Redcoats! Annabel froze in the saddle. She swung her gaze towards horses and riders heading her way. Her fingers curled around the reins and her throat closed off, making breathing difficult.
Roderick’s hand on her arm gave little comfort. ‘You needn’t worry, lass. I’ll not let any harm befall you.’
Was her fear so obvious? Her mouth went suddenly dry. ‘’Tis kind of ye to say so, but we’re at the mercy of their mood.’
Darach cursed from behind. ‘My palms fair sweat for my broadsword.’
‘Aye,’ growled Gillis through clenched teeth. ‘If nae for the Sassenach bastards outlawing our weapons, I’d run them all through.’
Roderick twisted around in the saddle. ‘Hold your temper and tongues, men. I’ll deal with this.’
They followed his calm lead and rode on. Annabel counted ten men. Fear made her muscles lock. What were they doing so close to Finvreck? Had someone betrayed her to the English? Did the Redcoats know she hid and smuggled fugitives away from Scotland’s shores?
Both parties drew to a halt, facing each other. Annabel threw a sidelong glance at Roderick. He focused on one man whose uniform bespoke his rank.
Roderick acknowledged him with a nod. ‘Captain.’
The beady-eyed man of solid build looked to be in his late fifties. Greying hair was tied back in a queue beneath his military hat. He cast a distasteful glance over the party of four who blocked his way forwards. His gaze lingered on Annabel. The hairs on her neck stood on end. When he licked his thin lips, her skin positively crawled, making her shudder. Her visible reaction did not escape his notice, and in response his top lip curled in a sneer.
Shifty ashen eyes slid back to Roderick. ‘The only things to set you apart from your heathen contemporaries are your freshly shaven face and clean attire. By what stroke of good fortune do you understand the benefits of bathing and cleanliness?’
Annabel bristled at the deliberate insult. She heard the muttered oaths of Gillis and Darach at her back.
Roderick returned the man’s measured stare, his own expression nonchalant. ‘By dint of birth. And habit. That, and holding favour with the King. ’Tis not wise to front at court in an unkempt manner.’
The unexpected revelation took Annabel by surprise, as it did the captain. She drew immense satisfaction from seeing his eyes widen and the way he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Those in his company threw their shoulders back and chests out as if Roderick were there to inspect the regiment and issue them a direct order.
Seeing this, the captain swept a wary eye over Roderick. ‘Who are you? You have a dialect half heathen, half English.’
‘Aye, and proud of it. I am Roderick MacLeod, Laird of Clan MacLeod, recently returned from London and a career in diplomacy under the patronage of my maternal grandfather. ’Tis fortuitous that you and I have met today.’
Fortuitous? Annabel hoped her face did not reflect her objection to the ludicrous statement. What good could possibly come from having the King’s Regiment, however small, anywhere near his clan, or her, for that matter?
The captain responded with a derisive laugh. ‘There’s nothing fortuitous about these damned Highlands, nor meeting you barbaric people who scratch out a living here.’
‘Barbaric?’ Roderick shook his head. ‘No, Captain. Cumberland’s no quarter given at Culloden and in its aftermath was the epitome of barbaric. ’Tis men like you, with your ignorant attitude, that makes my meeting you worthwhile.’
Roderick played a dangerous game. It sent Annabel’s heart racing. She had to trust he knew what he was doing.
The captain sighted down his nose. ‘Humour me, Laird. What is it you find worthwhile?’
‘My grandfather liaises with your superiors and the lawmakers in Parliament. My orders are to conduct a full enquiry and thence deliver to them a report detailing the conduct and my opinions of army personnel such as yourself. I’m to document my observations, naming those suspected of corruption, senseless murder and unmitigated hardship or cruelty towards all Highlanders, no matter their station.’
The captain’s cheeks reddened in outrage. ‘And they’ve appointed you to the task?’
‘Aye. I’ve the advantage of being, as you said, half heathen, half English. Loyal to both the Crown and Scotland. One foot firmly planted either side of the border, you might say.’
Annabel stole a glance at Roderick. His head turned slightly towards her as if to acknowledge the first night they’d dined together. She’d asked him if his allegiance lie with Scotland or England. Whether his heart wrestled with loyalty to either country, or if perhaps he toiled over freedom of will versus duty? He hadn’t answered her directly then, but he’d given her clarity now.
Roderick made a conciliatory gesture. ‘Who better than me to exercise diplomacy in delivering an unbiased opinion on the current military climate here on my clan lands, and those that extend beyond MacLeod borders?’
He gave the captain a moment to let the words sink in. ‘Finvreck Castle, my family seat, is but a few miles from here. Perhaps you and your men will accept my invitation to spend the night and enjoy the hospitality of my clan?’
The captain’s gaze slid to Annabel. Again, he licked his lips. ‘A tempting offer.’
Annabel suffered the scrutiny of his leer and raised her chin in an open challenge. She sensed Roderick tense in his saddle.
‘How remiss of me.’ His tone was as lethal as a newly honed sgian-dubh. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Annabel MacDonald, daughter of William MacDonald, Laird of Clan MacDonald.’
Annabel’s gaze snapped to Roderick’s. The look he returned warned her to keep silent on the matter. She understood that he was protecting her, staking his claim and warning the captain to cast his roving eye elsewhere.
The laird’s honourable intentions astounded her. He leaned over, took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. He looked into her eyes. ‘M’eudail,’ he whispered against her ear.
Her breath hitched in her throat before graciously inclining her head. ‘My love.’ She’d repeated his Gaelic word in English, drowning for a heartbeat in his eyes and with the intimacy of his touch.
Vanity was as foreign to Annabel as seeing an Englishman in a kilt. But for a moment, just the briefest of moments, she dared believe he meant the spoken endearment. At the same time, she issued Roderick a warning by squeezing his hand. Had he forgotten that to speak their native tongue could land his neck in the noose?
She played along with his charade, acting the part of his loving wife by favouring him with what she hoped was a heartfelt, doting smile. A glance at the captain and his downturned mouth made him look like a child who’d been denied a new toy.
Roderick reluctantly let go of Annabel’s hand to resume discussions with the captain. ‘So. What’s it to be? Will you accept my offer and afford me the opportunity to interview you and your men? Or am I to presume you’ll leisurely roam my clan lands looking for I don’t know what? If the latter, I’ll seek you out in my own good time for the purpose of my report.’
The troops exchanged unsettled glances. Movement and palpable trepidation rippled through their ranks.
The captain fidgeted in his saddle. ‘We neither need nor accept your hospitality, for we journey posthaste to Fort Augustus.’
He swept a disdainful glance over the countryside. ‘I’m soon to retire to England after having traversed these damnable Highlands for longer than I care to recount.’ He looked pointedly at Roderick. ‘I therefore refuse to spend one more unnecessary day or night in this godforsaken wasteland, let alone be subjected to, and suffer, your pointless questions.’
‘As you wish. I’ll make your sentiments known in my report.’ Roderick’s well-modulated voice reflected neither mockery nor censure. A true diplomat.
The captain returned an unintelligible grunt. ‘You should know that three of my men have dishonoured themselves by deserting their regiment. The Watch are on their trail.’ He switched his attention to Annabel. ‘Best keep your lovely wife within sight, else …’ Shifty eyes darted back to Roderick.
A muscle ticked along Roderick’s jaw. ‘Aye,’ he affirmed. ‘I understand you precisely.’
There was murderous intent in Roderick’s tone. Was he thinking of the attack on Thomas and his parents, as well as the recent deaths of Annabel’s clansmen? Those her father had swiftly avenged? She found relief in the knowledge that three offending deserters had been disposed of, never to be found. She hoped those men and the captain’s deserters were one and the same.
‘Before we part ways,’ said Roderick, ‘I’ve one important question to—’
‘Damn it, Highlander! Ask it and be done with you.’
Roderick paused, as calm as the day. ‘Your name. For the report, you understand, Captain …?’
The man’s eyes narrowed on Roderick. ‘Captain Hubert Stokes.’ He jerked his hand in the air and signalled to his men to continue on. A snap of the reins frightened his horse. It jumped forwards, only to then have the bit pulled hard in its mouth and stop at Annabel’s left side.
The captain squinted and studied her face as if she were a rare bug beneath a magnifying glass. ‘You look remarkably like a woman I once …’
He removed his hat, using his sleeve to wipe sweat from his forehead. It was then that Annabel noticed the puckered, scratch-like scar tissue on his neck, and the missing left earlobe.
Horror struck. Seconds before he spurred his horse into a gallop, her gaze lifted to see cold eyes strip her bare. An icy chill spread through her faster than flames could lick a thatched roof. An abominable realisation had her stomach convulse. She held at bay the bile rising in her throat while her brain reeled over what she thought would never have come to pass. A nightmare come true.
No! She collapsed, as if punched in the gut, over the horse’s neck.
‘Annabel!’
Roderick’s concern cut through the thickening fog in her head, but even if she’d been inclined to reply, she’d momentarily lost the power of speech. Her stomach convulsed again. Violently. She slid off the horse and staggered back a few feet before turning and dropping to her knees. With one hand braced on the ground, the other over her belly, she threw up the contents of her stomach.
With her next breath Roderick was there, kneeling at her side. One arm came quickly around her waist and his free hand pressed to her forehead. He supported her body as she retched violently again.
‘Easy, lass. I’ve got you,’ he soothed.
The tightening in her chest spread to her throat. The sound of her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. Dark flecks blurred her vision and a sudden dizziness pushed her to the brink of passing out. For a moment, her mind disconnected from her body.
‘Breathe, Annabel. Breathe.’
Roderick’s voice gave her something on which to focus. A reason to stay sane and present. She was vaguely aware of Darach, or was it Gillis, running to the nearby stream then returning to hover close by. He handed something to Roderick. Something cool and wet pressed against her feverish forehead and cheeks. It cleansed her smarting eyes and around her dry mouth.
Something pressed lightly to her lips.
‘Here,’ said Roderick. ‘A water canteen. Rinse your mouth and then take a sip.’
She gladly did so, grateful to be held and supported in his strong, comforting embrace.
‘You’re shivering.’
Was she? From shock, perhaps?
He sat on the ground and drew her onto his lap, cradling her head against his chest and rubbing her back. Annabel had never felt so safe. She clutched his jacket, desperate to anchor her senses to everything tangible about Roderick MacLeod. The steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath her ear. His warmth. The smell of his skin, flagrantly pleasant and male, and the coolness of his breath upon her forehead.
If not for him, she’d have come completely undone for having just come face-to-face with the monster who haunted her dreams and who lurked in a darkened corner of her mind.
* * *
Roderick drew Annabel tighter to him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was his way of reaffirming his promise to protect her.
He’d recognised lust and dishonourable intentions in the captain’s cold, ravenous eyes, and despite having the captain believe Roderick and Annabel were married, the man had still devoured her as if she were free for the taking.
These were the Scottish Highlands. An insult demanded retribution. And yet Roderick’s hands were tied, rendered helpless, by English law, to defend his and Annabel’s honour. Had this occurred on English soil, swords and a duel would swiftly settle the matter in dealing with the captain’s insolence and disrespect.
It galled to be at the mercy of the King’s Regiment.
Something else turned his blood ice-cold. A desperate need to confront whomever or whatever it was to have caused in Annabel such a grievous reaction. He was a fool if he didn’t believe it had everything to do with Hubert Stokes.
‘The captain, are you acquainted with him?’ Roderick suppressed all anger and suffered her silence, his nerves as tense as her limbs.
‘Aye, and nae.’ Her voice was weak, strained.
She may as well have gutted him with a hunting knife. ‘Did he … hurt you?’
Another nerve-wrenching pause.
‘Nae me.’ Her voice was quiet, distant.
Roderick knew profound relief. ‘Another woman?’
She nodded against his chest.
‘This woman. You know her?
‘Kenned her.’
He placed two fingers beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to his. What he saw in her eyes resonated with him. Her torment became his. ‘Am I to assume she is—’
‘Dead.’ A bare whisper.
Soul-crushing misgivings had him fear Annabel was the woman of whom she’d just spoken. A changed woman for having endured something unspeakable at the hands of the captain. The question begged to be asked but he could not ask it of her now. Another time. Another place.
A darkness in Roderick, such as he’d never known existed, battled with his every instinct to stay the hand of violence. A voice inside screamed for vengeance against whatever it was to have dimmed the light in Annabel’s eyes. She stared at him, but did she even see him?
‘Annabel,’ he whispered. His thumb skimmed her lower lip.
She suddenly jerked in his arms, blinked, let go of his jacket and tried to push free of him. Roderick held her arms and steadied her as they both rose to their feet.
She shrugged off his hands and pressed the heel of her palms to moist eyes. She looked over her shoulder in the direction the troops had departed. There came a shift in her expression, one of determined resolve. Lips pressed together. A furrowed brow. Her fingers flexed and fisted at her side.
Colour had yet to return to her pallid cheeks, but she went with determined strides to the mare, took the reins from Gillis, and swung up into the saddle.
Roderick admired how quickly she rallied inner strength. She demonstrated courage and stalwart independence. At the same time, he yearned to be the shoulder she’d seek to cry on, should she need one. He wanted to extend his hand to hold hers. To offer comfort and support. He’d gladly listen if only she would talk to him about what just happened.
It followed, as startlingly clear as any revelation could, that his heart had not only warmed to her, but it had opened to her. This, he recognised and acknowledged. This, he decided, was all so damned inconvenient.
‘Weel?’ she called, eyeing each of the men. ‘Are ye coming, or nae?’ She nudged the mare into a steady trot and left them behind.
As if reading Roderick’s mind, Gillis and Darach saddled up and turned their horse’s heads ready to follow behind the Redcoats.
‘Monitor their progress at a safe distance.’ Roderick instructed. ‘Report back in the great hall tonight.’
Nothing else need be said. The men nodded and set off.
Roderick mounted his horse, urging it into a canter in pursuit of Annabel. At the sound of his horse’s hooves she twisted in the saddle, apprehension in every line of her body. Roderick saw her relax upon seeing him. It pleased him to know she felt safe in his presence. He slowed his horse to a walking pace alongside hers.
She didn’t question him about the whereabouts of Gillis and Darach. She was smart enough to know where they’d gone. He didn’t force idle talk but rather upheld the comfortable silence she established between them. Conversation of a different nature took over. Birdsong, including the pleasant chirruping of tiny stonechats amongst the gorse. The buzz and hum of insects. The lulling sound of rushing water cascading over century-worn rocks on the nearby hillside.
Fresh, sweet air invigorated the lungs. The picturesque countryside lay awash in green lush grass with patches of brown. Roderick lifted his gaze to the distant blue and purple mountains resting beneath a blue, cloud-streaked sky.
They entered coniferous woodland and continued riding together in silence for the next twenty minutes or so. A wide rushing stream came into sight. Roderick knew it well, having explored the vicinity as a lad with cousin Iain. How many times had they trekked alongside the water’s path where it led to the coast and into the ocean? He couldn’t count the hours spent exploring caves cut deep into the cliffs, some with secret hidden rock pools perfect for swimming.
Roderick was overcome with longing. How easy and carefree their lives had been back then. How he missed the camaraderie of his childhood friend.
Annabel dismounted and led her horse to drink at the water’s edge. She walked about ten paces upstream, bunched her skirts between her legs and then crouched to cup her hands in the water and drink.
Roderick led his horse to drink from the stream alongside the mare. He then followed Annabel, turning his ear to the sound of leaves purring in the breeze, and to the rustling undergrowth harbouring perhaps a hare or red squirrel.
Annabel stood, closed her eyes and tilted her throat to the warm sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees. Roderick’s gaze pinpointed a certain spot at the base of her neck. He imagined pressing his mouth there to feel her pulse beneath his lips. The breeze kicked up and stirred wisps of hair at her temples.
‘You have beautiful hair, Annabel.’
Her eyes opened, though her gaze dipped into the running water.
‘It has a glorious shine beneath the sun.’
She folded her arms in front of her chest. ‘I hate my hair. It’s hideous.’
Roderick bent to pick up a few pebbles and threw one at the very tip of a rock jutting out of the water further upstream. He missed. ‘Well now, that might be your opinion but ’tis definitely not mine. A bonny lass such as yourself—’
‘A bonny lass?’ Her gaze slid to his.
‘Aye, that you are.’ And that was the truth of it.
Her eyes narrowed like sharp jade flints. ‘Dinnae mock me, Laird.’
He spread his arms wide. ‘Do I look and sound like I’m mocking you?’
The river reclaimed her attention.
Roderick failed in his third attempt to hit the rock’s peak. What was wrong with him? ‘Here,’ he said, annoyed at his pathetic aim. He offered her a pebble with one hand while pointing with the other to the moss-covered tip. ‘You try.’
She eyed the small rock he handed her and rolled it between her fingers. Her feet shuffled slightly apart and she took aim like an archer sighting down the length of an arrow. She flung the pebble forwards. It hit its mark, bounced off and sank into the shallows on the other side of the river bed.
She looked at Roderick with an air of boredom. ‘Do ye have a more challenging task for me?’
He stood speechless, in awe of her accuracy. ‘A stroke of luck. Do it again.’
She rolled her eyes at him, examined the ground at her feet and selected another suitable missile. She prepared herself in the same manner as before and hit the mark a second time. She dusted the dirt from her hands, settled them on her hips and raised her brows at Roderick.
He stared at her, impressed with her accurate eye-hand coordination. To his utter delight, her lips twitched and then flexed into a smooth smile.
‘How …’ His gaze flitted between Annabel and the rock in the river. ‘How did you do that?’
She threw her head back and pealed off the sweetest laughter he’d ever heard. ‘If only ye could see yer face!’
Roderick stared at her, full of admiration. If only you could see yours!
If she could appreciate, as did he, the way her eyes came alive, or the pleasant upward curve of her mouth. Rose-tinged lips framed teeth so unusually white and straight in any human being. But that laughter! It was a gift, a sound so special he’d recite it in his memory for the rest of his days.
Roderick laughed with her. Not because she’d put his throwing skills to shame, or because he must have looked a picture of stupefied surprise, but because he’d given Annabel MacDonald a reason to smile. A reason to laugh. It pleased him no end.
He wanted to see and hear it more than just this once.
When she pointed at him and doubled over, hands holding her stomach, Roderick laughed all the harder and louder, the sound echoing through the woodland and scattering birds in treetops above.
‘I’ll wager you can’t do it a third time,’ Roderick teased.
Her laughing sobered, making him regret voicing the challenge.
All too soon, she looked deadly serious. ‘And if I do, what’s my reward?’
Roderick reached out to rub between his fingers the wisps of hair at her temples. So silky-soft. She didn’t flinch or shy away from him.
He smiled and withdrew his hand. ‘Anything you ask of me, Annabel MacDonald.’
She looked sceptical. ‘Anything?’
He nodded. ‘I’m a man of my word.’ He hoped she wholeheartedly believed him.
Annabel held his gaze through a brief pause, her expression unreadable. It was the damnedest thing not knowing what was ticking over in her mind. What favour, request or otherwise would she ask of him? In not knowing, he experienced a perverse thrill, a sense of elated anticipation.
One thing he knew for sure. He would do anything for her.
She peered at the damp ground, selected a pebble and promptly discarded it for another. It rolled around in her circling palm as if she tested its weight and shape. Satisfied, she focused on her target, drew back her hand and thrust the stone forwards.
Clink! It hit the mark, bounced sidewards and plopped into the water.
Roderick shook his head. ‘Incredible! I’ve never met a woman who possessed such a skill. Did your father teach you?’
‘Nae.’ Her laugh was bitter and sarcastic.
‘Your brother then?’
She shook her head. ‘Some skills we are born with. Others, we learn.’
Roderick’s lips warmed with the heat of her gaze on his mouth. Confound his schoolboy nerves! ‘So.’ He drew his hand back and tossed a shower of pebbles into the stream. ‘What is it you’d have me do for you?’
She stayed silent. He was acutely aware of her eyes still trained on his mouth. Her silence only served to heighten the sounds all around them. The chirping of a frog, the breeze sighing over leaves and branches and the distressed bawl of a deer somewhere in the distance.
She casually stepped to the water’s edge and bent to splash cool water on her face. Over her shoulder, she said, ‘Some other time,’ and dried her face with her sleeve. Without another word, she fetched her mare. It whickered when she stroked its neck.
Roderick caught the way she glanced at him beneath lowered lashes, lovely as a dream, drawing him to her side without even asking. His palms spanned her waist, ready to lift her onto the horse. Her cool, sweet breath touched his face. He’d never felt self-conscious around women. He did now.
He spoke softly. ‘Ask me, Annabel.’
The tip of her tongue traced her top lip. His heart kicked against his ribs. He knew that if he bent to her mouth he wouldn’t stop at kissing her. She’d be on her back, the leafy forest their bed, and he’d lose himself inside her.
That would make him no better than the captain who’d molested her with his leer. Roderick steeled himself against the cloth-covered soft flesh beneath his hands and the scent of woman. Annabel. Her pulse beat faster at her throat. Simmering desire in her eyes reflected what he felt for her. God help him!
‘I’ll ask ye when I’m ready, Laird.’
‘I’ll hold you to your word, lass.’
‘And like ye, I shall honour it.’