“You do not know the half of it,” Jane replied.
Her captor laughed. It was a thrilling sound, a sincere sound, much unlike the mocking chuckles that had been his stock in trade in the little time she had spent with him. It was over too quickly. “Jane Marsh,” he said, his tone serious, “I ken ye are scared. Ye have every reason tae be. But I give ye me word. I will nae mistreat ye.”
“Why keep me at all?” Jane asked breathlessly. “Ye could simply let me go.”
“That, I am afraid,” he said, his chin set in a firm line, “I cannae dae.”
“Your supposed benevolence means nothing then,” Jane said, her eyes hard and judgmental. “It is not even, as a matter of fact, benevolence.”
“I assure ye, it is naething personal.” For the first time, he looked down at her chest, which was all but bare, her generous bosom in plain sight. His gaze lingered.
“It seems quite personal when you are looking at me with indecent eyes,” Jane said drily.
Her captor smiled. “Jane Marsh, I have seen a lot of naked lasses fer sure, but never one as pretty as ye. Yer bastard of a fiancé is a lucky man.”
Color rose on Jane’s cheek, and she felt a sensation on her skin that she had not even known she could feel until today. She could not name it. Wanting to change the focus from her to him, she went for a safe choice. An easy one. “Do you…do you have a name?” she asked to distract herself from the pleasure that she felt at his comment. Later, she would sit by herself and dissect the honesty of it. For now, she locked it away.
“Alistair,” her captor replied.
“Alistair,” Jane repeated.
CHAPTERFIVE
Alistair could swear that he had never heard his name sound more pleasant on any other person’s lips.
With a quick movement, his eyes still on hers, he withdrew his knife and tore her bindings. She gasped and looked down at her hands. She flicked her wrist and wriggled her fingers this way and that. It was almost child-like in its innocence. He took off his shirt and put it on her, while she stared at him, seemingly transfixed. When he drew it over her thighs, he lingered a few moments. And then he stood. The muscles on his chest were corded. A long scar ran from his right shoulder to just under his left breast. At the sight of his torso, he saw her blush. “Who is staring now?” he asked.
She quickly turned her face away, but he gently touched her chin and turned her face, so she was looking at him again. “Ye can stare as long as ye want, lass. Or at least until yer skinny fiancé comes tae fetch ye.”
A look flashed across her face. Alistair might not have noticed it if he wasn’t looking intently at her. “What is the problem?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” she responded.
“That face ye just made.”
She said nothing and understanding hit Alistair. “Ye dinnae love him, dae ye?” he asked. She was silent, still. “Why, then, are ye marrying him?” he asked.
Her face fell. For the longest time, she observed her feet. And then she looked up. “It is for my sister’s sake. I had no choice, really.”
Alistair felt a wave of respect for her. He too knew duty and responsibility, perhaps more than anybody else. Sacrifices had to be made for family, and if this Englishwoman understood that, fiery as she might be, then she had earned his regard. “I understand,” he murmured. “I too would dae anything fer me family.”
She looked at him intently, as though she meant to unearth some secret, but then looked away. Suddenly, they heard thunder. It was loud enough to frighten Alistair’s horse. The beast bolted in the direction of home. Alistair tried to grab on to the reigns, but the horse would not have it. He and Jane watched it make its way past the pushes until it was out of their line of vision.
Inwardly, Alistair sighed. He had trained the horse better, he’d thought. Now, they would have to return to the castle alone and on foot. They would have to scale the hill, as well, which was a tortuous task without a steed. This would take at least two hours. It began to rain, then. First, it was soft drops of water, and then it became fat pellets that made a dull roaring sound as they met with the earth. Jane burst into laughter. “Just my luck,” she mused, “being captured by a Scotsman and then being confined to the woods by a storm.” She turned to Alistair, her face no longer full of wonder or inquisitiveness. It was angry. “This is all your fault!” she said. “If you hadn’t captured me, I would have gotten to General Pierce’s castle in Loch Lomond by now.”
“If ye hadnae fled, we would have been at me castle by now,” he responded. “This is yer fault, lass.”
“I have told you not to call me that!” Jane replied.
They were a sorry sight, drenched in rain. Jane wiped the rainwater off her face and then turned in the direction of the cottage she had fled. She looked at it in what seemed like contemplation.
“No,” Alistair said.
“Pardon?” Jane said, turning back to him.
“Dinnae even think of that cottage. The witch of the Highlands resides there.”
Jane’s eyes grew wide. “The what of the what?”
