CHAPTER 3
Her father sat before the fire, smiling with pleasure as she read to him.
John MacSween was proud that he had taught his daughter to read, though he had to keep her ability a well-guarded secret.
None of the other MacSween women were permitted to learn this skill.
This was not done out of some nefarious desire to purposely deprive or control them.
The MacSweens simply saw no need for women to read, since it was only men who drafted and received important messages, treaties, and agreements.
Why would a young girl waste precious hours deciphering scratches on a page when she could be doing something useful, like gutting fish, combing wool, or plucking feathers?
But Gwendolyn’s father had originally come from a clan farther south, and their ways had not been as traditional as those of the MacSweens.
He had taught his wife to read and write, and then he had passed the same skills on to his daughter.
Gwendolyn had learned them clandestinely, at night, within the safety of their small cottage.
Her father did not want to give the MacSweens yet another reason to fear and ostracize his beloved child.
“When I am gone, you will still have your friends in books and stories, my sweet Gwen,” he told her.
Gwendolyn looked up from her book and frowned. “Wherever you go, Papa, I am going with you.”
A sad smile shadowed her father’s gentle face. And then he began to fade.
Cold seeped through Gwendolyn. She curled up even more and struggled to keep her father in his chair. But his image had vanished. Shivering, she inched backward, searching for the comforting wall of heat that had enveloped her all night.
It was gone.
Feeling lost, she opened her eyes. Her father was dead, she realized numbly. There would be no more nights of reading to him before a fire or listening to the glorious tales he loved to tell her.
MacDunn and his warriors were already up and preparing for the day’s journey.
Brodick was cooking a simple meal of fresh oakcakes and fish over a small fire, while MacDunn, Ned, and Cameron were tending to their horses.
Gwendolyn sat up and rubbed her bare arms. Isabella, she noticed, was still comfortably ensconced beneath Brodick’s extra plaid, sound asleep.
“Good morning, m’lady,” Cameron called cheerfully. “ ’Tis a fine day, is it not? I must confess, my head feels remarkably well this morning, thanks to your spirit friends.”
“That is good,” she murmured.
“Will you have some oatcake and fish this morning? The fish was just caught by Ned, and is sure to be sweet.”
Gwendolyn shook her head. The pain of missing her father had destroyed her appetite. “I am not hungry.”
“You will eat,” MacDunn commanded, not looking at her as he adjusted the girth of his saddle.
“I am not hungry,” Gwendolyn insisted stubbornly.
“Your body requires nourishment,” he argued. “You ate nothing yesterday, and I’d wager that during your time in the dungeon, you ate little, if at all. You are thin and weak.” He critically eyed her up and down.
“I am not weak,” she protested. In truth, since the death of her father just four days ago, she had become a little thin.
“A better nourished woman would not have felt the cold so severely last night. You will be lucky if you are not burning with fever by midday, and dead by tomorrow morning.”
Gwendolyn stared at him blankly. What was this bizarre preoccupation with her health? “I have no intention of getting a fever—”
“Your life now belongs to me,” he interrupted. “And I have decided you will eat.”
She was about to point out that her life most certainly did not belong to him or anyone else when Brodick cautiously approached her with some food.
“Do try some, m’lady,” he invited. “Even if you are not hungry now, it will be several hours before we stop again to eat.”
The aroma of the freshly grilled fish stirred the emptiness in her stomach. “Perhaps I will have just a little,” she conceded. “But I am not doing it because you ordered me to, MacDunn.”
MacDunn shrugged his enormous shoulders. “As long as you eat, I don’t give a damn.”
“I’m hungry,” announced Isabella sleepily, stretching her arms over her head.
“Good morning, Bella,” called Brodick. “Did you sleep well?”
“Certainly not,” she informed him coldly. “I’m bruised all over from lying on the hard ground, and this filthy, coarse plaid has scratched my skin to pieces. I couldn’t sleep at all.”
“You appeared to be resting well enough last night after MacDunn showed you his wound,” observed Cameron teasingly.
“Oh!” Isabella exclaimed. “That was absolutely horrid. However could you expect me to fix such a thing?”
MacDunn shrugged. “After all those grisly threats of yours, I would have thought you would have enjoyed plunging a needle in me.”
“Don’t think about it anymore,” soothed Brodick, bringing her a cloth filled with food.
Isabella wrinkled her nose. “This smells burned.”
“I am sorry,” he apologized. “It is all there is.”
On learning that, she greedily began to devour it. “You had best ride fast today,” she said between mouthfuls. “Robert is certain to come after you again. He will not rest until I am safely returned to my father.”
“At the moment, Robert is somewhat outnumbered,” said MacDunn. “Unless your father makes a decision to send out more men, I do not think we will enjoy the pleasure of Robert’s company today.”
“Then tomorrow he will come,” Isabella predicted. “And when he does, he will tie your limbs to two fine horses and send them galloping in opposite directions, tearing you apart and dragging your ragged, bloody remains across the Highlands.”
Cameron laughed. “By God, I’m actually going to miss her threats.”
“I’m not,” Alex muttered, hoisting himself onto his horse. “It’s time to go. Ned, you will take the witch behind you today. You’re both light, so your mount should be able to keep a good speed.”
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, he assured himself, watching as Gwendolyn climbed up behind Ned.
He thought she looked slightly surprised, but Ned gave no indication that he found this order peculiar.
In truth, Alex could not bear another moment of feeling her soft, slim form pressing against him.
He had lain awake the entire night, keeping her warm in the shelter of his body.
He had thought the act would be nothing, that he would simply lie next to her and fall asleep.
Instead he was acutely aware of every breath she drew, of every small turn and shift and sigh of her delicately feminine body, which was far too fine and fragile to withstand the harsh rigors of life in the Highlands.
He had sensed her tension and so he had feigned sleep, knowing she did not trust him to keep his word not to ravish her.
And long before light began to filter through the feathery spires of the pines above them, he had questioned his ability to honor his oath.
Somehow, this pale wisp of a girl had managed to kindle a heat and need in him that he had never thought to experience again.
His flesh had felt as if it were afire, and his loins had hardened until they ached.
And he was appalled.
“I’m not ready to leave yet,” announced Isabella, untroubled by the fact that everyone was mounted and ready to go. “I haven’t finished my breakfast, and after that I will need a few moments to wash in the stream.” She began to nibble at a second oatcake.
Brodick urged his horse over to her. “Alas, sweet Bella, this is where I must bid you farewell.” He bent down, scooped up his plaid from her shoulders, and folded it behind his saddle.
She regarded him in disbelief. “You’re leaving me?”
“I gave your father my word that I would release you in the morning,” Alex reminded her.
“Although your father did not heed my conditions, I intend to keep my part of the bargain. You have ample food and water, and you should keep the fire burning. Robert has been released from his bonds, so when he wakens shortly in these woods he will find you. You can either ride home with him or wait until more of your father’s men come to retrieve you. ”
“But I must go with you,” she protested. “Since my father didn’t honor your conditions, you must take me with you.”
Brodick glanced questioningly at Alex.
“She is of no use to us,” Alex said bluntly. “And I have done enough to incur the MacSweens’ wrath without also permanently stealing their laird’s daughter. She stays here.” He turned his horse and began to ride away.
“No!” exclaimed Isabella, rising to stand before Brodick. “You cannot just abandon me here. You cannot!”
“Forgive me, m’lady,” Brodick apologized. “It was not meant to be.”
“You cannot leave me!”
“Farewell, sweet Bella,” he crooned. “I’ll not forget you.” He tilted his head in a bow, then turned his mount and rode away, followed by Cameron and Ned.
“This isn’t over!” Isabella raged. “I’ll make sure my father’s warriors hunt you down and crush every bone in your body, you vile abductor of helpless women! Then they’ll carve out your eyes and mince them into paste…”
“Poor lass, I think you’ve gone and broken her heart,” said Cameron as Isabella’s gruesome ravings continued.
“…and grind your organs into mush…”
“If that’s what she’s like when her heart is broken, I’d not want to see her angry,” reflected Ned.
“…you scurvy, rotten, fulsome bastard!”
“She’ll get over it,” Brodick assured them.
“Aye,” agreed Cameron, laughing. “They always do.”
The air was aromatic with the sun-washed scent of damp earth and the tangy fragrance of heather that burst in purple puffs around them.
But Gwendolyn was far too absorbed in considering her situation as they galloped through the meadows and woods to derive pleasure from her surroundings.
Every mile took her farther away from Robert and the stone, and so with every mile her resolve to escape grew.