With unexpected fury, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the door. He yanked it open and pushed her out a step or two, keeping a firm hold on her. Night had fallen, but the sack of Berwick continued. The stink of death and fire stung her eyes. The guards he had set outside their door watched him with open curiosity.
The light cast by torch and moon was somewhat meager, but she was glad of that. Dead littered the street. The invaders roamed the town searching for others to kill and for more plunder. What sounds she could hear were those of pain, fear, and lingering bloodlust. The Scots claimed Berwick belonged to Scotland, yet they were no kinder in the taking of it than the English had been years before. Berwick would be bled dry yet again. It could easily go on for days. She felt close to weeping.
“Ye meant to run away? Away to where?” Hacon demanded. “Out into this? Even the nunnery is no longer safe. Ye wouldnae survive it long, I think.”
She agreed but did not say so. “I have escaped such harried places before,” she said. If Hacon had meant to scare her by showing her how his allies behaved, he had succeeded, but she would never let him know it.
“Ye speak as one who has some sense. Use it, woman. Ye may not like where ye are now, but ’tis better than most other choices before you. Even those who are your friends will most likely cut ye down first, then grieve over the error later. The ones not dead or captured tonight huddle together in fear and will strike out at all who approach. It will be like that until we leave this place.
“Aye, andwhenwe leave this place,” he continued, “’twould be wise for ye to still think twice about fleeing from me. Ye will be marching with the enemy, lass. Do ye really believe ye will be asked the why of that first? The Black Douglas isnae the only one who believes mercy has no place in this war.”
“Mercy has not visited this accursed land in years,” she muttered as he tugged her back inside, then barred the door.
“Best ye remember that.”
“With the stink of death so heavy in the air, ’tisnae likely I shall forget it.” Her hands on her hips, she frowned up at him. “And such a fine speech ye make.” She ignored his small, mocking bow. “Ye use the horror out there to hold me here without troubling yourself to bind me. Aye, ye but try to make me stand firm for your own purposes.”
“Ye dinnae ken what my purposes are.”
“Nay?” She gave a soft, scornful laugh. “I am not one ye can ransom, so there can be but one reason for ye to hold me.” She leaned toward him, speaking softly to keep their words private. “If ye think showing me how poor my choices are will make me welcome rape, ye had best think again.”
“Now, lass, I but showed ye the truth of your situation. It would make your road smoother if ye would see me not as an enemy but as a benefactor.”
“Benefactor?” She did not think he could have chosen another word better suited to keeping her anger stronger than her fear. Her cruel mistress, Lady de Tournay, had favored the word. “’Tis a wonder to me how many abusers favor calling themselves benefactors. Weel, dinnae think ye can change yourself from foe to friend simply because ye havenae cut my throat as ye did with the nuns.”
“I ne’er touched the nuns. I but stole what I wished to.”
She suspected he spoke the truth, but ignored the interruption. “I will ne’er see ye as mybenefactor.”
“Ah, that ye will do.” He gently rubbed her anger-flushed cheek with the back of his hand. “Aye, that ye will do. And the gift of life deserves adequate reward, do ye not agree?” When she just stared at him, wide-eyed, he asked, “What? Naught to say?”
“I think,” she said very carefully, “ye have been knocked about the head once too often.” His soft laugh was threateningly attractive. “And,” she added with a touch of anger, still disguising her fear, “if ye wait to hear me thank ye for my life, ye will take root first.” Turning sharply, she walked away from him, deciding to see what she could do for the orphan babe Ranald had risked his life to save.
Hacon smiled as he watched her. Her every movement was graceful, sensuous. The warmth of desire tautened his body. It was not going to be easy to gain the prize he sought. However, he mused, as he returned to his seat by the fire, instinct told it would be well worth the effort required.
Chapter 2
Now that they were all settled into the purloined house and had eaten, Hacon sprawled in his chair before the fire and turned his full attention to his lovely captive.
Looking up from the linen sheet she was cutting into nappies for the baby, she warily eyed Hacon. He had allowed her the brief use of a knife to score out squares in the sheet, but he had watched her closely and constantly. He did not trust her. She did not trust his amiable interest. He probably sought to make her relax her guard, to seduce her into thinking they could be more than captive and captor, only to try to lessen the strength of her resistance when he finally took her.
But then, she mused, the quiet companionship in the usurped house had already eased some of her fears, foolish though she knew that was. She sat at Hacon’s feet performing a very domestic chore. Dugald sat on a stool to her left, diligently cleaning his and Hacon’s armor. The five others occupying the large main room did much the same. Having chosen where they would bed down for the night, they wiled away the evening with chores and soft talk until they felt the need for sleep. Wrapped in this safe quiet, Jennet found it easy to forget that these men were the enemy, that they had arrived just hours ago with swords in hand to kill and loot. She had to be careful to remember that and remember it well.
“Why are ye here, Jennet of Liddesdale?” Hacon asked.
She looked back at him, watched his finely drawn brow arc slightly in a question, and sighed. It would probably not hurt to tell her story. Revealing how she had already suffered at the hands of the Bruce’s army might soften him toward her and allow her to escape or to talk him into setting aside his plans for her. The chance was slim, but he might feel sufficient mercy to decide she had suffered enough in her life.
“I have been here for many years.”
“But you are a Scot. Why are ye in an English stronghold?”
“Many here are Scots. ’Tis in Scotland after all. I lived here with an English couple ere I went to the nunnery a year ago.”
“The daughter of a Graeme and an Armstrong abiding with the English?”
“I was the maid of the lady of the house, her handmaiden.” And all else, she mused with a touch of resentment.
“Did none of your kin take you in? Couldnae they find some Scottish lady for ye to serve?”
