“Iwish ye would heed me, old friend,” Rosse said as he followed Ruari.
“Yefret o’er nothing.”
“Nothing?Ye are about to kidnap a weelborn lass—“
“Twoweelborn lasses.”
“Froma market fair,” Rosse continued through gritted teeth. “Ye may not be breakingany written law—I cannae say for certain if one exists—but yearebreaking custom. This will offend a great many people. It may e’en raise anoutcry that reaches the king’s ear.”
“Itmay weel do that. Howbeit, any outcry made will quickly be reduced to a fewsullen mutterings when I tell my tale and explain why I felt the need to bend custom.”
“Bendcustom? Ye have broken it so blatantly they will hear the cracking of it inLondon. Many people may not see what the lasses did as the great crime ye thinkit is.”
“Anymon with pride in his name would find it a bitter root to chew on, and weel yeken it. There they are,” he cried and struggled to move more quickly throughthe crowd.
Ruariunderstood Rosse’s concerns, but had no intention of heeding them. It waspossible that kidnapping Margaret and Sorcha from a fair would cause someoutcry, but he felt confident he could rise above the small scandal. He was,after all, not intending to harm them in any way or force them into marriage.He simply wanted his money back. From what he could see, he and Dougal Hay werethe highest-ranking men there. He was not going to make the business a publicconcern, and instinct told him Dougal would also want it to remain a privatematter; so Rosse’s concerns did not carry the weight they might have underother circumstances. So strong was his need for some retribution, he doubtedthat even the certainty of being dragged before his king to make some excusefor his crime would deter him. The opportunity to gain the revenge he hadthought of for months had walked into his hands, and he fully intended to graspit.
“Sorcha,he is getting closer,” whispered Margaret.
Thetone of her cousin’s voice assured Sorcha that it was not Beatham who wasnipping at their heels. She searched frantically for a new place to hide orsome ally to turn to for help, but saw none. The only thing that was clear wasthat Ruari’s men were alert enough to see what their laird was doing and hadjoined him.
Asshe turned into a narrow lane between two houses she saw a small woodpile andraced toward it. She grabbed a thick log and spun around just in time to seeRuari reach out for her. Cursing him, she swung, the log connecting soundlywith his shoulder and sending him crashing into the side of one of the houses.She threw the log toward the men who had followed Ruari into the lane, and theyscrambled back despite Ruari’s bellowed commands to grab her. With Margaretclose behind her, Sorcha raced out the other end of the lane.
“Idinnae think I can keep running like this,” Margaret said, her breathlessnessevident in her voice. “Are we near the inn where Dougal is?”
“Ifear I dinnae ken where we are now.” Glancing behind her, Sorcha cursed whenshe saw Ruari and his men come out of the lane. “We need to find someplace tohide so that we can catch our breath, or they will surely catch us.”
“‘Tiscurious, but Beatham has disappeared.”
Sorchadid not reply for she considered that a good thing. Any time Margaret set eyeson Beatham she seemed to lose what few wits she had. They were only steps aheadof Ruari and his men. Any delay would ensure their capture.
Justas Sorcha began to think exhaustion would bring about their defeat, she turneda corner and saw a place to hide. Grabbing a panting Margaret by the arm, sheyanked her cousin into a small shed tucked up next to a tiny thatched roofedcottage. The small wattle-and-daub building was dark which would aid them. Sheshoved Margaret into a pile of loose hay and dove in after her. For severalmoments they crouched there, trying to catch their breath as quietly aspossible. As their breathless exhaustion began to ease, Sorcha grew sharplyaware of the discomfort and sour smell of their hiding place. She could tell bythe soft noises Margaret was making that her cousin was finding it even moredistasteful than she was.
“Weare going to smell like a dung heap,” muttered Margaret, squirming around in avain attempt to get comfortable.
“Mayhapwe will smell foul enough that Ruari willnae wish to set hands on us. Now hush,Cousin. Ruari and his men werenae far behind us. They could be near at handeven now.”
“Thereis no fear that they will be able to sniff us out e’en if they had the besthounds in all of Scotland.”
“Willye hush!” Sorcha tensed as she heard a footfall. “Someone is in here.”
Shehuddled next to Margaret, lightly touching her cousin until she found where hermouth was. It would be foolish to expect her cousin to remain completely silentfor very long, and Sorcha wanted to be prepared to stop any ill-advised attemptto speak.
“Iam certain they are in here,” came a voice Sorcha easily recognized as Ruari’s.
“Weel,just in case this is one of those rare times ye are wrong, I sent a few mendown the lane to look around.”
Sorchabit the inside of her cheek to stop a surprised laugh over the heavy sarcasmshe heard in the other man’s voice. She resented the revelation, but finallyconceded that the fact that one of his men felt so at ease with his laird hecould tease him, said something very good about Ruari himself. At the moment,huddled in straw that stuck into her painfully and smelled as bad as anythingshe had smelled in a very long time, she did not want to know that there wasanything good about the man who had forced her to hide there.
“Yearenae being verra helpful, Rosse,” snapped Ruari. “Instead of complaining, yecould help me look for the wenches.”
“Howmuch help do ye need? This hovel is so tiny I couldnae e’en lie down in it.”
Arustle at the edge of the pile of hay made Sorcha’s heart skip. Margaretinhaled, and, afraid her cousin was about to make a sound, Sorcha clamped herhand over Margaret’s mouth. She silently cursed the dry crackle of hay her tinymovement made. In her mind she could see Ruari tensing with alertness, his headcocked like a hound that has caught the scent of its prey.
Itdid not startle her at all when, a moment later, the thin layer of hay thatcovered them was swept away, and the dim light revealed Ruari’s grinning face.Sorcha could not believe that she once considered that smile attractive. Itappeared to have an unpleasantly wolfish cast to it now.
“Howfitting,” he drawled as he grabbed her by the arm. “Hays in the hay.”
