Kidnapped By The Highland Rogue

Brodie nodded at Gilbert. Arabella’s eyes were filled with fear over the girl’s fate. No one needed to speak of the possibilities.

‘We will return home at first light,’ he said. ‘Better to be closer when she is found and returned.’

He hoped his voice sounded more confident than he felt. In truth, if the girl was found, ’twas most likely she would be dead. And, if not dead, then...

‘Brodie, why would they take her?’ Arabella asked, her voice trembling.

She already knew the answer, but he could see it was her fear and worry that made her ask it. And, truly, what could he say? Gilbert’s snort of derision made his blood boil. If he had not been committed to keeping the peace between their clans, Brodie would have punched him in the face to remove the sneer that went with the sound.

‘We will find her, Bella,’ he vowed.

‘And then?’ his wife asked.

‘We will bring her home.’

They ate in silence that evening, no one offered any chatter or gossip when all knew of the situation and the seriousness of it. The hours crawled by and neither he nor Bella slept a wink.

* * *

Barely had the first glimmer of sun brightened the sky when they bade Gilbert farewell and rode out of the castle’s yard on to the road that would take them south to Drumlui.

These attacks were well planned and escalating to the point where it would be expected for him to take action. Brodie doubted not that some sign of The Camerons had been found at the site of the attack in the village. So, someone was trying to stir up trouble in a very large manner. As they rode towards Drumlui, Brodie thought on who would benefit from an escalation in hostilities between his family and Arabella’s.

Chapter Five

A bright light cut through the darkness.

Her head hurt but so did her neck and her back. She struggled to remember why. Had she been sick? Had she been...?

It all flooded back to her in a moment and she groaned as the memories of the attack and the stranger filled her mind. Reaching up, she tried to feel the back of her head and was surprised to see the knife in her grasp.

Fia knew Iain had returned to the cave and could remember the bawdy calls from the others. She could see him standing before her, expecting her to...to... And then she could not remember. Sitting up, she placed the knife on the ground close by and rearranged her clothing. With a cautious pressure, she tested the size and tenderness of the lump on her head and discovered it seemed a bit less than the last time she remembered checking it.

As she climbed to her feet, Fia realised the dizziness was gone as well. Wobbling as she stood, she waited for her knees to stop shaking before walking to the bucket there. When she’d sorted herself out, she noticed that it was quiet outside the cave. Creeping to the opening, she leaned down and peeked outside.

She could see only as far along the path as the turn in it just a few yards away. Even kneeling down did not make it possible to see more. Dare she leave the cave? Would they have left her here alone? Had they moved on without her?

Without any idea of where she was, Fia suspected she would have to escape on her own and try to get back to Mackintosh lands if they had left them. But the memories of Brodie speaking to Arabella about the recent attacks across his lands made her think that she might still be near Glenlui and their village of Drumlui.

Fia retrieved the knife and took one of the blankets. If it had taken them two or more days of riding to reach this place, it would take her many more than that to return home. So, she grabbed the skin of ale and the oatcakes she’d not touched. Glancing around, she found a larger sack and emptied it, placing the skin and oatcakes and blanket inside. It would be easier to make her way carrying the one thing. Prepared now, she crept out of the cave and waited until her eyes were accustomed to the brightness.

Any other time she loved a sunny day, but this day a little grey sky and cloudiness might have helped hide her movements. With the sun shining as it was, she would be in plain sight of anyone looking. Fia stayed close to the cave wall and then crept through the bushes, looking and listening for sounds of the others. From the laughter and voices last night, she thought there were four or five men. When the sound of branches crackled behind her, none of that mattered. Only escaping did, so she ran like the devil was on her heels.

‘Bloody hell!’ a man called out loudly. ‘She is gettin’ away again, Iain.’

Fia ran in the opposite direction she’d planned and realised that the path felt somehow familiar to her. That was not possible. She pushed thinking away and simply followed her instincts now.

And those instincts led her to a clearing. The man stalking her was getting closer, she could hear his laboured breathing right behind her. The sight before her forced her to stop and then the shock at what she remembered kept her from moving again. The one chasing her nearly slammed into her back and then grabbed her by the shoulders.

This was the centre of their camp.

Nay, not the outlaws who now stood here, but the Mackintoshes who had sought refuge all those years ago. This was where they’d hidden themselves while their cousin Caelan tried to destroy them all and control the clan. There had been dozens and dozens of men, women and children here, living as they could, keeping their faith in Brodie’s right to inherit and lead them.

She had lived in this very place for almost a year before Brodie succeeded and they returned to Drumlui. Fia knew where this place was.

And now she was back.

In the middle of the band of outlaws who had kidnapped her during their attack.

Six men of various shapes and sizes and temperaments stood before her, all holding some weapon or another. But, those weapons were not the terrifying thing in this situation. Their gazes filled with desire, plain lust and need and danger.

Terror filled her then, sheer, utter terror, making it impossible to draw a breath or think her way out of this. The tight grasping hold on her shoulders would not let her move much until he began shoving her forward, ever closer to the danger before her.

Her fear spurred them on now and they began calling out threats and...promises. She searched for the one who’d helped her before and could not see him. The wind shifted then, bringing the smoke of the fire at her. Her eyes teared and her nose burned at the smell. The villain at her back pushed her closer and now the scent of sweat and dirt reached her.

‘She looks awake and ready now, Iain Dubh,’ the giant man called out. She’d not seen him approach but Iain shoved the man holding her aside and grabbed her by the wrist to hold her there. ‘If ye canna swive her now, I really will need to show ye the right way of it.’

‘I hiv told ye—I amna sharing her,’ he replied. The men hissed and guffawed their disappointment. ‘But,’ he began, turning her to face him, ‘I am no’ opposed to letting her do other things for ye scoundrels.’

Yelling and clapping, the men grew louder and more boisterous over this. Fia stared in horror at Iain Dubh, wondering if he would do this to her.

‘Nay! Nay, do no’ mistake my kindness,’ he called out to them. ‘She can cook for us. ’twould be better than the burnt mess ye call porridge, Martainn!’ he said, meeting her gaze now. ‘Can ye cook, lass?’

Fia did not say a word, fear yet held her in its control. All she could do was give a slight nod in reply.

‘There ye go! Finally, a decent meal is to be had,’ he said. With a grip that did not relent, he tugged her closer. ‘And I would no’ mind if she washed my trews and shirt,’ he said. ‘They are close to standin’ on their own.’ He laughed then and pointed at one of the others. ‘Lundie, will we be here long enough for her to do some laundry?’

‘Aye,’ a tall man off to one side said. She’d seen him before. In the village when Iain Dubh had claimed her. He must be in charge of this ruthless group. ‘A few days.’

‘There ye go, friends,’ Iain Dubh said, smiling at them. ‘Ye can hiv a hot meal in yer bellies and clothes on yer backs that dinna smell as bad as Micheil does.’

The mood of the men had changed from dangerous to something less so. Oh, she did not doubt that any one of them would seize her and do those things they’d said, but, for now, they seemed calmed from their worst. Calmed by Iain Dubh. With only words, he’d eased their demand for her and given them something else to please them. When he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and resting one of his hands on her buttocks, all good thoughts about his abilities and his intention scattered.

‘And when she is tired of cooking and laundry, I wi’ keep her busy with other...chores!’ The men laughed then and Iain leaned his face down to hers. In that last moment, as she planned to bite him again if he tried that disgusting thing with his tongue, he whispered so only she could hear. ‘If ye naysay me, lass, I will give ye over to them.’

Though she expected the kiss, the gentleness of it surprised her. As did the feel of his hand in its intimate caress. Trapped between his strong chest and his embrace, Fia tried not to fight him. His tone gave no indication that he was jesting or did not mean what he’d said.

So, instead, to keep panic away and not struggle in his arms, Fia did what she did when trying to distract herself—she began counting the number of cousins in The Mackintosh Clan. She managed to count the first fifteen, by name and age, before the kiss changed and drew her attention back to him and his mouth. He had slanted his mouth against hers and was rubbing his tongue over her lips.

Mayhap because she’d not been paying attention, it was not as abhorrent as that first time? Now, though, he slid his other hand into her hair, holding her head close as he managed to get his tongue inside her mouth and...taste her! The hand on her bottom caressed her there and pressed her against the obvious hardness in his groin. When she shifted in his embrace, he lifted his head and laughed aloud.

‘I think the lass is interested after all,’ he said so everyone could hear. ‘But, ye hiv a meal to make, love. See to that and then I wi’ see to ye.’

Before she could speak, he spun her around to face the fire and swatted her on her bottom, sending her in that direction. Fia let out a squeak and she stumbled away from him. Making porridge would be easy and preferable to what the scoundrel had planned for her. Gathering the edges of her torn gown, she tightened the belt and linen strips holding it all closed.

‘Where are your supplies?’ she asked, looking at Lundie. He was in charge of this motley group, so she would give him his due.

He led her over to a tarp-covered pile and tugged one edge of it loose. Wooden crates and sacks of all sorts and sizes lay there. Whether bought or stolen, she knew not, but most staples needed to feed the gang were here. And in adequate amounts.

Glancing around, she found a large iron pot that could be used. As she lifted it, she saw and smelled the burned-on layers of many previous uses. As Fia was about to ask if she could take it to the stream and wash it out she realised she held knowledge about this encampment that they most likely did not.

She knew where the stream led. She knew which caves connected. And, she remembered where the secret tunnels were. Brodie had insisted that everyone in their camp—be they man, woman or child—know an escape route from it. Fia did not remember any talk that those pathways had been closed or filled in when they all moved back to Drumlui, so that knowledge could be the means of her escape.

‘Is there a place to wash this out and get water?’ she asked.

‘Aye, down that path, but ’tis a good mile.’

‘Is that where I’m to launder their clothing?’ she asked.

‘Aye.’ Lundie nodded and then whistled. A few seconds later, one of the men broke through the trees and approached. ‘Take her to the stream, Martainn.’

‘Isn’t she Iain Dubh’s?’ he asked, rubbing the back of his hand across his grimy forehead.

‘I did not tell you to swive her at the stream. I said take her there so she can clean that and get water,’ Lundie explained. ‘Only that, do you understand?’

For a moment, it looked as though Martainn would object again, but he held his words behind his teeth. With a nod, he pointed to the path leading off to the left. And down the mountain she knew. Grabbing the pot and an empty bucket, she followed his directions to the stream. Fia could have gotten there faster using a different route or even one of the tunnels, but she kept that knowledge tucked away.

For the first time since this terrifying ordeal had begun, she felt a sense of relief and hope. As long as she was alive, she could escape here. No matter what happened, she could get home.

The walk down took much less time and effort than climbing the steep incline of their path back. In spite of Martainn’s initial reluctance, he was not such a bad overseer. He kept his distance as she knelt at the stream and scrubbed out the pot. He even told her what supplies remained in the boxes and sacks. Clearly, he had tired of being in charge of meals and was glad to pass it over to someone else.

When she’d managed to find a stone with a flat end, Fia used it as a way to scrape the coated grime off the pot’s bottom and sides. She noticed that Martainn’s attention drifted and she used that few moments to clean her hands and face, tighten her garments and remake the braid from which her hair threatened constantly to escape. Once done, she filled both the pot and the bucket with water and stood. To her surprise, Martainn took them from her and motioned for her to go ahead of him. In a short time, they entered the centre of the camp and found the others there waiting.

With no interference other than a few rude comments whenever she bent over, Fia gathered the oats and a few other ingredients and soon had the porridge cooking over the fire. Keeping a close watch on it and adding more water as was needed, it took little time before the smell of it spread through the area. Before she knew it, the men were standing with bowls and spoons in hand, waiting for her to finish.

As she scooped out porridge for each of them, a few whispered words of thanks and Fia found herself surprised by it. Martainn’s was the loudest and she almost laughed at it. After she’d served all of them, Fia moved away from the pot and sat down on a log. No one stopped her or said much for they were too busy filling their bellies. Then a bowl was shoved under her nose and she looked up at Iain Dubh.

‘Ye didna eat, lass,’ he said, holding it before her. She took it with a nod. A spoon followed and her stomach growled loudly enough for him to hear it.

‘In truth, I was not sure there would be enough,’ she said. She only then remembered the sack with the bannocks in it and could not remember where she dropped it.

‘Is it cooked well enough?’ she asked, eating her first spoonful. It was blander than she was accustomed to, preferring to add fresh cream and nuts and even a wee bit of the uisge beatha made by the Mackintosh’s brewers to it at home.

‘Och, aye,’ he said. When she raised her gaze to his, he was staring at her. That bit of amusement glinted in his deep-blue eyes and she waited on the rest. ‘So much so that I canna wait to discover yer other talents.’

His attempt at humour over such a matter soured her stomach and she put the bowl down and looked away. Only Anndra’s approach broke the tension between them.

‘Is there more?’ he asked, holding out his bowl. Fia nodded and rose to give him the rest of it. She scraped the bottom of the pot, filling his bowl as much as she could.

Unwilling to return to the matter between her and Iain, she reached for the bucket of water and added some into the iron cooking pot to loosen the remainder of the porridge so it would not burn on the surface. In spite of trying to ignore him and the looming danger, she was aware of his presence as soon as he approached.

‘I dinna ken yer name, lass. What are ye called?’

She hesitated in answering him. Was she safer as Fia, Lady Arabella’s maid, or as an unknown villager they’d kidnapped? Before she could decide, he nodded.

‘I see then. Keeping yer identity secret? Weel, I wi’ give ye a name so we all ken what to call ye when we need ye. For cooking and cleaning and the like,’ he added with a wink. He stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and his blue eyes gleaming with mischief now. A lock of his black hair fell across his brow, making him look like the scoundrel he was. ‘What do ye think, lads? Is she an Isobel or mayhap a Margaret?’

It brought their attention to her once more, making her very nervous. They stared and studied her for several minutes in silence before Martainn spoke. Fia fought to keep her mouth shut, remembering that silence might be more helpful than speaking out.

‘My auntie Agneis cooked well. Mayhap Agneis?’ he suggested.

‘Yer Aunt Aggie was ugly as sin,’ Anndra called out. ‘This one isna that. Let’s call her... Cora.’

The men all shook their heads and complained about both of those names. Another one, a man with bright red hair and a long beard, one she’d not spoken to, stepped forward. ‘I think Sile is a good name for her.’

Fia watched and listened as they each offered suggestion after suggestion without ever coming close to her true name. ’twas interesting though to watch their manners and hear the comments about the kith or kin with the names they said. And, she learned the names of her captors and began to figure out who led this group and who followed. The years of observing the laird and lady were of some use in assessing people.

Lundie was in charge and everyone followed his orders.

Iain Dubh seemed respected, though begrudgingly, by the rest of the group. Even now he used humour to defuse the tension.

Anndra, Micheil, Martainn, Iain Ruadh and Conall all followed orders. Though there seemed to be a sense of comradery among them, she did not doubt for a moment that they would turn on each other if the right reason came along.

‘So, Iain Dubh, what’s she to be called?’ Micheil called out, clearly tiring of this matter. But, by asking Iain, Micheil confirmed Iain’s claim on her.

Iain seemed to think on it and then smiled. She could not even guess which suggestion he would choose.

‘I think Lundie had the best one. We wi’ call her “Ilysa”.’

The name echoed through the clearing as each man tried it out. Fia noticed it had been Lundie’s second suggestion. A smart decision to use their leader’s choice, she thought.

‘Come, Ilysa. We will stroll down to the stream to clean up the cooking pot.’ The men did not mistake his meaning or his intention.

Nor did she.

’Twas yet early in the day. The weather was clear and warm for a spring morning here. There were hours and hours before night would fall, but Fia doubted that her efforts to protect herself would wait that long. As he lifted the now-cooled pot and held out a hand to her, the very devil sparkled in his eyes. Deciding she must reserve her strength for when the time came, she accepted his hand and walked at his side.

Fia kept thinking about the various paths and hidden places in the camp. The cooking pot might make a fine weapon if she needed it. Then she could hide until these outlaws moved on or help arrived.

Chapter Six

Ilysa.

She was no more Ilysa than he was Iain Dubh, but both names would have to work for now. As she walked at his side, quietly and with her attention elsewhere, Niall wondered what she was thinking. Was she worried about losing her virtue to him? Or that she was facing an attack of some kind when they reached the stream?

Her expression remained empty as they walked, even when he drew to a halt before the opening of the cave. A slight frown and gathering of her eyebrows were the only sign of concern from her.

‘I hiv need of a few things,’ he said. ‘Ye wi’ wait here?’

Surprise that he phrased it as a question showed for a moment before she nodded in reply.

‘I do not think I have a choice.’

‘Och, aye, la... Ilysa, you always have a choice.’ If her glance showed surprise or confusion, he did not let it stop him.

Niall did not give her a chance to get into mischief or try to escape—even if it would have been impossible. He grabbed the sack that held his clothing, meagre as it was, and a small jar from another sack and put them together in one. Ducking to leave the cave, he thought of one more item and put it in, too.

He did not take her hand again, but she walked at his side in silence. She’d already taken this path down with Martainn so he did not need to tell her this way or that. About halfway down, he took the cooking pot from her and carried it. The sun broke through the gathering clouds just as they reached the stream.

‘I will wash that out,’ she said, holding out her hand.

Niall gave it to her and sat in a spot where the sun warmed the ground. As she walked to the edge of the rushing water, he realised that it must have been the same place she’d used before for she moved directly to it. It was only as she knelt there that he got a clear look at her.

She looked worse for the wear. Even though he could see she’d tried to clean herself up, dried blood yet remained on her head and down the back of her gown. But that was not what drew his eye. Nay, what caught his attention was the sheer and utter whiteness of her complexion. Her face had little colour in it at all, making those eerie green eyes appear even bigger. Her hands, with those graceful fingers, trembled as she struggled to complete her chore. And her body shook as she leaned down to dip the pot in the water.

And, though she most likely did not know he saw it, he watched her eyes drifting closed several times as she saw to her task. He’d been so busy trying to keep up his façade that he’d never noticed her weakening condition. But now he had. Niall stood and strode over to her and took the pot from her hands, tossing it on the ground next to them.

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