Seducing the Highlander (2 page)

“The stupid Sassenach slept like the dead. We had no trouble.”

The boat touched shore, rocking lightly. Uncomfortable, bewildered, Leanna tilted her head, straining against the hazy light, watching the ensuing activity. The burly man said, “Aye, well, is what they say true? Is she worth it?”

The tall man—the one who had carried her out the window—said, “How do I know? It was dark and I could barely see the lass. But then again, they are all the same in the dark, aren’t they?”

“Don’t say that in front of my wife.” A gruff laugh rang out, quickly smothered. “Come, we need to ride. Bring her, Ian.”

 

 

Ian tried to ignore the imploring eyes of the girl in his arms, the river of her loose, pale hair streaming over his chest and face as they rode, the curls like stray silk as they brushed his cheek. Bound and gagged, she could hardly be comfortable, and the soft weight of her body against his elicited a predictable physical reaction. In fact, his shaft was rigid inside his breeches, the sensation of her rounded bottom pressed against his crotch invoking a sexual response that had him shifting in the saddle.

She was the betrothed of his most hated enemy, Ian reminded himself. Pledged to a man without honor and bereft of any moral fiber or code. Her beauty aside, she was now simply an instrument of revenge and he intended to use her as such.

However, he acknowledged wryly, despite the warmth of the night, it would have been better if he had wrapped her in a cloak or a blanket before carrying her off on his horse and racing through the countryside. As it was, she wore nothing but a thin gown. In fact, in the moonlight, he could see not only the fear in her wide dark eyes, but the tempting thrust of her nipples through the sheer fabric, the fullness of her breasts apparent, as was the graceful curve of her throat and the pale perfection of her skin. Their speed whipped her filmy skirts up to her knees, showing her slim, shapely ankles, bound together with a sturdy cord.

No wonder the lascivious Frankton wanted her. With her long, fair hair and delicate features, she was exquisite. Ian speculated on just what kind of hold the baron had over her father to persuade him to pledge the most beautiful woman in northern England to such a ruthless and power- hungry bastard. The stories were varied, but almost all of them intimated Frankton had done no less than purchase his bride-to-be.

They rode on, the noise of more than a hundred horses filling the road, the company not stopping until they were certain there were enough miles between them and any rescue attempt. Trotting into a clearing next to a rushing stream, Ian pulled up his horse and told his men, “Rest your mounts for a few minutes. We aren’t camping until we set foot on Scottish soil, but I think we’re safe enough to stop.”

He slid to the ground, carried the girl to where a fallen log lay next to the stream, set her on it, and squatted down on his haunches to look into her eyes. He said with lethal sincerity, “If I remove the gag, you will not scream, you will not beg or cry, or cause trouble of any kind. I am already furious, tired, and hungry. I haven’t slept in two days or had more than a single shot of whiskey. My patience does not even exist at this point. Do not test me, lass. Understand?”

The girl managed a nod, her lush lashes lowering a fraction.

Obligingly, he reached behind her head and loosened the knot on the gag, pulling the cloth from her mouth. Her chest heaved as she took a shuddering breath, her breasts, uplifted and high from having her hands bound behind her back, quivering in a tantalizing display. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I imagine you would like a drink of water.” Ian tore his gaze away from the outline of those full mounds only barely shielded by thin linen, and went to get a cup from his pack, filling it from the cool stream and bringing it back to where she sat. “I’ll untie you, but if you annoy me in any way, you’ll be trussed like a chicken for the rest of the journey.”

“I understand.” Her voice was submissive, but her gaze straightforward.

Loosening the bonds on her ankles first, he couldn’t help but notice how dainty and feminine her feet were, and how warm and smooth her skin. He untied her hands, slipped the cords from her fragile wrists, and handed her the cup. She drank with obvious thirst, and he felt a little guilty at his less than humane treatment of such a lovely, delicate creature. He then squelched that unwanted emotion easily enough when he thought of his uncle, already infirm and suffering from gout, locked in some squalid pile of rock that passed for an English jail. Uncle Thomas should have known better than to venture into business with anyone who lived on English soil, for the vermin were not to be trusted. Had he been consulted, Ian would have warned him about the despicable baron.

“Damn Frankton to hell,” he said out loud, staring down at her graceful drooping form.

Her head came up at the sound of the baron’s name, the cup suspended in her fingers, her eyes dark and wide.

“You can thank your future husband for your little Scottish sojourn, my lovely captive,” he told her with a humorless smile. “His habit of having people arrested on ridiculous charges so he can take possession of their property has been a thorn in my side for a long time, but I have done nothing because he has left me and mine alone. Did you realize your intended bribes officials and claims fraud on a regular basis? There
is
fraud in all the cases he drags into court, but he fails to mention it is on his side. Since he coerces the magistrates and makes the charge first, his victims are all too often taken unawares.”

She shook her head, golden hair brushing her shoulders.

“I am afraid he recently stepped over the line I tolerate and I can no longer ignore his venal dishonesty. ’Tis a fact,” he added truthfully, “I cannot ever remember being quite so . . . irritated.”

Whether she was responding to his warning to remain silent, or just horrified to learn of her betrothed’s immoral activities, he wasn’t sure, but she still said nothing. Ian told her, “You may get up and stretch your limbs a little, lass, but stay right here.”

Turning and walking back to the circle of horses and men, he saw that he wasn’t the only man there to notice the considerable charms of their female guest. Most of them openly stared, and when she stood up and the dappled moonlight flowed over the shimmering, almost transparent gown, he heard someone groan out loud.

“Now, that,” an amused voice spoke at his elbow, “is a bonny, bonny lass, boy.”

With a glance at his friend Angus, Ian lifted a brow as he pulled a flask from his saddlebag. “Aye, I certainly hope so, considering the trouble we’ve gone to take her. I wish I could be there when that greedy, lustful bastard realizes his enticing bride-to-be is no longer locked in her tower, waiting for the wedding, but is instead enjoying a protracted stay at my castle.”

“He’ll be livid.” Sounding delighted, Angus chuckled. “Here, give me a drink and let me just imagine it. What a delight to foil the English rodent. When do we send the ransom note demanding the charges be dropped?”

Ian passed the flask after a deep drink, wiping his mouth and narrowing his eyes. “I’ve changed my mind. I have thought it over. He might agree, take back the girl, and then protest duress in court, reinstating the charges, the treacherous bastard. Anyone else would honor the agreement, but since he has no honor . . . he needs killing, really. Even from our distance, his antics have become too much to be tolerated.”

Angus lifted his bushy brows. “Then why don’t you simply hunt him down and kill him, boy? We took the girl for nothing.”

“Nay.” Looking over at where she stood, like a ghostly promise of paradise, all warm curves and alluring beauty, Ian said softly, “Her abduction has a twofold purpose. The first, of course, is that I will not have to hunt him down. He will come to me to retrieve his prize.”

“And the second?” Angus asked, taking another swig, his black eyes bright with interest.

Ian’s smile was dark and dangerous. “The second is that when he realizes where she is, and who has her, he can torture himself as he imagines me between those lovely legs, fucking her whenever I wish, enjoying her delectable body.”

Angus roared with laughter, clapping him on the shoulder so hard, Ian almost winced. “Excellent, my friend, excellent. I have never met a woman yet who could resist your pretty face.”

“It isn’t my face,” Ian countered dryly, “that they can’t resist.”

T
hey had stopped. Leanna realized she must have been dozing, for she came suddenly back into an awareness of her surroundings.

After incessant hours of movement, after being jostled and windblown for what seemed like a lifetime, the relief from that awful jarring pace was like waking from a dream. Leanna blinked. Her face rested on a hard surface, the steely muscles moving under her cheek telling her it was indeed the chest of the tall, dark man called Ian by some, laird by others. He had seemed to be not only in charge of the troop of men who had so efficiently plucked her from what was supposed to be an impenetrable tower, but had solely cared for her on the journey to this place, the only one who had even touched her. The others had watched her; she had felt the steady and interested male appraisal, but no one had as much as said anything but a polite word.

She would remember his scent, she thought, still half in a groggy sleep state. It was elusive but intriguing, a mixture of smoky liquor, horses, and clean linen. Being lifted in strong arms now felt normal—she had endured it the whole journey, had been enveloped for all those hours in the saddle in that strength and that scent.

And yet her tall, handsome captor had not once bothered to tell her his name.

When she opened her eyes fully, she realized that they were in a courtyard, the ring of the hooves of more than a hundred horses deafening. Stamping and whinnying, the animals snorted, and she fearfully tightened her arms around the neck of the man holding her as he slid off his mount into the melee of restless, sweating beasts. He whispered softly in her ear, “You’re safe, lass; don’t panic.”

Through the veil of her lashes, she saw his face, his eyes dark, his cheekbones high and arrogant, his mouth modeled by what surely must have been the gods, it was so masculine, so firm. “We’re here. All is well,” he assured her.

Still a little confused and not fully awake, she clung to him as he carried her toward a huge arched entrance, the massive door thrown open to the warm night, well lit and inviting despite the immense dimensions. Once inside, she could see they had entered a large hall, hung with tapestries and well furnished, dominated by a long table with enough chairs to seat thirty people. The floors were polished stone and gleamed, the air perfumed with the scent of roasting meat, and the soft sound of a lute being played was arrested by their entrance.

“My heavens, who is this waif? Is she injured?” demanded an authoritarian female voice.

“She’s exhausted,” Leanna heard the man say, his arms still easily holding her body. “We rode hard.”

“Who is she . . . ? My lord, what a beautiful child.” A soft finger stroked her cheek. The woman touching her was very short, much shorter than the tall man holding her, so all Leanna could really see was a halo of dark graying hair.

“I’ll explain later, Rossie. Right now I’ll take her upstairs. Could you care for her yourself?”

Rossie, whoever she was, said crisply, “I insist on both, you young rogue. I’ll care for her, the sweet young thing, and you will explain this all to me once you’ve washed and fed.”

“I promise.”

The humble boyish note in his voice was a surprise, Leanna thought wearily, as he carried her up a winding staircase built close to a high wall. With her head on his chest she heard the strong beat of his heart as he effortlessly climbed the steps, and she wondered—not for the first time—who and what this man was who had gone to such lengths to abduct her.

He shouldered his way through a doorway and stalked across the room to deposit her on the softness of a mattress.

It took her less than a second to fall back to sleep.

 

 

Rolling the loosened muscles in his shoulders, Ian toweled his hair, drying it briskly, his bath helping a great measure in making him feel normal again. So had the plate of food he had ravenously devoured. The pint of whiskey, he thought cheerfully, didn’t hurt either. It was no wonder, after such a grueling pace on their journey back, that Lady Leanna had fallen asleep so quickly.

The knock on his door was brisk and merely a formality.

He frowned and hurriedly buttoned his breeches before his visitor burst on in, then said with resignation, “Aye?”

His old nurse, Rossie, was more mother to him than servant. When she flung open the door she fairly charged into his bedroom, fire in her faded blue eyes. She demanded with very little respect for his rank, “What are you going to do with that lovely lassie, Ian? I saw the way you looked at her, like a wolf circling a rabbit.”

Towering over her by more than a foot, Ian simply lifted a brow.

Plump, with formidable dignity, Rossie glared up at him. “Men are impossible. Angus told me what is going on, and how you could bed a helpless girl as a part of your wicked scheme—”

“I have never forced myself on an unwilling female,” he interrupted mildly.

“No, you handsome devil, I’m sure you never have.” She sniffed disapprovingly. “That wee bairn won’t be a match for you, at a guess.”

“Lady Leanna is a woman fully grown.” He could vouch for it personally, because there was nothing childlike about her voluptuous body, and he knew from the information he received when he plotted the abduction that the lass was nearly twenty years old.

Rossie waved a dismissive hand. “She’s an innocent lamb. I saw it in her eyes.”

“I don’t see how. She was half- asleep,” he argued, crossing his arms over his chest.