Chapter Four
Camille tightened her legs around the horse beneath her, urging him into a faster gallop, heading back the way they'd come—toward Perth, she hoped.
She was glad she had stayed in practice for riding, having exercised her own mare all spring, along with Angelique's two white mares.
Since her cousin was with child, Lachlan would not allow her near the horses.
Though this gelding was bigger than the mares, Camille had no trouble controlling him.
Moments later, horses' hooves pounded behind her.
She glanced back to see Dugald and three of his men gaining ground.
He looked like a demon riding to capture her, low over the horse's neck, his black hair flying back, eyes narrowed in determination.
Fear and excitement raced through her, speeding her heart rate.
What would he do to her when he caught her?
Hating to even imagine it, she kicked the horse to a faster pace.
The small river they had recently passed through lay ahead.
Although the horses had walked through it earlier, she had no time to slow down.
The stream was not excessively wide, about fifteen feet.
If the horse beneath her could jump it, she would be closer to escaping the fiendish chief.
She glanced back to find him gaining ground.
Pressing firmly with her heels, she urged Owen's horse faster. She prayed he would easily leap the stream, or at least gallop through it.
As the horse neared the riverbank, she held on tighter. When he slowed, she gave him another nudge with her heels. At the edge of the water, he slid to an abrupt halt and catapulted her over his head. The world spun. Screaming, she somersaulted through the air and plunged into the icy river.
Bitter cold water rushed over her head, stripping all her thoughts except survival.
She tried to keep her wits about her and hold her breath. Saints! It was deeper than she realized.
The rushing water dragged her downstream. Twisting, she kicked off the river bottom, surfaced and took a deep, gasping breath. Behind her, men's shouts reached her ears. She looked downstream to see what she might grab onto. She noticed rocks and a log.
A horse galloping along the bank drew her attention. Dugald sat upon its back. Surely she would not have to depend upon him to save her. How could her escape attempt end so horribly?
Seeing a rock outcropping, she kicked toward it and grabbed hold, the rough surface scraping her fingers.
The water dragged at her heavy skirts, trying to yank her away into the current.
She clawed her way up the rocks. Finally on dry land, she paused to thank God and draw in great gulps of air.
Not dead, but cold. So very cold. The water was obviously melted ice and snow from the mountaintops.
A massive shiver racked her body. She had grown up in the heat of southern France, not icy Scotland.
What seemed only seconds later, someone lifted her from the rock. She could not feel her numb hands or her toes.
"Damn you, lass!" Dugald shook her. "You could've easily drowned. What the hell were you thinking?"
"Vous…" Her lips were so numb with cold they would hardly move.
"What?" He hauled her up a steep embankment and stood her on level ground. Her knees trembled… her whole body trembled. She clenched her teeth so they wouldn't chatter. Her own fault, damn her rash ideas.
Dugald worked so fast, she couldn't keep up. He threw his weapons to the ground, then his hands were on her, unlacing, removing her bodice.
"Non! Are you mad?" She tried to jerk away from him.
"Be still." Her clothing loose, he yanked it down her body.
Not wanting to be naked before him, she screamed. But she was so cold she could hardly think now. She could not fight him.
Next thing she knew, warmth surrounded her. Opening her eyes, she only saw dark blue plaid. His plaid? Yes, it was even over her head. Moving a bit, she saw he still wore a linen shirt.
Prickles covered her skin as his heat penetrated and thawed her nerve endings. His strong arms surrounded her, held her upright. Ahh the warmth… like the sun in spring, melting the snow. Grace à Dieu.
She sighed and leaned into him. "Dugald."
"Aye, lass. You were about to freeze. Your lips were blue."
She dug her fingers against him and into the linen of his shirt. Sweet Mother Mary, he was so hot, she felt she was next to a roaring fire.
"The horse… would not jump."
He grunted. "Owen's horse hates rivers. You must not have seen him leading the animal through the water on the way up."
She shook her head. Blast! Why had she not been paying more attention? She hadn't imagined she would be trying to steal Owen's horse, and he'd been behind them.
"You are mad to try to jump rivers," Dugald grumbled.
"I have done this many times."
"Is that so?"
"Oui. It is not normally such a hard task." 'Haps all the horses she'd owned and ridden in the past were better trained. Or simply unafraid of rushing water.
He turned aside. "Build a fire, Rufus," he commanded his guard. "We must get the lady warm. Tell the men to set up my tent and hunt some rabbits or grouse. And send two scouts up the hill, there, to keep an eye out to the south."
"Aye, m'laird."
Opening her eyes, she saw the scruffy, red-headed man as he turned his horse in the other direction, leading Owen's gelding. The blasted horse appeared happy to be free of her, flicking his tail and tossing his head.
"Feel better?" Dugald asked her.
"Oui." She glanced up into his dark green eyes, so close to her own. His expression was neutral instead of gloating at her ridiculous blunder and his easy recapture of her. "Merci. Thank you for your help and your… warmth."
"You're welcome. I hope you've learned a lesson this day."
A lesson? She ground her teeth. "Do not lecture me, you kidnapper. I but wanted my freedom. Naught wrong with that."
That smug look appeared, a lift of his brow and one corner of his lips. "Aye, well, there are better ways to escape."
"Do tell," she challenged.
Dugald gave a dark chuckle. "I'll nay be giving you any more ideas.
You have enough of your own." He pulled the plaid closed in front of her throat.
"Hold it there." As he turned away, she noticed he only wore a long white linen shirt.
It reached to the middle of his muscular thighs—too long in her estimation.
As he bent forward to pick up his belt, leather armor, weapons and baldric from the ground where he had tossed them earlier, she quickly averted her gaze.
She was indeed senseless, eyeing her abductor. She would blame the cold water.
Leaving her standing, wrapped in his plaid, he picked up her clothing from the ground and wrung the water from each piece. Her face burned when she remembered he'd stripped her bare in daylight and even removed her thin shift. He'd seen her naked, blast him.
He slung her clothing over his horse's haunches, then turned back to her. Before she knew what he was about, he lifted her onto the saddle. "Hold on and don't be falling into the river again."
"Très dr?le. You think that is amusing?"
He smirked.
Despite his abduction of her, 'haps he wasn't such a brute. After all, he'd dragged her from the river's edge and warmed her. So very warm. And his heat still lingered on the plaid which surrounded her like a comforting embrace.
She did not want to be grateful to her kidnapper, but she was.
He led the horse along the muddy pathway toward a trail of smoke.
She would have to wear his plaid until her clothing dried, unless he had a blanket she might use instead.
When they arrived at the camp the men were setting up, they all stopped and stared bug-eyed at her.
They could easily figure out she was naked beneath the plaid.
Her face felt afire. Heavens, how was she supposed to dismount without exposing herself indecently?
"Back to work," Dugald called out in a pleasant tone then lifted an amused brow at her.
He thought the situation funny, did he?
At least the men obeyed him. She was glad not to have their eyes on her, imagining her naked. She shuddered. Dugald stopped the horse near the newly laid campfire.
Owen approached, a short chunk of log upon his massive shoulder. "Are you all right then, m'lady? I feared you'd break your neck afore the chief caught up to you."
"Merci. I am well. And I'm sorry I borrowed your horse."
"Och. Do not fash over it, m'lady." He dropped the log to the ground near the fire. "'Tis for you to sit upon."
"I thank you, Owen," Dugald said before she could.
He bowed and scurried away.
"What a considerate guard you have," she said instead.
"Aye." He lifted her down from the saddle. "'Haps a wee bit too considerate when it comes to you."
Trying to ignore the appealing strength of his body, she moved toward the fire, then sat on the log and removed her sodden slippers. "You wish him to treat me poorly?"
"Nay, of course not, but you must admit the man goes out of his way to help you."
So did Dugald, when he'd rescued her and given her his plaid, but she refused to bring that up now. Of course, he didn't want his hostage to die either, else he would lose whatever leverage he imagined he had.
"Owen is a gentleman," she said.
Dugald gave a brief laugh.
She glared at him.
"But I'm not?" he inquired.
"Do you wish me to make a list of your good deeds and your bad deeds?"
"Nay, I fear my bad deeds far outnumber the good." He gave her a dark look. "Do you plan to run again?"
"Wearing this? Barefoot?"
Dugald eyed his appealing captive. He could not forget she was deliciously naked beneath his plaid, with the voluptuous body of a goddess. And she was the bravest lass he had ever seen.