Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Once Skye was in the saddle before him, Arran nudged his mount into a long, ground eating walk.
Terror clinched her gut; tears of frustration and anger welled up in her eyes. “Ye are a worthless brute, ye are!” she fumed. “I’m being taken from me home to be delivered to an even more worthless brute!” She paced back and forth in front of him. “And right now, that’s nae even me biggest fear!”
Arran frowned, confused. “And what would that be?” he asked.
Skye looked at him, her eyes wide as saucers. She swallowed hard before she spoke softly, “The marsh at night, the dark, the cold… and ye. Being alone with ye.”
Arran looked down at her. “I said I wouldnae hurt ye, Skye. And I willnae.”
Skye felt in her heart that he would never strike her, but there were other things to consider.
She twisted about to look up into his handsome face and said, “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
Arran’s lips slowly curled into a smile, and his dark eyes bored into hers. His arm tightened about her ribs, drawing her close against him. She felt the heat of him, and his growing tension. She felt sure she knew what he had in mind.
“Ye’ll nae,” she began, trying to ignore the warmth that grew deep in her core.
He wasn’t smiling now, but instead, he looked at her with a hunger she recognized well.
It was primitive, a look she’d seen on many men—sometimes even directed at her—but it had never heated her insides as Arran’s gaze did now.
“Dinnae worry, Skye. Ye are a bonny lass—maybe even the bonniest lass I’ve ever seen. And as much as the thought of spending the night here and exploring every inch of ye tempts me, we must go. And I promise, I willnae touch ye.”
Skye’s cheeks reddened. First from being called the bonniest lass he’d ever seen and then from anger. “I see what ye’re after, then. It’s money! It must be an enormous amount he’s paying ye.”
His eyes flashed with anger. “Me arrangement with Blackwell isnae yer concern. But I’ll remind ye. Ye said ye would come willingly if I kept yer maither safe. Are ye going back on yer word already, Skye? I didnae take ye for a liar.”
“I’ll keep me word, ye dobber. If that’s the way of it, best we be done with it soon.”
Skye wiggled her bottom, trying to settle comfortably into the space between him and the pommel.
He gave the horse a gentle nudge and turned in the direction of Castle MacKeith. The pommel dug into Skye’s stomach, and she wiggled about, trying to get more comfortable. Less than a minute passed, and he pulled on the reins.
“Blasted woman, stop yer squirming!”
Skye craned her head and caught the strained look on his face. “What’s yer problem, Arran? Ye wanted me on yer horse, and I’m on yer horse. I’m tryin’ to nae have the pommel dig its way into me belly.”
But then, her face turned a deep shade of red because she felt the reason for his discomfort against her backside.
Mortified, she quickly turned back around, sat up straight, scooting as far forward in the narrow space as she could. “I’m… I’m comfortable now—er… er…”
Arran laughed. “It’s sweet torture, it is, fair lady! But if we’re to make it to yer home by tomorrow, we need to get moving.”
Skye wanted to snap back and tell him that Castle MacKeith had never been a home to her but then thought it best to hold her tongue.
Arran took her silence as confirmation that she was ready and urged his horse into an easy canter.
He tightened his arm around her waist. At first, she gripped the saddle in front of her, worried she would fall, but the easy rocking motion and weariness relaxed her rigid posture, and it wasn’t long before she leaned back into his broad chest.
The trail stayed flat, and thankfully not wet or muddy for a good part of the trip, but the landscape turned rocky and mountainous.
Arran slowed his horse to a walk, then he slid off and led the beast. Too tired now to attempt escape, Skye nodded in the saddle. She scarcely noticed when he swung into the saddle again. She fell into a deep sleep, cradled in his strong arms.
Her hair smelled of mountain heather, and she was soft and pliant in his arms. Colin’s willingness to take Helena back to the village worried him. He was beginning to have an extremely bad feeling about all of this. so he stayed quiet and let her have some peace.
When the moon no longer lit the path before him, Arran stopped his horse in a small clearing. The lack of motion woke Skye, and she sat up and looked around.
“We’ll stop here and rest until dawn.”
Arran slid off the saddle, and Skye followed. But when her feet hit the ground, she gasped in pain, and her legs went out from under her. He caught her before she hit the ground.
“I’ve nae ridden this far in a long time,” she explained, sounding embarrassed.
Arran didn’t reply. He took her by the elbow and helped her over to a wide, flat rock. Then he went to his horse and grabbed a bag and waterskin.
“Here.” He took bread and cheese from the bag, then held the waterskin so she could drink. She gave him a look that might have been gratitude.
Arran pulled his saddle and bedroll from his horse.
He left Douglas and Lyle to watch over her, while he watered his horse, then fed him some oats.
He hobbled the beast, and left him near a brightly trickling burn, before going to relieve his men.
When he returned, he saw Skye sitting next to the rock, curled up and shivering.
He untied a blanket from his saddle, walked over and handed it to her.
Reluctantly, she took it. “Do ye nae need this?”
He shook his head. “Nay.”
He propped himself up on the other side of the rock and closed his eyes.
A few minutes passed, and he heard Skye again. This time her teeth were chattering.
“Are ye still cold, lass?”
“A-a ye,” she stammered.
“There are bandits here-abouts,” he said. “The three of us wouldnae be able to stand off a band o’ them. But I can share me own heat w’ ye, if ye’ll trust me.” Aaron got up and walked around the rock, lay down with his back to her.
It wasn’t long before he felt her snuggle up against him. Her shivers stopped, and her body relaxed against his. He smiled as he drifted off to sleep.
The next day, Skye rode pillion behind Arran. He had taken her small dirk. In all events, it would do her no good to try to run. Douglas and Lyle were clearly loyal to him, and Colin had rejoined them not long after they had stopped for the night.
She drooped, dispirited, against his back, dreading what was to come. She roused when Arran shouted, “Laird MacArthur here to see Laird MacKeith,”
The large, double-panel door to the courtyard opened, and Arran rode inside. Fires in the courtyard illuminated several gathered MacKeith clansmen. Chatter and laughter rang out in the night air, a few iron pots hung from their frames, and the smell of rabbit stew drifted in the air.
Upon spotting him, everyone turned and stared. Skye heard whispered exclamations of “She’s back! He finally caught her!” here and there. She looked around, noticing the looks of shock and sympathetic nods.
Arran stopped his horse and dismounted. He reached up and pulled her down with his hands around her waist. In no time, the great doors to the keep opened, and Grayson Blackwell sauntered out with his arms open wide and a large smile on his face.
Laird MacKeith was not a tall man, and years of overindulgence in food and ale showed in the circumference of his waist. His dark but sparse hair was clipped short, and his beard was gray and unkempt.
But it was his eyes that chilled Skye to the bone.
They were small, beady, and often emotionless.
Arran’s hands, still around her waist, tightened, and his expression hardened.
“Arran Gilroy!” Grayson shouted. “Me happiness kens nay bounds, as ye have completed yer task. At last, me precious daughter and I are reunited.”
His act didn’t fool Skye. She could detect the undercurrents of triumph and a foreboding promise of retribution in his jubilant tone.
“I see that yer maither isnae with ye,” he added in a grave tone, his mood changing like the direction of the wind. “I will ken the reason.”
Skye shuddered, and Arran placed his hand on the small of her back. She thought the gesture was meant to keep her from ducking and running, but when she looked at his face, she saw that his cautious gaze was fixed on Grayson.
Grayson smiled again, and with a flourish, he pointed to the entrance and said, “Welcome home, Daughter. Both of ye, come in—we will dine together. Ye must be feeling quite weary after yer journey here. Skye, go with yer women to freshen up. Laird MacArthur, with me if ye will. We have much to discuss.”
Skye felt a fleeting panic when Arran walked away from her. But she did not demure. She did not know the women who came to her, both of whom looked as if they broke rocks for a living rather than acting as ladies maids.
“I’m sorry, me lady,” one of them said. “We’re washer women, asked to watch that ye daenae flee. Ye’ll have to forgive our ignorance in the ways of waitin’ on ye.”
“Ye’ve clean linens and gown in yer rooms,” the other one added. “We’d just been doin’ yer things the day ye left.”
“Daenae fret,” Skye returned. “If there’s a basin of water, I’ll do it meself. I’m used to it. Tell me what has happened since I’ve been gone.”
The washer women did not have much in the way of court gossip to share. “There was a terrible commotion,” the first said. “And nay one was allowed to go home for days and days.”
“Aye,” said the second, “Bessie’s wee one died of the croup because Bessie couldnae go home to tend him. And so did the granther who tends the gardens.”
“But then we were let out, because it was harvest time, and the crops like to rot in the fields. Good thin’, too, as supplies were near out in the castle.”
“Ye dyed yer hair,” the first washer woman said. “Canny.”