The Laird's Captive Wife. Joanna Fulford
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let it go.
‘The border country is wild and dangerous; too dangerous by far for a woman alone.’
‘There was no other choice.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He paused. ‘You never told me your name.’
‘You never asked.’
One dark brow lifted. ‘I’m asking now.’
‘Ashlynn.’
‘A pretty name and most apt, I find.’
As he spoke he knew the words for truth. Dougal was right: most men would find her a welcome addition to their bed. Unbidden his mind went back to the scene by the river and relived it with startling clarity. He indulged the memory for a moment and then pushed it away. That kind of distraction had no place in his scheme of things.
Unable to follow his thought and uneasy beneath that apparently dispassionate gaze Ashlynn forced herself to meet his eye.
‘You still have all the advantage.’
‘Aye, I believe I do.’
‘Is your identity such a closely guarded secret that I may not know it?’
This time irony was underlain by a hint of impudence. Moreover, there was an expression in those blue eyes that was almost provocative as though she were testing the boundaries. It was tempting to show her just how close those were, but again he let it ride. His turn was coming.
‘No secret, my lady,’ he replied. ‘I am Iain McAlpin.’
The name seemed strangely familiar somehow though it resisted precise identification. It niggled like a bad tooth. Earlier she had heard him say they would stay at Hexham that night. Where exactly? Surely no inn could cater for so large a party. Had he friends then who would give them shelter? His men called him lord. Lord of what? Where was Dark Mount? The missing pieces of the puzzle plagued her. Rather than labour over it she decided to ask. The answer was given readily enough.
‘Dark Mount is a fortress at the head of Glengarron.’
‘Glengarron!’
‘Aye.’
She was suddenly very still as, in one moment of total comprehension, the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
‘You are the Laird of Glengarron?’
‘That’s right.’
Ashlynn felt her stomach knot. In her relief at having escaped the hands of the Normans she had put herself into others every bit as dangerous, for who in the north of England had not heard of Glengarron or the man they dubbed Black Iain? It was small comfort to think she had no gold, nothing with which to trade for her freedom, in short nothing to tempt him at all. Then she remembered his earlier conversation with Dougal and her cheeks paled.
‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll come with us as far as Jedborough at least.’
‘Jedborough?’
‘Aye, I’ve business there. When it’s concluded I’ll make my decision.’
She drew in a deep breath and tried to get her voice under control. ‘You could leave me at Hexham.’
‘I could, but I won’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘It doesn’t accord with my plans.’
Incredulous she glared at him but the gaze that met hers was unwavering and utterly disconcerting. Indignation swelled like a tide.
‘Why should I co-operate with you?’
‘Because you won’t like the consequences if you don’t.’
The threat was thinly veiled despite the mild tone with which it was delivered and, for a moment, it hung there between them. Given his previous experience of her, he was half expecting an outburst of rage. It never materialised, though her chin lifted at a defiant angle. In spite of himself he was amused and oddly touched. With somewhat grudging admiration he acknowledged that the lass had spirit as well as looks.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘My future can be of no interest or importance to you.’
‘It isn’t.’
‘Then the only reason for holding me is concerned with profit.’
‘Good enough reason, in my view.’
Ashlynn strove against rising panic. ‘Leave me at Hexham.’
‘I have just said I will not. The matter is closed.’
‘I cannot…I will not go with you further.’
The dark gaze met and held hers but now there was no discernible trace of humour in it.
‘You can, my lass, and you will.’
Chapter Three
The question of how to free herself from her captor exercised Ashlynn strongly now. What she would do after effecting an escape was uncertain; the important thing was to get away and find somewhere to hide. Somewhere he wouldn’t think of looking. When he failed to find her he would perhaps give up for all his efforts seemed to be directed towards reaching Scotland. What was his business in Jedburgh? Who was he meeting there? ‘After that I’ll make my decision.’ Since she had no close kin who might ransom her, there was only one other way for her captor to profit. The Scots frequently seized prisoners on their raids across the border. Slaves were a valuable commodity. She shivered. Was this what the brute intended? The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. That being so, the more necessary it was to prevent it.
The first stars had appeared before they reached the outskirts of Hexham and already frost glittered in the blue twilight. The frozen breath of men and horses hung in the still air as the group drew rein and dismounted before an imposing walled manor. Ashlynn looked around her, taking in the house and the courtyard with its outbuildings and churned snow, while the men led the horses off towards a big barn. Then Iain took hold of her arm and guided her towards the house, a large rambling affair of timber and stone. A servant hastened to open the door and the laird strode into a large hall, drawing his captive with him. It was dimly lit and passages led off it. She was conducted down one of these and thence to a door off to the right which the servant opened. It gave on to a small bedchamber. The man set down the candle on the table and then withdrew.
Ashlynn cast a furtive glance around. The chamber was clean but sparsely furnished. There was a window, now shuttered fast, and a fire burning in the hearth. By its light she took in table and chair, a stand with a basin and ewer on it and, most prominently, a bed on the far side by the wall. With calmness she was far from feeling she turned to face Iain. The confines of the room served only to emphasise that powerful presence, and he was watching her now with an unnervingly penetrating gaze. Her chin tilted a little and, forcing herself to return that steady regard, she waited.
‘You will sleep here this night,’ he said then. ‘I will have food sent to you shortly.’
‘Whose house is this?’
‘Does it matter?’
The tone brought a tinge of colour to her cheeks. ‘No.’
‘There are things it is better not to know.’ He paused. ‘You should try and get some rest. We have another long ride ahead of us tomorrow.’ With that he turned to go.
At those words all her earlier desperation revived and she caught hold of his arm. ‘Why will you not leave me here? Surely the price of one more slave matters little to you.’
‘I told you that the matter is not open to further discussion.’
‘I disagree.’
His hands closed on her shoulders, drawing her closer. The dark gaze bored into