Chapter Seventeen
THE SPLIT SECOND BEFORE the Ogilvie warrior reached me, I thought of my knife. But I had dropped it somewhere. I used my feet to feel around on the floor of the pool, but I couldn’t locate it.
And then he was here, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me out of the pool in one forceful heave that pained my arm dreadfully and caused me to cry out.
I tried to reach for my sword, which lay only feet from where I stood, but the soldier read my intention and kicked it away, so it, too, was swallowed into the depths of the pool, out of reach to me.
“Don’t fight me, lass. You’ll only hurt yourself.
You can come willingly, or we can beat you and bind your hands and feet.
Up to you. But make no mistake about it—you’re coming with us to be delivered alive to Laird Ogilvie.
” He pulled me against his body in a forceful hug, and I was infinitely grateful now that I’d chosen to keep my tunic on, even if I wore nothing underneath it; its wet fabric clung to me and covered me only to the middle of my thighs, but it was better than nothing at all.
The Ogilvie guard held me in a vise-grip against him and began to pull me toward the horses. My struggles made no impact whatsoever and only succeeded in angering him, so his hold became rougher, painfully so.
This pain, I knew, was nothing compared to what was in store for me.
I could already picture Ogilvie’s face, his glee, his satisfaction.
He would have no qualms about making his punishment as brutal and demeaning as possible, I had no doubt.
I had refused him, struck him, humiliated him, and his revenge would be thoughtfully and thoroughly carried out. This I knew.
I fought back against the soldier, squirming and biting into his arm, which was strung around my neck.
He released me at the same time he struck me, and his blow was so forceful that I fell to the ground.
I sat there for a moment, holding my hand against my throbbing jaw, sobbing with fear and grief until my vision blurred. I felt thoroughly defeated.
I was so distraught, it took me a few moments to register a new commotion: the approach of more horses.
It would be the remainder of the search party, I guessed, wiping at my eyes to see if I recognized any of them.
It occurred to me that if Ritchie was among them, he might be able to help me escape. Again.
But it wasn’t Ritchie who rode up.
It was Kade. And Wilkie.
For a moment I thought I was imagining them, that they were the figments of my desperate, grasping mind.
Wilkie.
And at the same time the relief and hunger and absolute joy at the sight of him swelled in my heart, my terror overpowered every other emotion.
Wilkie was in grave danger, as I was. He had followed me here, into the viper’s pit of my Ogilvie ambush where we might both—all, Kade included—lose our lives.
Our fates entwined, Roses. I know not why, but I know it to be true: I am bound to you forevermore.
Wilkie leaped off his horse before it even came to a stop, walking toward me as though he didn’t notice the Ogilvie warriors.
And it seemed that the Ogilvie warriors were surprisingly tolerant of Wilkie’s approach.
I guessed that the uneven ratio of Ogilvie warriors to Mackenzies gave the Ogilvie men a sense of jaunty confidence over their advantage.
Wilkie did not appear at all intimidated or mindful of his own safety, which almost worried me.
Was he so distracted by me and my dire predicament that he had let his guard down?
Or was he simply so self-assured as a trained, armed and assisted warrior that he felt less threatened than he appeared?
But when the Ogilvie soldier grabbed my arm and yanked me back into his tight embrace, Wilkie stopped in his tracks. The soldier’s massive arm was wrapped around my chest, his sword held to my neck.
Wilkie was only a few feet from where I stood, and the sight of him, real and so close, was enough to weaken my knees.
I would have fallen to the ground if the soldier hadn’t held me so forcefully.
I had thought I would never lay eyes on Wilkie again.
And here he was, more beautiful than he had ever been.
The hotheadedness of his temperament, in the heat of conflict, was evened and steely.
There was none of the turbulence of him that was often so pronounced.
Just an utter focus. Fighting filled his days and was his purpose, and it was clear from his seasoned confidence that he was good at his job.
Here, however, was a new situation: me. Held by an enemy with a razor-sharp blade to my throat.
Wilkie seemed mildly disarmed by this scenario.
He pulled his sword from its scabbard and held it out in front of him. “Unhand the lass,” he commanded.
“Drop your sword, Mackenzie,” the soldier who held me barked impatiently, and I suppose his impatience was warranted; there was no chance he would unhand me, we all knew that.
“Step aside. You’re free to go, and do it now.
’Tis the lass we’re after. If you attack us, we’ll kill you and your brother and take the lass anyway.
She belongs to Ogilvie, and she’ll be returned to Ogilvie. ”
Kade had dismounted and was holding his sword in one hand and a circular knife in the other. He appeared almost otherworldly as his many weapons caught the sunlight and reflected it in an iridescent glimmer.
“She belongs to me, as my betrothed,” Wilkie said.
Maybe he said this as a ruse, in an attempt to convince the Ogilvie soldiers to release me.
I wasn’t his betrothed, after all. Today was his wedding day, aye, but his wife-to-be waited for him at Kinloch, wondering, quite possibly, what was keeping him.
He may have come for me out of duty, to secure my safety before he recited his vows and sealed his fate.
At that moment, it hardly mattered. Just to see him there, in all his wild splendor, caused my heart to swell with pure happiness, despite the circumstance.
A second, black-bearded warrior laughed.
“Your betrothed?” I knew this warrior: a high-ranking officer of Ogilvie’s whose name was Dougal.
I had served his table frequently enough.
I knew him to be loud and excessively outspoken; in fact it was this very man’s often overeager conversation with Laird Ogilvie that had provided much of the political and military information I possessed.
“I’m afraid Ogilvie intends to take her for himself.
He will wed her as soon as she is returned to him. ”
“Wed her? Not while I live,” said Wilkie, defiant.
Dougal chuckled again, dismounting from his horse and walking closer to Wilkie. “I can arrange to have that taken care of. You’re outnumbered six to two, soldier. Now step aside or die.”
Wilkie remained frozen in place, his eyes darker than I had ever seen them.
And he was speaking to me, his voice softened just for my ears, despite our attentive and menacing audience.
He spoke as though he didn’t care if these enemy soldiers heard his words, as though he was afraid he might not get another chance to say what he wanted me to know.
If we were to die—which was a distinct possibility—there were things that must first be said.
“Roses, why did you flee? It wasn’t finished yet, lass.
Your departure was too hasty. I’ll not marry Stella Morrison.
Kade will be the one to secure the alliance. ”
With effort, in the consuming distress of the moment, I recalled her face. Her milky skin and her downcast, amber eyes. Stella. The beautiful sister. The one promised to Wilkie.
I looked at Kade, whose eyes glimmered along with the rest of him. “I have asked for Stella’s hand, and her father has agreed to it,” he confirmed.
“Preparations are already underway,” Wilkie said.
“Laird Morrison is pleased with the match, and Knox has accepted that it’s a reasonable alternative.
He’s sanctioned our marriage, Roses.” He paused, and his voice lowered further.
“With the alliance secure, he will allow me to indulge our mother’s final wish. We’ll be wed tonight, lass.”
Everything but Wilkie momentarily dissolved from my immediate awareness.
Even in the face of death, it was a moment of true awakening.
If I was to live, I could live. That my warrior would dedicate himself to me in this way left me not only with a sense of relief but of billowing awe.
He wanted me over his own lairdship and army.
He had chosen me, a servant, over every and any woman of noble blood throughout Scotland.
My heart could not contain all the love I felt for him in that moment; its beat felt heated and up-tempo from the rush, infusing my body and my world with a worshipful serenity.
A bird chattered. A cloud gleamed white.
Kade sparkled like the savior that he was.
I only hoped we would live long enough to be able to thank him and to appreciate the importance and outcome of his sacrifice.
And Wilkie. His very black hair reflected shards of blue and white from the rays of the day. His eyes, in the brightness of the morning, matched the color of the autumn sky and shone with vigor and devotion.
I am following my heart, to you.
But we were surrounded on all sides and held at knifepoint.
Oh, how I wished Kade had made his appearance in Laird Mackenzie’s den just minutes earlier than he had!
I wished I had waited in Wilkie’s chambers for him.
I wished the guards had stopped my desertion.
I wished Wilkie and Kade had reached me before the Ogilvie party had discovered my whereabouts.
But it was too late for regrets. Before we could live, we would need to fight.