“I didnae think she was,” came the reply. “But make certain ye dunnae hurt her.”
Two of them at least, then. Hands grabbed at her again, and in response she rolled back in the other direction—and smacked her head against a bedpost. The blow stunned her. Before she could recover her wits they’d twisted her up in ropes and blankets so tightly she couldn’t even wiggle her toes.Blast it!Defeated by her own momentum.
“Are ye injured, lass?” the second voice whispered, close by her ear.
She tried whacking at him with her head, but only struck air.
“I’ll take that as a nae.”
“How the devil are we supposed to get her oot the window?” the first voice hissed again. “I didnae realize she was so stout.”
The nerve! To kidnap her and then insult her figure! With a growl she tried to kick out again, but only managed a motion she imagined looked something like a beached whale.
“I reckon ye’ve made her angry,” the second voice observed, humor in his tone. “Tie the rope aboot her waist and we’ll anchor it to the bed. Once we get her lifted into the window, we’ll lower her doon to… our friend.”
Three of them, then. And while they might be trying not to hurt her—likely so she’d fetch a better price from some foreign prince or other—she had no such qualms about hurting them. Ladies didn’t fight, but neither did they willingly surrender their freedom or virtue.
She flopped about again, but didn’t manage to strike anyone. Breathing hard, she had to settle for growling under her breath. “Easy, lass,” the second despicable man murmured. “We’re taking ye to see yer mistress.”
She made what she hoped was a derisive sound.
“Ye dunnae believe me? I cannae blame ye fer that. But how else do ye reckon I know she’s nae yer niece, and that she goes by Forrester and nae Giswell?”
He knew something, clearly. And furious as she was at being manhandled, the slightest bit of hope sneaked back into her heart. If they were both kidnapped, she still had a chance to redeem herself. She could save them both—perhaps not their reputations, but she wouldn’t be stranded on the outside and forced to watch the inevitable unfold without being able to help.
She nearly changed her mind about cooperating when the two men hoisted her into the air and then left her hanging there with her head pointing downward. The jolts and jumps that rattled her teeth and cut off her breath seemed to go on forever, but finally another pair of hands spun her right way up just before she thudded dully onto the cold, hard ground.
A moment later she heard the two men climb down the wall behind her. “Ye might have backed the wagon beneath the window, lad,” the first voice panted.
“That’s nae stealthy. Ye told me to be stealthy.”
“Well, now we’ll stealthily lift her into the wagon,” the second voice whispered. “Now, before someone walks by and we have to snatch him, too.”
Hands pawed at her legs and her shoulders and—good heavens—her backside, and then she went back into the air and settled onto what must have been the bed of the wagon. It creaked and shifted around her, and then began bumping and rattling as it rolled forward.
Poor Wolstanton and Stevens would be beside themselves in the morning, with no idea where she’d gone or why. Hopefully they wouldn’t conclude that she’d decided to head to Lattimer Castle herself. Given the driver’s reluctance to travel through the barbaric Highlands alone, though, they might well conclude that shehadmade the trip just so they could justify staying put, themselves.
At least she would be with Lady Marjorie. Once the two of them put their heads together, no ropes would prevent them from escaping to rain fierce justice down on these savages.
***
The one clever thing his brothers had done when they’d kidnapped Marjorie had been to drive the wagon in circles for an hour before they turned for home. By the time Graeme had duplicated their maneuver and driven up the long drive to the Lion’s Den, his old pocket watch in the moonlight read nearly four o’clock in the morning. He closed his eyes for a moment, tired and knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping for a good twenty hours, at least, before he hopped to the ground.
Strategically this made sense; the local cotters would know shortly, thanks to Father Michael, that the grand house employed a lass named Marjorie Giswell and that the lass’s aunt had been looking for her and offering a reward for her return. He’d taken his own steps to spread the rumor that Mrs. Giswell was something of a lunatic, and now in addition he could say that she was residing with them while she recovered her senses. The searches would stop. The rumors of a Sassenach female going missing would stop. And no one would dig deeper to discover who these mad Englishwomen truly were.
It gave him what he needed most: time. And thanks to the lengthy wagon ride and covered eyes of his new captive, while his neighbors would know where the two English ladies were, the lasses themselves would have no idea. She—they—hopefully wouldn’t be trying to flee.
In fact, the largest difficulty he could foresee was that he was running out of spare rooms with locks on the doors. “Let’s get her inside,” he intoned, lowering the back gate of the wagon.
“And up the stairs?” Cowen said woefully, still looking uncomfortable out of his usual livery. All three of them had donned the Maxwell plaid beneath plain, coarse coats, as well, in the hope that no one would notice three more cotters lurking about the Cracked Hearth in the middle of the night.
“Aye. If ye can heave her over my shoulder, I’ll carry her up.”
“Ye’ll break yer back, Lai—lad,” Ross protested.
Another muffled, annoyedwhumphemanated from their cargo. “I’ll manage,” he countered, ducking as the two servants lifted her, and declining to remind them of other heavy things he carried on a fairly regular basis.
He mostly wanted to make certain his other guest hadn’t slipped out during the night, but that would have to wait until he had this one secured. He’d set guards, of course, but that didn’t guarantee anything. She’d said she stayed because she still believed they could come to an amicable resolution. Graeme didn’t know if he believed that, but he’d accept it mostly because he wanted to. At the same time, he could not—would not—allow her to flee if theydidn’treach an agreement. And it didn’t have as much to do with protecting his siblings as he kept claiming; she’d assured him they would be safe, and he believed her. No, this odd need of his to have her close by was something as primitive as the need to protect, but it was at the same time much warmer and sharper.
