The ground had only a light dusting of snow, but the wind was bitter, and it cut her, making her choke back tears. Rowenna was confronted with flinty looks from Jasper’s men, ready to ride out. None smiled or showed any softness when she looked up at them, save one, a vast bear of a man with a fearsome countenance and missing an ear. He gave her a rueful smile, revealing a black gape where his front teeth should have been.
How she wished she had more time to prepare herself. Beyond a dirk shoved down her boot, she was defenceless, and Morag’s threat chilled her heart. What would this man do when he had her alone?
‘Do you have nothing warmer for a cloak?’ Jasper was right beside her and made her jump. ‘Is this rag all your father givesyou when he lets me take you?’ he sneered, his fingers picking at the cloak she had worn since her youth.
‘It is sufficient for my needs,’ she replied.
Jasper Glendenning sighed and looked up at the sky. ‘More snow is coming, and we have a long ride on bad roads. I do not want a prize that is frozen solid.’
‘Is that what I am – a prize?’
He shrugged. ‘If you like. Or maybe you are a burden. Time will tell me which it is.’
Rowenna met his unblinking stare. What beautiful eyes he had, this cruel, unfeeling man – blue as the deepest part of the river where the water would be inviting on a summer’s day but treacherous to the unwary. Her gaze was drawn to the thin white line of a scar on one of his lips. That scar had touched her mouth, and it came closer as Jasper leaned in.
Rowenna took a step back, and with one smooth movement, Jasper reached up, unclipped his fur and swept it about her shoulders, fastening it at the neck. Where his fingers briefly touched the flesh on her neck, goosebumps rose on the skin. Rowenna shuddered, and he caught it and frowned.
‘I do not need it,’ she said.
‘Defy me like a fool, if you must, but do not be a cold fool. You are already shivering, or perhaps you are not as brave as you like to think. And whether you need it or not, you will wear this fur to please me and salve my conscience.’
‘I hear that you don’t have one.’
He smiled. ‘Has that old drab been telling you what a monster I am? Well, I am nought but a man, like any other.’
‘Men are all the same, taking what they please, whenever they please.’
As Morag’s words echoed in her mind, Rowenna stared into Jasper Glendenning’s face – rough, scarred by life, too rugged for softness – hoping the woman was wrong.
He ran his fingers through a strand of her hair. ‘When you are in my home, you will discover the truth of what I am. And Rowenna, you should try to please me as often as possible if you know what is good for you.’
‘And if I don’t want to please you?
In reply, Jasper gave her a wolfish grin and whistled through his teeth, circling his hand in the air to ready his men to ride out. How easily he commanded with a word or gesture – all power and confidence, not slithering and manoeuvring like her brother and father. That meant he was a man to be feared, and once she was inside his lair at Kransmuir, she would be at his mercy.
Chapter Ten
After a miserable ride under dark skies, the stern grey walls of Kransmuir Fell rose from the rugged land. The drawbridge squealed open like the gates of hell, and Rowenna’s heart sank. She had expected a stronghold, but this was far larger than Fallstairs. Jasper’s home was a castle - daunting and impossible to escape. The thick, dark woodland breathing down its neck gave it an ominous feel. What horrors lurked in the trees or inside, for that matter? The Glendennings had so much more power than the MacCreadies, and they could squash her like a gnat if they chose.
Jasper had ridden at the head of his men, with her bringing up the rear with his man, Randel. Though he looked like a dumb brute, he was surprisingly affable and cheerful, and there was pity in his smile. Thankfully, he had little conversation, for Rowenna was in too great a turmoil to talk.
As they clattered into the yard, folk came running to help with the horses and greeted the men warmly, but not her. They stared and pointed, and one or two gasped and whispered behind their hands. Was she so shocking a sight? Then it occurred to Rowenna that they might think her Jasper’s whore, and her face took flame.
Jasper came over and plucked her off her horse. ‘What do you think of my home, Rowenna?’ he said with a smile.
‘It is a good enough prison.’ One more appeal to his mercy might work. ‘Can you not let me go? Bran will never find the money to pay your debt or admit to wrongdoing.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he is a coward who cannot face you.’
‘Then your stay at Kransmuir will be of some duration. It will give you time to warm to me, Rowenna.’
‘Does the prisoner warm to the jailor?’
He laughed. ‘Depends on the jailor and his powers of persuasion.’
She looked away from Jasper’s intense gaze. ‘I will never warm to you.’
