, and then heaved a resigned sigh at the sight of him. Her escape had been short lived and she knew it.
Grabbing a nearby broken branch, he thrashed through the thistles, creating a path for him to walk. Bending down, he caught his own arm against them as he scooped her up, but ignored the slight sting. With her arms around his neck, he then turned and carried her back the way he had come.
“Ye didnae get too far,” he smirked.
But there was no biting comeback this time, perhaps because she was in too much pain.
Keane climbed back up the bank with ease, holding her closely to him as he went. Once he reached the brow, he slowly trudged down the other side, carefully keeping his balance as he skidded at some parts.
Once at his horse, he stood her on her own two feet, and, opening a saddle bag, began rummaging inside. A second later, he found what he was looking for, and produced a small dark brown bottle.
“Hold that,” he said, handing it to her. “Now, turn around.”
She did as she was told, and, wrapping his hand in his plaid, Keane began brushing the thistle needles from her frock. He moved down her back, over her finely shaped behind, and all the way to the bottom of her dress. He then lifted it.
“What are ye doing?” she cried, clearly afraid he would see her legs.
“Dae ye want these needles out or nae?” he growled up at her.
Seemingly, she had no reply to that, and searching the bottom of her calves, he carefully brushed away the needles that were imbedded there. When he was certain he had found them all, he then stood again.
“Turn around,” he said.
She did, but as she faced him, he skipped over the top half of her body. Calves were one thing, but touching her above the waist was crossing too much of a line. So, starting just below her waist, he brushed the rest of the needles away.
“Now, let me see yer arms.”
They were badly scraped, and needles were protruding everywhere.
“Good God, woman,” he sighed. “Ye truly are determined tae suffer.”
“What dae ye mean by… Ow,” she hissed as he picked needles from her forearm.
“Last night, ye were determined tae freeze tae death. Today, ye throw yersel’ intae a patch o’ thistles.”
“I didnae throw mesel’,” she murmured, wincing at each needle he removed.
With one arm now clear, he moved up the other, trying to be careful. He didn’t want her to feel any more pain than necessary, which was rather ridiculous when he thought about what he had been planning to do to her the day before.
But things had changed.
Partly, it had been himself who had determined not to kill her, for as much as he would never admit it to Alisdair, his advisor was right. He knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he killed an innocent lass. But it was not just he who had changed his mind. Elspeth Munro had made rather convincing points in her defense. And then, there had been her thoughts…
Oh, God, please. Please have mercy. Clearly, ye are pained, but ye dinnae have tae be cruel.
He would have to be made of stone to ignore a plea like that, and besides, she was right. He didn’t have to be cruel. Clearly, however, marrying him was not quite what she had in mind either. But he couldn’t let her go. Laird Gunn had to be punished one way or another.
With all the needles now removed, he took the brown bottle from her hands, tipped a little tonic into his palm and lightly dribbled it on her scratches.
“Ah,” she hissed.
“I ken. It’s nae pleasant, but it will ease the pain. Besides, it’s yer own fault fer having such delicate skin.”
She was about to retort, but then, her eyebrows lifted with surprise at his smile, for she realized he was teasing her.
Having rubbed it into her arms, Keane then noticed scratches on her neck. Dabbing the lotion on his fingers, he leaned in a little and rubbed it on her throat. But as his fingers dragged against her soft skin, he felt his stomach lurch a little. Their faces were now only inches apart, and looking down at her, their eyes locked.
For a long second, he couldn’t pull his gaze away. He seemed caught in the gray of her eyes, for they were the color of a winter storm, the raging winds pulling him in, and he, evidently helpless to fight against it.
As the tension crackled between them, Elspeth took a breath in.
I cannae deny he is striking, even if he is a bleedin’ brute.
“Brutes can still be handsome,” he murmured, replying to her thoughts.
She gasped then, and shook her head. “I didnae say ye were handsome.”
Keane grinned as he watched her face redden. “Ye didnae need tae,” he replied, now taking a step back. “There,” he said, looking her over. “And now, we have tae leave.”