Page 5 of The Wrong Bride
Not meeting his eyes, she said stiffly, “I need a moment of privacy.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and spoke firmly. “If ye try to run, I will be forced to bring ye to ground. There’s no one here who can help ye.”
“I’m not blind. But the countryside will not always be so desolate.”
“Ye’ve not been to the Highlands lately, have ye?”
“We’re not there yet,” she returned heatedly. “I assume you’re both gentlemen. Please remain here while I’m behind the coach.”
“My patience is not endless. If ye don’t reappear in a suitable time—”
Exasperated, she said, “Then I will call out and tell you my plans moment by moment. Does that suit you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just huffed, walked around the large wheels of the coach, and disappeared behind.
WHENshe’d finished, Riona lingered for just a moment by the half wall of rock that seemed piled almost haphazardly, yet was overgrown with moss and weeds as if it had weathered centuries. She gazed with despair across the pastoral scene andprayed there would be a shepherd she could wave to for help.
But what would a poor shepherd do against two large Highlanders, one of whom called himself chief of the McCallums? How could she bring innocent lives into her dilemma, perhaps getting them killed? She didn’t even know if he’d told her the truth. Except . . . she recognized the clan name he’d used, enemies of the Duffs, her father’s clan. They shared a contentious border. But that didn’t mean this man was telling the truth. He could have kidnapped her for her dowry, as if the Dark Ages were still upon them. He might be lying about everything, and she’d end up in a hovel doing his bidding.
She might end up that way even if he were the chief, she thought with a shudder. She’d heard stories of the wretched Highlands from her father, who’d fled to England in his youth. How often he’d said he was lucky to be the son of an earl, with the ability and opportunity to escape his native country. He’d never understood the clansmen who’d worshipped his father, and now his brother, as if they were gods. Highlanders were a savage lot, according to him, and he’d told her stories of senseless raids back and forth on rival clan’s cattle, of feuds so bloody that entire clans were demolished.
She’d never felt so helpless. She’d thought she’d had little control in her life up until now, told toremain closeted with her sister most of the time, left behind when the rest of her family had gone to the Continent. But now, she couldn’t even have a moment of privacy without her captor’s permission.
She hugged herself and rubbed her arms, though the sun was warm in the vale. It wouldn’t stay warm for long. In the Highlands it was rainy and cold more often than not. Bleak and forbidding, that’s what her father had called it. Full of savages who had to plow through rock to survive. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t in Scotland yet, and perhaps she could find a way to change her captor’s mind—or escape. They had to travel through a villagesometime.Surely they’d need supplies.
“Lady Catriona!”
Her captor’s voice was a bark that made her jump. She gave one last look at the rolling pastures and then walked slowly to the other side of the coach. The two men were speaking to each other in Gaelic, and they didn’t even look at her as they chewed their oatcakes and cheese, washing it down with the dubious contents of another bottle they must have stored in the coachman’s box.
Silently, Laird McCallum pointed to the coach.
She winced. “I cannot even see outside this prison.”
“When ye’ve proven to me ye can be trusted, I will give ye a window. Until then—”
With his strong fingers, he pulled two of thenails free and tacked several inches of the leather curtain.
“Thank you so much,” she said with sarcasm.
She climbed up inside, but instead of folding in the stairs and shutting the door, Laird McCallum followed her and sat down on the bench at her side.
She slid into the corner, then thought better of it and fled to the opposite bench. “What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to keep the thread of fear from her voice.
“Getting some sleep.”
“But—but—”
Her mouth sagged open in dismay, even as he stretched out his legs until they could go no farther. His broad torso seemed to take up his half of the coach. She was intimately alone with this man—this kidnapper—and totally under his power. She swallowed, but the lump remained in her throat, and she braced herself into the corner as if awaiting an attack.
“Samuel and I will be taking turns riding with ye,” he said. “Surely ye cannot expect us to get no sleep on a journey of ten days or more.”
“Ten days!”
“We’re from the southern Highlands. It could have been worse.” He eyed her coldly. “Have ye no memories of such a journey? Did your father think so little of his heritage that he denied ye your birthright?”
“My childhood is none of your business.” Itstung that he was right, but she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him see that.
“Everything about ye is my business. Ye’re to be my wife.”
