Page 10 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

He glanced at her boots. “Then be quick about it, fer I’ll nae tarry another minute.”

“But me hair,” she wailed. “I’ve scarce had time tae brush out the night’s tangles.”

He picked up the lace cap that she’d discarded when she had changed into the stable boy’s clothes.

“Tie this under yer chin and stop yer complaining. I’ve nae time tae waste with yer foolishness.”

With her travelling satchel in one hand and clasping tight to her arm with the other, Arran maneuvered her out of the room and down the stairs. A servant who was sweeping the front door stoop didn’t even raise her head when a protesting Dahlia was whisked outside to the stables. It was clear there’d be no assistance there. She resigned herself to her immediate fate – to be placed unceremoniously on her horse and continue the journey to the home of the hateful Laird Bairre Mackinnon.

As they rode off with Arran in the lead holding the reins of her horse, Dahlia looked around. There was no sign of Arran’sfriend, the Mackinnon War Leader, Craig Donald, or the other two men who were acting as her guards.

“Where are yer men?”

“Why? Are ye missing their company?” A half-smile quirked his lips.

She huffed loudly. “The fewer Mackinnons around me, the better.”

“Well, tae spare yer delicate MacLeod feelings lass, I’ve sent them on ahead of us tae ensure the road holds nay dangers. For instance, an ambush that might have been laid by ill-advised minions of yer brothers, hoping tae remove ye from me guardianship.”

She cursed silently. His words dashed the faint hope she’d been clinging to that her brothers would attempt to rescue her along the road.

“Must I remind ye that the king has commanded this match tae end the fighting between two of his most important clans. Yer braithers would dae well to heed the command without interference.”

Despairing, she gritted her teeth. But at least, now, she’d only Arran to deal with. “Thank ye fer sending me jailers away Arran, I dinnae enjoy being reminded I am a captive.”

“I regret ye feel this way, melady. Most brides would be eager tae meet with their future husband, nae reluctant as ye are.”

He spurred his horse forward before she had a chance to respond. Her horse followed his and their pace quickened.

They passed fields of barley and oats, where peasants were working on the harvest. At times the road was clogged with heavy farmers’ carts on their way to the nearby market town. For a moment or two she contemplated leaping from her horse into a passing cart and concealing herself under the sacks of produce, but the cart-horse was plodding slowly and, of course, Arran would uncover her ruse in a trice. She gave up that idea and rode on with a heavy heart.

At midday they stopped at an inn along the way to rest their horses, quench their thirst and partake of a morsel of food.

Arran bid her to enter the tavern and she left him seeing to the horses and marched into the inn to be greeted by the innkeeper.

“Good day mistress,” the man said obsequiously, clearly taking note of her fine velvet cloak and leather boots.

“D’ye have a privy, landlord? I wish tae relieve mesel’.”

“Indeed. The privy is at the rear of the inn. Allow me tae show ye the way.” He headed toward a door at the end of a long hallway.

Could this be me chance tae escape?

Following the man outside into a small yard stacked with barrels of ale and piled with firewood, she looked around hopefully. Alas, the space was surrounded by a high fence and there was no possibility for her to climb it without assistance.

She eyed it silently, flooded with memories of another time when she’d almost been able to escape from Castle Mackinnon by ascending a high wall. She’d often wondered what had become of the man who had tried so bravely to help her on that night, always fearing that Mackinnon’s men had captured and killed him while she was being dragged back to her prison cell.

“It’s over here, melady,” the innkeeper interrupted her thoughts, beckoning her toward a low stone building. “Ye’ll find a half-barrel of clean water outside.”

After she’d relieved herself, she sluiced fresh water over her face and hands. She was drying her hands on a kerchief when Arran burst through the door, his face dark as thunder.

“What the…?” He looked around, his eyes flicking across the tall fence.

Feigning innocence, but guessing he’d been expecting her to have made a dash for it, she asked “What is it? Did ye nae wish me tae make use of the privy?”

He grunted and seized her arm. “Ye should make it kent tae me if ye intend tae leave the place I’ve told ye to wait. What were ye thinking? That ye’d be able tae run away?”

She shook her head, maintaining her innocent tone as he guided her through the door and through the hallway. “Why, I cannae imagine why ye would accuse me of such a wicked piece of trickery.”

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