“Oh,” Jane said, and they just stood there, staring at each other. A thunderclap made Jane jump. “Uh…” she said, “I think, we should try to get some sleep until it stops raining.”
“Ye are exhausted, are ye nae?” he asked.
She started to deny it, but then nodded. “Yes.”
“Only a few moments ago, ye said ye would never sleep in a cave with me by yer side.”
“I was not this exhausted a few moments ago,” she retorted.
He bit back a smile. “Very well.”
He let go of her, and they descended to the floor. He then put his hands around her again. “Ye can sleep, but I will be awake,” he said. “Just in case ye decide tae run.”
Infuriated, she turned away from him. Effortlessly, he pulled her back to himself until she was once again snug against him. “Dinnae let anger get in the way of yer survival, Jane Marsh,” he whispered into her ear. “Now sleep.”
CHAPTERSIX
Jane felt her body respond to his when he pulled her closer. She fought it, and tried to focus on all the reasons for which she should hate him. Only, it was a little harder now that there might be a huge chance that his clan was not responsible for her uncle’s death. She had not wanted to voice it out, but she believed the story about Alistair’s father and the vow that Alistair had made upon his death. It was foolish, she knew, believing her captor. And yet he seemed in earnest.
Her supposed hatred was not helped, either, by the fact that he had tried to keep her as comfortable as he could. He had given her the shirt off his back, and even now, she was sure that her wet clothes were an inconvenience to him. They could not be comfortable to the touch in the least. And still he held on to her in an attempt to keep her warm.
And then he had gone on to compliment her eyes.
Eyes which she had despised since she was old enough to understand feelings. The only other man who had ever complimented them were her uncle, and whenever he had done so, she’d thought it was because he loved her or because his eyes were the same color as hers.
She tried her hardest not to lose guard. Whether he killed her uncle or not, they were still on opposite sides of the war. They were not friends. They never could be.
A small part of her was grateful for the delay in her marriage to Commander Edward Pierce. It was a small relief, a temporary mercy, but one she would take with open arms. She knew that the marriage was inevitable, for her sister’s sake, and harbored no notion that this cup would pass over her.
That is, unless Commander Pierce refused Clan Fletcher’s terms.
Those thoughts floated around in her head until she fell asleep.
* * *
Commander Edward Pierce would kill them. Every last one of them. He would mount their bodies up on the wall and watch them rot in the sun. How dare they kidnaphisbride! He threw a brass pitcher against the wall. It crashed against it, fell down, and emptied its contents on the grimy ground. The soldiers watched the trajectory of the pitcher. Like a single entity, they then turned to their commander.
“Get out! The lot of you! Out, I say!”
They scrambled to their feet, all twelve of them, and hurried to the door.
“Not you, Peter, a halfwit, are you?” Commander Pierce shouted at one of them. The soldier returned to the table and quietly sat down. Commander Pierce turned to the coachman. “How dare he! How dare he?!” The veins in his forehead bulged. He clutched his belly, which always ailed him when he got riled. Which was very often.
“Who did this?” he asked the coachman.
“C… clan Fletcher, Commander.”
“Clan Fletcher,” the commander repeated. “Those fiends that have refused to stay under a rock like the vermin they are. They had courage enough to steal my wife-to-be?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“How did they know who she was?” he asked.
The coachman blinked. “I do not know, Commander,” he said, his voice low.
Two goblets went the same way of the pitcher. If Peter, the commander’s right-hand man, were allowed to speak, he would advise on the disadvantages of wasting good wine and denting drinkware. At Loch Lomond, supplies were hard to come by. Only a small portion of the soldiers had access to wine, only when at the commander’s pleasure. Cutlery, crockery, and drinkware were outnumbered by the soldiers eight to one.
The commander grabbed the coachman by the front of his shirt. His eyes were brimstone. “Again, how did they know who she was?”
