Chapter 4
“You are making quite a mistake, my—I mean, Arran,” Victoria warned.
She attempted to summon every bit of bravado that she did not truly possess in hopes that it might convince him to let her go.
The reality that he clearly had no intention of doing so was starting to settle in, and the panic in her chest was starting to build.
Was this going to be the sort of situation where the Earl would actually be the preferable choice?
She did not think that this would ever have been possible.
“I daenae think so,” Arran said, smirking.
It was still strange to address the man by his first name when they were in no way on friendly terms for her to do so.
She could not think of a single gentleman in the ton whom she called by their first name; it simply was not appropriate.
Then again, these Scottish men did not seem to put much credence in propriety.
“You will be sorry when the Earl finds out what you have done!” Victoria insisted.
She was not sure of much, but she did know that the Earl was not going to surrender her easily.
He thought of her as a prize. She was very certain that he wanted nothing more than to parade her around as an adornment to his arm, something that he brought out to impress his guests at parties, smug that he had managed to secure her hand in marriage over all of her other suitors.
“He will come for me,” she said, in equal parts hope and dread.
“Aye, I rather hope that he will,” Arran answered, and it almost looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. “Why do ye sound so eager for it? Ye didnae before.”
“I am not!” she insisted. “I just… hope you know what you are doing.”
The man smirked, irreverence in his eyes. “I do, lass, I assure ye.”
With that, he spurred his horse into motion, and she had no choice but to hold tightly to him so that she did not fall off. The beast moved far too quickly for her to slip off without being injured.
“But I willnae let him touch ye,” Arran added, his lips so close to her ear that his breath sent a pleasant little shiver down the back of her neck. Not that she would have admitted to the sensation, not on her life.
“What I meant was, I hope you know what you are doing and that you will leave me out of it! I have no reason to trust you. It appears that I am merely going from one kidnapper to the next!” she bit out harshly, elbowing his chest in an attempt to put some distance between them, for she could not breathe with him as close as he was, murmuring like that into her ear.
I will not be one who swoons over a bloody kidnapper!
Immediate regret struck her, the shock down her forearm and the ensuing jolt from the sharp pain only further irritating her already inflamed, raw wrists.
“Daenae compare me to that bastard,” Arran snapped right back. He turned his head and spat over the side of his horse as if he could get the very notion of being compared to him out of his mouth.
He barely even glanced down at her as she hit him again, risking the pain, until the embarrassment of gaining no response prompted her to huff and fold her arms over her chest.
“I cannot imagine what he must have done to cross you so, sir, and I am also more than certain that he deserves your wrath, but I do not. I have no desire to be in the middle of this. If you will drop me at the nearest tavern, I promise not to make any trouble.”
“Trouble? Ye?” Arran chuckled. “But ye are such a wee lass. What trouble can ye possibly make?”
It felt like a challenge, if she was being perfectly honest. She twisted as far around as she could and narrowed her eyes at him; she was at war with her obstinate streak and her self-preservation. “Where are you taking me?”
“Ye will just have to see when we get there.”
“How do you know that I will not smother you in your sleep?”
“Who said we’d be sleeping?”
Her mouth fell open, speechless. This Scotsman kept tripping her up, making her feel all kinds of foolish… or, rather, out of her depth.
“Is that why the Earl ties ye up? Ye’re the murderous sort?” He shook his head. “Nay, I daenae ken what ye did, but I am sure that ye didnae deserve that.”
It was obvious he meant her wrists, her arms hugging herself tighter to hide them.
“What is it that you even wish from me? What is it you wish to do with the Earl? I will not help you in your objective when you are keeping me from mine,” she continued, feeling more exasperated the further that they traveled.
Her legs were uncomfortable, and she was going to be more than a little tender from the ride. Charles had not allowed her to go outside to do so much as walk of late, and pacing the short distance in her prison that her restraints permitted did not count for exercise.
Arran seemed reluctant to answer, so she continued to push.
“If you claim not to be like him, then why don’t you start by actually talking to me? Or, are you just a beast like him after all?” Victoria sneered.
She did not even know what her objective was beyond not returning to the Earl’s captivity.
But somehow, she truly did believe that she was not going to be in danger with this man.
Of course, that did not mean she was not wary of him, as she had certainly learned her lesson about trusting men. The hard way, at that.
“It is nae somethin’ for a lass to concern herself with,” he replied eventually.
“I was set to marry him,” she reminded Arran. “I think that I deserve an explanation for your attack, and what appears to be my part in your plan.”
They rode for quite some time in a tense, uncomfortable silence as she struggled to think of a way to make him tell her what it was that she wanted to know.
To her surprise, Arran was the first to break. Perhaps he realized that she might be more willing to help if he were honest.
“We’ll lure him out, kill him, and then ye’ll be safe and free to go anywhere ye want.”
The bluntness with which he spoke sent a shudder down Victoria’s spine. While she did not feel as if she were in immediate danger, there was no denying the lethal edge under his words.
“K-kill him?”
Arran finally glanced down at her, his face wholly unreadable. “Did ye think I came for a friendly chat with the bastard? Did ye think I came to polish his candlesticks or drink his brandy?”
“Well, no, but…”
There was absolutely no part of her that did not think that Charles ought to pay for what he had done. He was not a good man, and he would never think twice about doing anything wicked. But a death sentence? Was that too steep a price?
No one hated Charles more than Victoria did.
Yet, she rather preferred the idea of him suffering the same fate that he had inflicted upon her: a lengthy imprisonment in a small cell, shackled and denied any freedom whatsoever.
There, he might have the time and solitude to reflect upon his misdeeds and learn that he was not above reproach, as he thought he was.
Certainly, she did not think that he needed to be killed.
“Do you not think it would be of greater benefit if he were made to–” Before she could say anything more to that effect, the horse finally slowed from the brisk pace that had carried her away from her prison.
Slowly, an inn came into view. Soft candlelight spilled from diamond-hatched windows, though that was where the beauty and the inviting essence ended.
She had no idea where they were, and the wooden sign above the main door might have once held words, but was far too weather-beaten now to tell her the name of their location.
Did you make it to Emma’s residence? Her mind drifted to her sister, who, if she had done as she was told, would be arriving at far more luxurious lodgings.
Perhaps Melody had already arrived and was safe before a roaring fire with a cup of tea in her hands, worrying over her sister as her sister was worrying over her.
In all nineteen years that Victoria had had Melody at her side, her younger sister had never felt so far away, so unreachable. Perhaps there would be paper and ink inside the inn, and she might be able to sneak a letter to her sister and attempt to explain things.
Not that she would know where to begin.
The inn was small, two stories at most. The stables behind the main building were nearly twice as large as the inn itself.
The windows were fogged, but there were still hints of warm yellow light shining through the old glass panels.
It was certainly not the sort of location that she would have felt comfortable going into on her own.
Though she could only imagine what those of the ton would say of their Diamond in a place like this.
I do not suppose they will be thinking highly of me for very long, anyway…
Arran slipped down from the horse with ease, not seeming any worse for wear whatsoever, a man accustomed to long journeys.
He reached forward and placed a hand on either side of her waist without waiting for her consent, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing off the horse.
She would never admit to it, but her legs were so weak that when she was put back on solid ground, her knees nearly buckled, and she had no choice but to hold on to him for balance so that she did not collapse into a heap at his feet.
Her hands tightened on his pale shirt, the soft fabric more comforting than she had anticipated as she steadied herself. Arran caught her elbow, his other hand steadying her by the waist. The moment that the adrenaline of nearly falling wore off, she immediately jerked away from him.
“You look Scottish,” she blurted, not even sure why she felt the need to point out the obvious like that.
She knew that he was Scottish; there was no mistaking that accent or the unusual lower garment of his kilt.
If she had tried to imagine a man in a skirt, she would have conjured up something very different; it certainly would not have been as utterly…
masculine as the reality, his sculpted calves on show for all to see, and a hint of defined thigh just above his knees.
A knight in full armor would not have been as rugged nor as manly as this man in shirt, kilt, and boots.
Snapping her attention away from the indecency of that bare skin and the little flurry it ignited in her stomach, she caught sight of Arran arching an eyebrow. Clearly, he was waiting to see if there was more to her “you look Scottish” remark.
“I just…” She felt more foolish with every passing word. “I just thought that the journey to Scotland was… um… much longer.”
Silence stretched between them as he stared at her. “It is.”
Her face was on fire. She might as well hope and pray that the ground would open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole. She could have melted into a puddle from his slowed-down pronunciation alone. He likely thought her simple. But at least he did not comment on it.
The Laird shook his head and started toward the inn to arrange their stay for the night, but seemed to think better of it halfway and turned around.
“Do not throw me over your shoulder again!” Victoria held up a hand in warning.
Grabbing the skirt of the dress that was supposed to be her wedding gown before it had been soiled and ruined from the ride, she attempted to hurry away from the large man hulking toward her.
Though even she could not lie to herself about the way her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest at the look on his face. What was the matter with her?
“Then I suggest that ye use yer own two feet to march into the inn yerself,” Arran warned.
She stammered, “And if I do not do as you like, will you just manhandle me?”
Arran paused his advance, and that sly ghost of a smirk surfaced again.
He nodded to the men around them, and they all started to head around back to the stables to take care of the horses.
One led the Laird’s mount away, as if to reiterate that Victoria would not be leaving of her own accord…
even if she could get the horse to do as she wished.
Distracted by the sight, she did not see Arran lunge for her. His fingers brushed against the fabric of her dress, but she was able to dance away at the last possible second. Though she was not so lucky the second time around. How was he so fast on his feet?
He pulled her close, one arm wrapped around her waist, and she did the only thing that she could think of; she tried to hit him, but he caught her by the forearm, his thumb brushing over the injured skin of her wrist with surprising softness as if remembering her injuries, or perhaps reminding himself that he ought to behave.
“I willnae tie ye, nae unless ye ask, of course.”
He was far too close to her to be speaking in such a low tone as that.
Her face blazed, blinking rapidly. “W-why would I ever ask for such a thing?”
The look he gave her set her mind reeling.
She was not wholly innocent, at least not where her imagination was concerned.
Victoria loved to read anything and everything she could get her hands on, even the kind of books that were not exactly befitting or appropriate for her station.
She had indulged in them from time to time, but she would never admit to it.
But even with that knowledge in hand, what possible reason would make a woman want to have a man tie her up? She could not fathom it.
Arran winked at her, his grip on her loosening only slightly. “I mean, ye’re nae me prisoner. But I think ye’re the safest with me. So, I suggest ye follow me.”
With that, he turned her loose and walked away from her for a second time, this time not even bothering to look back at her.
They were surrounded by a dense forest on all sides. They had already taken all the horses, and she did not think that attempting to run away in the darkness without any supplies or any knowledge of where she was or where she was going was perhaps the brightest idea.
Victoria’s feet seemed to make a choice before her mind even had time to catch up to it. “Wait!”