Jamie did not seem to notice her untoward attentions. His gaze moved between his cup, the plates of food and his own trencher. He hardly spared her a glance, so lost in thought he was. So, deciding that she would rather face his anger than this polite attitude, she spoke to him of the one topic neither had mentioned.
“I wonder what happened to Ciara.”
“Ciara?” He drank deeply from his cup.
“Just because you—we—left, it does not mean that she married or will marry Tavis.” She sipped from her own cup and then added, “Or that the earl would permit such a marriage.”
James studied her then, before answering. “I had not thought of that. Tavis would not be a suitable choice for a woman of such wealth and connections.”
“Nor am I one for a man such as you.”
He let out a breath then and met her gaze directly for the first time they’d lain together and he discovered her secret.
“Nay, you would not be someone considered when my parents were looking for a suitable bride.” He took her hand then and entwined their fingers, sending tiny bursts of pleasure and sadness through her. “But you are the woman I chose. We will make the best of this bad beginning.”
There was the problem—she did not want to make the best of this. That was what she would have done had James married Ciara. Elizabeth would have remained at home, mourned the loss of the man she loved and the forced loss of her closest friend. For in marrying, James and Ciara would ensure Elizabeth’s alienation from them. She would not have been able to bear watching them.
She thought that that situation would have been the worst thing to come from this three-sided relationship, but listening to James now, Elizabeth knew there was worse.
This would be worse—to marry the man she loved and wanted because he felt trapped. It would eventually change whatever love he felt for her into complacency and forbearance, one for the other. But what choice did she have now? What choice did he have? To act honorably and return her to Lairig Dubh, not married? To return to marry Ciara? Her head ached from the uncertainty of it all.
Her appetite fled her then, so she wiped her hands on the cloth given her and waited for James to finish eating. He asked the innkeeper’s wife to wrap the food that they did not eat so they could take it with them and she carried it off to do that. Elizabeth stood and watched as James got directions to where the priest lived. Once that was accomplished and a few of James’s coins paid for their meal, they walked out onto the road.
“It did not sound far,” she said.
“Not far at all. About a mile farther on that road,” he said, pointing out a smaller path that would lead out of the village, but in a different direction than the main one.
“Could we walk part of the way? I do not think I could on the back of a horse right now.”
He glanced overhead to gauge the position of the sun and how much daylight they had left before dusk would fall. There should be plenty of time, so he nodded and held out his hand. Though certain she wanted to rage at him, she accepted his hand in hers and they fell into step with the horse behind them.
They’d left the village, which was fading from sight behind them, but there was still no sign of the priest’s abode or the small church Lady MacLerie had mentioned was his. It could not be much farther.
Before they caught sight of anything in the thick forest that surrounded them, the sound of galloping horses grew louder. Someone or several people approached at a fast speed, though only the sound of it echoed yet. James released Elizabeth’s hand and drew the sword he’d placed next to the saddle. He wore a lethal dagger in his boot, if needed, but he hoped this was someone anxious to find the priest. Kin or kith near death and in need of the Last Rites?
Or not, for now he could see two horsemen riding toward them. Hoping she had not been seen, he pushed her toward the trees.
“Hide, Elizabeth,” he said, moving away from her to take any attention. “Now, lass. Hide.”
She hesitated for only a moment before fleeing into a thick stand of bushes just a few paces off the road. Once she hid from sight, James mounted and turned to face the men. From the color of their garments, they were dressed in the Highland manner and wore the MacLerie hunting plaids.
Fate...and the earl, it would seem, had caught up with them. James held the sword low and ready as the two men slowed and stopped near him.
“Where is she?” the red-haired one called out. “What have you done with Elizabeth?” Although his understanding and speaking of Gaelic was not the best, he comprehended the questions. Only when the man glared at him did he recognize him from a similar expression that Elizabeth often wore when angry.
“Dougal?”
“Aye, Murray. I am Dougal MacLerie. And I ask you again, what have you done to my sister?”
Before he could answer, another man approached from the other direction and positioned himself to block any attempt at escape. Even if he wanted to try, the man held a bow with an arrow nocked and ready and aimed at him. Hemmed in, he had no place to go. He heard her moving through the bushes just before she appeared at the edge of the road.
“Dougal! What are you doing?” she called out to her brother first. “Niall! Put down that bow!”
Elizabeth stood with her hands on her hips and that mutinous expression that mirrored the one her brother yet wore. James noticed that neither answered her or took their eyes off of him. He lowered his sword slightly and waited.
It was not long in coming. A nod from Dougal sent the man closest to him riding at James. But he was not the target—Elizabeth was, and he was too far from her to stop it. The warrior leaned over and scooped her up, tossing her over his legs in spite of the fight she gave. With one arm across her back to hold her there, the man turned his horse and rode away. She was still screaming—curses now—as they disappeared from sight over the rise in the road.
She was not in danger, but James was certain he was.
