The Laird's Captive Wife. Joanna Fulford
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to her lips. He was the law here, every last arrogant inch of him. He was also very strong and much too close for comfort. She could feel the warmth of his hands through her clothing and the curbed anger behind his gaze. His face came much nearer to hers. Dangerously near. If he bent his head their lips would touch. The realisation both shocked and excited.
‘Do you understand me?’
‘I…yes.’.
‘I hope for your sake that you do, lass.’
Unable to think of anything to say Ashlynn remained silent. He had half-expected her to argue further but when she did not the anger faded from his eyes and was replaced by something else entirely, something she could not name but which sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with winter cold. Iain leaned closer, breathing the smell of wool and sweet air from her clothing and beneath it, the scent of the woman, subtle and arousing. The response caught him unawares and he drew a deep breath, mentally upbraiding himself. There could be no dalliance here, however tempting the thought might be. Slowly he pulled away from her.
‘I must leave you now for I have other matters to attend to,’ he said then. ‘Get some rest, Ashlynn.’
His hands relinquished their hold and she was free. She remained quite still, watching him cross the room. He paused a moment on the threshold.
‘If you require anything else let the servant know.’
As the door closed behind him she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. She tried the latch anyway. The door didn’t budge. For a moment she leaned against it, listening to the sound of his departing footsteps. When at length they died away she moved slowly back to the hearth and warmed herself before the fire, staring down into the flames, her thoughts in chaos.
Some time later the servant reappeared with a tray of food: good white bread and a large earthen pot of a fragrant meaty stew. She ate all of it for the long ride had sharpened her appetite. The food did a great deal to banish the chill and restore her spirits. By the time she had finished it was full dark and the edges of the room were blurred in shadow. She glanced at the bed. There seemed little else to do save sleep but at least it would be a welcome oblivion. Removing her cloak she undressed to her shirt and then curled up beneath the fur coverlets.
Having left Ashlynn’s chamber Iain was heading for his own quarters when he met Dougal.
‘Are the men settled?’
‘Aye, my lord.’
‘And the injured?’
‘They too.’
‘What of the lad we found at Heslingfield?’
‘In poor case. If it hadn’t been for the cold slowing the blood loss, he’d have died long before we found him.’ Dougal paused. ‘Have you told her?’
‘No. She believes that all her kin were slain.’
‘You really think he is kin? He might be just a servant.’
‘They’re related all right,’ Iain replied. ‘The likeness is too pronounced.’
‘Well then, perhaps it is better she believes him dead like the others. Frankly, I doubt he’ll survive and then she’d only have to go through it all again.’
Visualising the destruction he had witnessed at Heslingfield when they rode by, Iain nodded. ‘She’s been through enough just now. Let’s wait on events. He might survive after all.’
‘Aye, perhaps. If he does, it’ll come as a happy surprise to her, won’t it? Happy for us too were you inclined to sell him on later.’
‘Keep me informed, Dougal, but say nothing to the lass. Tell the men to keep their mouths shut too. I’ll tell her when the time is right.’
Having bidden the other goodnight Iain retired, but sleep did not come easily. On reflection, he wondered whether silence was the best course of action with regard to the injured Saxon youth. The resemblance to the girl was striking. It had been apparent at once. He could see Dougal’s point and knew the advice was well intentioned, but at the same time was aware of a vague twinge of guilt. Was he right to keep her in ignorance? The lad’s injuries were serious and there was a long way yet to travel. He was still unconscious which, given his other wounds, was probably just as well.
Then there was Ashlynn herself, spirited and rebellious too judging from her response to his plans. Recalling the scene that evening he frowned. Whether she liked it or not she was going along. There was no other viable alternative: to do anything else would take time. That would run counter to his plans and he couldn’t afford to let it happen. Too much lay in the balance. Iain thumped the pillow hard: he was as far as ever from having his revenge, the work of months lost. By the time he completed his mission and was free to start hunting again the Norman might be anywhere.
The recollection of his enemy brought other related images: that first brief startling glimpse of the lass afforded him by Fitzurse ‘Do you like her? I’ll give her to you.’ That was swiftly followed by the memory of dragging her from the stream. In truth his sole intention in removing her clothing had been to restore some warmth to her body and quickly too. Yet when he’d stripped off the torn and sodden gown he had been unprepared for the beauty of what lay beneath or for the way the image would linger in his imagination. She had been understandably angry with him about that but, while he regretted the circumstances he could not for the life of him regret the memory of her naked body. Was that why he had been tempted this evening? His anger returned, this time directed at himself. Temptation was something he couldn’t afford. In the years since Eloise there had been women, occasionally; women willing enough to satisfy his physical need. Those brief encounters were ideal: both parties benefited in their different ways and then parted. There were no complications, no entanglements, nothing to deflect a man from his sworn purpose. He thumped the pillow again. Once he was free of his obligations at Jedburgh then he’d decide what to do with the girl.
The next thing Ashlynn knew it was dawn. With the light returned all the detail of the strange room and the consciousness of her current precarious situation. As she recalled how it had come about her immediate dread was submerged by much keener sensations of sorrow and loss. For several minutes she didn’t move until, with an effort, she had forced back the negative emotions. They wouldn’t help her. She must help herself now.
Climbing from the bed she dressed quickly, trying to marshal her thoughts. Whatever happened she would not allow herself to be taken to Jedburgh or, God forbid, Glengarron. Having made her feelings clear on that score, she knew he would keep a close eye on her now so it behoved her to be careful, to make it seem as though she had bowed to his will. Having lulled him into a sense of false security she would await her opportunity to escape.
Presently a servant appeared with a platter of food and Ashlynn broke her fast. She had only just finished when the door opened again. Her heart skipped a beat to see the familiar figure standing there.
‘In good time, lass. We need to move.’ He glanced at the bed across the room. ‘I trust you slept well.’
‘Thank you, yes.’
‘Good. There’s a long ride ahead.’
‘You have no right to make me come along.’
‘Right has nothing to do with it. You’ll come along because it’s expedient.’
‘Not to me it isn’t. I don’t wish to go.’
‘But then we’re not discussing your wishes.’
If he was aware of her anger it was not evident, for his expression remained maddeningly unperturbed. Her fists clenched at her sides as she fought the urge to hit him.
‘I won’t go.’
‘You’ll go, lass—one way or another.’
The threat was plain and she knew it was not idle. He had the power to compel