Chapter Fifteen

How much time had passed? Mara found it impossible to guess. The bright patch of sunlight at the front of the cave had faded, which meant the day grew older. No one had come near her even to offer food or drink, or to empty the piss pot. All those attentions must have been aimed at Archibald’s royal captive.

Whatever the cause, Mara could only be grateful. Archibald remained occupied, speaking with certain of his men, and did not so much as turn his eyes in her direction.

Where was Ramsay now? Just thinking of him made her heart ache with hope and longing. She did not doubt he would come, but would he be in time?

It seemed not. For now, in what had to be late afternoon, Archibald at last turned his attention to her, stirred, and heaved his great bulk to his feet, adjusting the front of his kilt significantly.

Mara, crouching against her bit of wall, could not take her eyes from him. She followed him the way a bird might watch a tomcat as he made his way across the cave and paused in front of her.

“Well, now, lass—’tis time for me to take the price of your keep.”

Everyone in the cave—at least six men—stared. Was this terrible thing to happen before their eyes, then? Mara’s gut churned, and heat stained her skin. Would no one intervene to help her? Nay, for they no doubt awaited their chances.

“Please, no,” she said. She had never begged for anything, but terror made her all too ready to do so now.

“Come, lass, you canno’ expect me to forego my due. I ha’ never gone where royal flesh has gone before me.”

“It did not; we did not,” Mara stammered. “I was no’ with the Prince that way.”

Archibald cocked his head. “You think I believe that? A lovely wee piece like yoursel’ alone wi’ him on the hillside… Do you take me for a fool?”

“Nay, not at all. But the Prince held me in far too much respect—”

Archibald laughed, not a reassuring sound. “Unfortunately for you, lass, I ha’ no respect for anyone, save mysel’. You will warm me this night, and if I find you pleasing, tomorrow as well.”

Mara’s desperate gaze stole to the mouth of the cave.

“Do you truly expect him to turn up and save you—that royal Jessie? He will be half way to captivity by this time.” Archibald began to hitch up his kilt. “Best be pleasing now, or I will let my men ha’ you.”

Mara squeezed her eyes shut, turned her face to the stone wall, and began to pray. She did not want to see what Archibald kept under his kilt, could not imagine him touching her. Her heart beat against her ribs like a bird in a cage.

But the prayer seemed to avail her nothing. Archibald lowered his great bulk with a grunt and seized her by the ankle. She smelled him then, a reek of sweat and aging unwashed male that turned her stomach violently.

His hand closed on her other ankle, and he pulled her from the wall toward him, her legs parted. Eyes still tight shut, every sense trying to block what must come, she attempted to steel herself.

“Hold!”

The cry came from the mouth of the cave and rent the rapt silence. Archibald grunted again and released Mara’s ankles. Her eyes flew open.

She beheld an incredible sight. For Diarmad Ramsay, his hair flying, stood in the cave opening with a sword in his hand and men at his back.

In that first instant she saw only that—Ramsay agonized and determined, with his gaze reaching for her, the bright weapon in his hands and others behind him. She’d seen how he could fight with that weapon, and her heart buoyed up.

Yet the cave teemed with armed men. Had Ramsay come back for her only to meet his death?

Archibald heaved himself to his feet, and Mara stumbled up after. Archibald drew his weapon, a long knife he wore at his back.

“What is this, then?” he roared. “MacNeal, do you betray me?”

Only then did Mara realize the man directly behind Ramsay was indeed Neal MacNeal. She gasped. Had Ramsay managed to turn MacNeal’s loyalty?

The expression on MacNeal’s face said it all: glowering, defiant. He called out in reply to Archibald, “Why should you be the one offered a grand kingdom? You are no better than me.”

“Am I not? We shall see about that!”

With a roar, Archibald charged—not Ramsay but MacNeal. It looked very like a bull attacking a whippet, but MacNeal stood firm, the sword in his hand outreaching Archibald’s long knife.

No one else moved as the two met to battle, save for Ramsay, who took one prudent step aside before hurrying to Mara.

“Come.”

“But we are surrounded.” Mara stole another look around the cave even as she spoke. No one had attention to spare for her; all eyes had fixed on the two men who now bellowed at one another like enraged boars, even as steel met steel.

Ramsay clutched Mara’s hand, and his desperate, determined gaze focused her. “Hurry.”

A few eyes did flick to them as they edged along the wall of the cave toward the door. They pressed close by one bandit, who drew his weapon, and the breath stopped in Mara’s throat. But the man’s attention switched back to the combatants, and Ramsay urged Mara on.

MacNeal grated, “Archibald, your great prize is slipping away!”

“I will deal wi’ you and then wi’ him!” Archibald returned.

Ramsay leaped through the cave opening and dragged Mara with him. She found herself all at once in the light of late afternoon. The sunshine had disappeared in a raft of cloud, but it still hurt her eyes after so long shut away inside.

Ramsay gave her no time to recover. “Here, up wi’ you.” He lifted her bodily and placed her on one of the horses that stood in a cluster before he vaulted onto a second, caught her reins, and started away.

From within the cave behind them came a wordless roar. Mara spun about, almost unhorsing herself when her mount jerked into motion. What had happened? Had one of the combatants killed the other? Surely not so soon. And would the others now come after her and Ramsay? Two horses still stood in the gathering gloom, ready for pursuit.

She could not see Ramsay’s face, just the back of his head and his shoulders stiff with intent. More sound blossomed in the cave, a great howling, but they did not stay to determine the cause.

Instead, Mara held on for her life as they negotiated the slope in front of the cave and took the scree at breakneck speed. No time for words; the wind whipped her face and tossed her hair into her eyes. She clutched her mount’s neck with grim determination.

How long they went so, with Mara’s heart beating up in her throat, she could not say. At the foot of the slope lay a stand of trees; Ramsay threaded his way between them and increased his speed when he came out the other side, heading roughly north.

At last his horse foundered, forcing him to slow. The beasts had already covered a lot of ground this day, and, with a fierce look behind, he halted in the shelter of a copse, deep beneath the boughs.

Almost before they stopped moving, he was on his feet at Mara’s side.

“Are you all right?”

He reached for her, and she tumbled into his arms. Fiercely, he drew her in against his heart, the one place she wanted to be.

His breath gusted against her cheek. “He did no’—they did no’—”

“You got there just in time.” Mara closed her eyes against a powerful wave of emotion. “How did you get there in time?”

“Prayer.”

“But how did you persuade MacNeal to turn?”

“His own greed did that job for me. Listen, they will be coming as soon as one of them kills the other. I am a fool.”

“Eh?”

“I should have taken all the horses and left them no means to pursue us. I could think of naught but getting you away.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. She lifted her face and gazed into his eyes.

Blue-gray eyes, bright in the dull afternoon, they contained chagrin, determination, strength—and desire. They contained Mara’s whole world.

She went breathless again, for a different reason. Time seemed to stop along with her heartbeat as she offered her parted lips.

And oh, the bliss of it, the sweet fire blazing to completeness as his mouth claimed hers. Surely she had been created for this sensation—his mouth on hers, his tongue stroking hers and then claiming her to her very soul. Her heart resumed beating like the wings of a bird in flight—for him, only for him.

When he broke the kiss, she wanted to weep. But he caught her face between his hands and gazed into her eyes again.

“Mara,” he said, and it went through her like music. Her legs turned to water beneath her, and she trembled.

“Diarmad. I knew you would come for me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I did no’ ken how.”

All at once she wept against him, cuddled into his chest, and he let her cry while making soft, soothing sounds in his throat. It did not go easily with Mara to admit fear, but the ordeal just past had shaken her beyond telling.

After a few moments he wiped her face with gentle hands and kissed the last of the tears away. Tenderness flared at once to passion. Mara wanted this man, his hands upon her flesh, the strong length of him filling her, as she had never wanted anything.

But she scarcely supposed this made a proper setting, with pursuers behind them and danger all around.

Reluctantly, she drew away far enough to speak. “What now?”

He looked around. The Highland sun had already dipped toward the horizon, and rain threatened.

“Now,” he said, “we find a good place to hide.”