Chapter Six
Dugald and his party arrived home just after dark. The torches were aglow in the courtyard.
"Thank the saints," Dugald muttered, near mad with persistent and lingering need. He swung down from the horse, then helped the lady dismount.
Ignoring her glare, he took her arm and gently guided her up the entry steps. His twin, Tòmas, met them in the great hall, his eyes widening as he stared at their captive.
"Oh good heavens," she said. "There are two of you?"
"Of course. You already know I have a twin," Dugald said. "'Tis Tòmas."
His brother's astute gaze ran over Dugald's shirt on the lass, along with the blanket, and then to Dugald's bare chest. Don't ask, he wanted to say.
"Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" Tòmas asked, turning on his natural charm and taking her hand.
A wee barb of anxiety pricked Dugald. "Don't you recognize her? 'Tis Lady Lindsay."
Tòmas frowned, his perceptive gaze searching her face. "Are you Lady Lindsay?"
"Non, but the chief refuses to listen to me."
His brother burst out laughing.
"Tòmas, I'm warning you," Dugald growled.
Damnation, if his brother didn't try his patience with his jesting.
Though they'd always been close, they'd constantly brawled and wrestled when they were younger, neither able to best the other.
To their ma's dismay, their da had never objected, saying their constant tussling would make them both stronger and better warriors.
Tòmas kissed the backs of her fingers, then said, "Could I speak to you in private, brother?" He nodded toward the deserted corner near the high table.
"Aye. Wait here," Dugald told his bewitching captive, then followed his brother. "Cease kissing her fingers and trying to seduce her. She's a married lady."
"I hate to tell you this, but she is not Lady Lindsay," Tòmas said, keeping his voice quiet.
"She is French, and she has blond hair," Dugald said, irritation twisting through him. Surely his brother did not believe the lass over him.
Tòmas barely controlled his amusement. "That does not make her Lady Lindsay."
"You are daft. 'Tis her." Dugald eyed the lady where she stood near the entry, looking uncomfortable and out of place. "At the inn, the maid called her Lady Lindsay."
"I met Lady Lindsay," Tòmas said. "You met her as well, did you not?"
"Of course."
A brow raised, Tòmas scratched his stubble roughened chin, eyeing Dugald as if he were mad.
He frowned at the lady, studying her. Were they correct? With that strawberry juice staining her lips, who could tell?
"I did not examine every detail of Lady Lindsay's face!" Dugald said. "She is a married woman and her husband was obviously possessive of her. Staring overlong would have been daft. Besides, she had several beautiful women with her… unmarried women."
Tòmas nodded, looking wicked of a sudden. No doubt he had seduced one or two of them.
Dugald glared at his tempting hostage. "She was at the inn where the proprietor had already told me the Lindsay party took up every room. No one but the Lindsays was staying there."
"M'lady," Tòmas called to her. "Could you please join us?"
She proceeded to the corner where they stood.
Dugald scrutinized her face, unable to remember what Lady Lindsay had looked like when she was here. Blond and beautiful, that much he knew. Petite and French. Aye. "Are you Lady Lindsay's twin?" he asked, though he felt silly doing so.
"Non! Of course not. Just because you have a twin does not mean everyone does."
Tòmas chuckled. "I like her. She is far more charming than the real Lady Lindsay."
Dugald scowled at them both. "The owner of the White Ram Inn told me the Lindsay party took up every room."
She shook her head. "I was already there when they arrived."
"The maid in the corridor called you Lady Lindsay."
She frowned. "I saw a maid, but she disappeared into a room. She was not my maid."
Dugald cursed, searching her face. Could she and Tòmas be correct? "What is your name?"
"I told you. Camille Bouchard."
For all he knew, Lady Lindsay's name could be Camille Bouchard. No one had told him her given name. "Where do you live?"
"Draughon Castle, near Perth, with my cousin. She is married to the Earl of Draughon."
"Saints! An earl?" Tòmas said, turning to him. "Do you realize what you've done?"
Ignoring his brother, Dugald asked, "And who are you married to?"
"No one. I already told you this, but you would not listen!" Her French accent thickened and her blue eyes lit with sparks of anger.
"He does not like to listen," Tòmas said. "He likes to speak while everyone else listens."
"Enough," Dugald muttered. "'Slud!" Now Lindsay would think him daft for certain. And the thief would escape to the Lindsays' castle with his dagger. It was lost to him. He felt sick of a sudden.
The housekeeper approached and curtsied. "I'm having the maids bring up supper for you, m'laird, and for your men."
"I thank you. Take the lady to a chamber on the third floor and have someone bring her a tray of food." At that level, she would not be tempted to crawl out a window. "And a bath if she wishes."
"Aye, m'laird."
When the two walked away, Tòmas whispered, "Are you mad, Dugald? She's the cousin of a countess. You'll have to take her back." His gaze was most serious, all humor forgotten.
"Hell, I ken it." Dugald slumped into his chair at the high table and released a disgusted breath.
"I've lost the dagger. If the Lindsays get home with it, I'll never see it again.
" He had never felt so disappointed in himself.
How could he lose possession of something which had been in their clan for generations?
Not only that, he'd kidnapped an innocent woman who had no ties at all to Lindsay.
He'd terrified her for no reason. She'd almost been killed by highwaymen…
and nearly drowned in the river. Damn his own hide.
He was not in the habit of scaring women and certainly not mistreating them.
He hadn't been too hard on her at least, but he shouldn't have made her wear the gag so long or tied her up, but he'd had little choice.
He couldn't have her screaming or kicking him in the face again.
He rubbed the sore spot on the bridge of his nose, then snorted and shook his head.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized Camille hadn't been frightened of him, at least not much.
No matter how often he threatened, she had either ignored him or snapped back.
And… she wasn't married.
As that thought sank in, a jolt of awareness shot through his body. Damnation! She was unattached. Still, he should not try to seduce his hostage. What kind of man would that make him?
"Mayhap Mairiana can find the dagger for you," Tòmas suggested, drawing Dugald out of his disturbing thoughts.
"I already asked for her help. She claimed she couldn’t find it. Alec acted suspicious the entire time, refusing to meet with me, trying to flee Perth at dawn."
Dugald's supper was served but he was too annoyed to eat. He should've made sure Camille was Lady Lindsay before he'd snatched her up. Since he hadn't, he realized he'd done the same thing he always did, leaping before he looked. The same reckless and hasty actions Da had derided him for years ago.
Now, he'd lost the dagger Da had entrusted him with—the most valuable thing his clan possessed, aside from the lands and castle. Had Da been right? Was he an unsuitable leader for the clan?
His stomach ached with hunger and he forced himself to eat.
After swallowing a mouthful of ale, he said, "My original plan was to bring Mairiana back home instead.
That was why I went into the inn. Alec is smitten with her.
I knew he would return the dagger to me in exchange for her.
But when I saw the blond woman in the corridor, I thought…
Chief Lindsay's wife! Even better. He will not want to give her up.
" He shook his head. "Damnation, I'm daft. "
Tòmas sipped his ale and shrugged. "I wager the dagger will turn up.
Whoever stole it—if he is a Lindsay—cannot wear it about because he'll ken Mairiana will recognize it and tell you.
The thief will no doubt sell it. You'll have to visit all the arms shops in the Perth area and farther east perhaps. "
Dread weighed heavily on him and he released a tired breath. "It could take months to find it." If he ever did.
∞∞∞
After eating a supper of delectable, flaky Highland pie, stuffed with tender fowl meat, carrots, parsnips and onions, and a strawberry tart for dessert, Camille soaked in the tub of lavender-scented hot water before the small fireplace.
Although these two indulgences didn't make up for the barbarous way Dugald had abducted her, it was a start.
Relishing how the heat absorbed into her sore muscles, she sighed.
When she thought back on their hasty ride into the Highlands, it was mostly a blur of beautiful, wild landscapes and a scowling Dugald. He had seemed surprised that she wasn't Chief Lindsay's wife, even though she had told him countless times. Maybe he would listen to her in the future.
After their little argument in the strawberry patch, one thing became clear to her—when she'd ridden before him in the saddle, essentially in his lap, she'd felt how hard he was.
This, in turn, had provoked her own desires, completely against her will.
And, of course, she had seen how worked up he was earlier, just after he'd stripped the wet clothing from her.
Sacrebleu, he was too virile for his own good.
She did not want to be attracted to the outlaw.
'Twas merely because he was a handsome, fit male, and she was a female who had been too long without a man.
At twenty-four years of age, she was no inexperienced virgin.
She'd had a brief tryst with a young man in France more than two years before.
And why not? Being the illegitimate daughter of a French nobleman, she was not considered ideal wife material among the aristocracy.
Nor did she need to be. Her father had left her enough inheritance to support herself.
Despite her high hopes, she'd found no tantalizing Scotsman while in this country for a tryst…
or more. Of a certainty, she had met many fine-looking men—Lachlan's friends, Dirk and Rebbie, for instance—but none of them had truly shown an interest in her.
Now, the first handsome Scot she'd discovered who was attracted to her… and he was a kidnapper and a ruffian.
But when he'd finally accepted that he'd abducted the wrong woman, a different light had entered his eyes.
A more soulful look of regret, almost crestfallen as if he were disappointed in himself.
The cocky laird had been taken down a few notches.
Although she did not know this side of Dugald well, she had a feeling she might like it better than his conceited side.
∞∞∞
The next morn, Dugald awoke long after daybreak.
Aye, he was the chief so he was allowed to sleep in when it suited him.
After riding for two days, and having gotten little sleep between times, he had slumbered like the dead last night.
He told Geordie to bring him a bath along with his breakfast. Once those were taken care of, he headed downstairs.
He met his lady captive in the corridor.
Even the dimness of the cloudy morn could not diminish the brilliance of her bonny blue eyes.
Her hair had been braided and styled perfectly, but this only made him want to take the pins out, run his fingers through the silken strands, and dishevel her once again.
And the rose colored dress she wore—no doubt one of Mairiana's cast-offs—fitted to Camille's lush curves perfectly.
"Did you sleep well last night?" he asked, wondering what he should call her—Camille, m'lady, madame, mademoiselle, lass?
"Oui. Are you going to take me home today?"
"Nay. Not today."
"Why not?" Temper flared in her eyes like a blue flame… lighting the fuse of his arousal. "You know Lindsay will not bring your dagger. He doesn't even know me," she said. "I am of no use to you."
Dugald did not ken that at all. She might be very useful to him, but in a far different way.
She was stunningly beautiful. And although the strawberry juice no longer stained her lovely lips, he still craved a taste of them.
Need curled through him, tantalizing him to act on these maddening urges which had near claimed his sanity the day before.
She had told him countless times that she was unmarried.
"Who is your husband?" he asked, just to be certain, before he did something he might regret.
"I told you! I am not married!" She ground the words out in a strong French accent, intensifying his craving.
He believed her. And thank the saints she was telling the truth, for he did not think he could resist her much longer.
"Why are you looking at me like this, monsieur?"
"Like what?"
She returned his stare, her eyes growing darker. She was bold, and he liked that.
"I think you know," she murmured.
Her words tugged at him, dared him to do exactly what he wanted.
With a swift movement, he slipped one hand around her neck, drew her to him, and captured her lips with his own. Damnation, but she still tasted of strawberries. Had she eaten them for breakfast, too? So sweet and delicious that he wanted to consume her utterly.
Her small hands fisted in the plaid crossing his chest, drawing him closer. When she opened her mouth and allowed him inside, he grew so hard he felt lightheaded. He needed her. Now! Still kissing her, he lifted her off her feet, carried her into his chamber and kicked the door closed.
She gasped and pushed away from him. "What are you about, monsieur?"
He released her, enjoying her dazed expression. Aye, she looked near as stirred up as he was, her face flushed, her blue eyes darkened. "I think you know," he said, throwing her words back at her with a smile.
"I am not a whore, sir!"
He sobered, some of his reasoning ability returning. "I never thought you were."
"Then why are you treating me thus?" she demanded.
"The way you were looking at me, lass… You were devouring me with your eyes, as if you want to crawl into my bed."