Page 34 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

Whose Enemy?

Pippia scurried along behind Arran, her heart thudding. She was convinced that it had not been her imagination.

There had been something odd and unreadable in Arran’s eyes, something yearning and hopeless. Whatever it was, it lit a flame of excitement inside her that was almost certainly not seemly.

Either way, Pippia’s fears of being hurt by Arran had dwindled to nothing. That was hardly a sensible thing to assume, considering that the man had kidnapped her and was currently taking her to her greatest enemy.

Still, Pippia somehow knew that Arran would not hurt her. Perhaps she was being foolhardy, but surely this had offered her some kind of opening.

I can’t go to James Stewart, Pippia realized, with a twinge of fear. I’ll never leave his castle alive if I do.

Pippia eyed Arran’s back, scurrying to keep up with him. His shoulders were tense, and he had his head lowered. She would have to choose her moment carefully.

Pippia tested her new bonds as soon as Arran was out of sight. They’d eaten the last of their rations—a handful of cold rabbit meat and a piece of stale black bread—earlier, at the river. Pippia’s cheeks heated as she remembered that tense incident. The more time that passed, the more she started to believe that she really had imagined it. No doubt a handsome man like Arran had his own beautiful wife at home, possibly even a brood of small children. At the very least, he would have his pick of the Stewart beauties.

He insisted on continuing almost until dark and only stopped when Pippia’s stomach rumbled so loudly that Edward’s ears flickered in surprise.

“I’ll need to hunt tonight,” Arran announced, carefully lifting Pippia down from the horse. “I’ll need to untie you.”

“I’ll not go anywhere,” Pippia promised. “I know I’ll never find my way home from here.”

The corner of Arran’s mouth quirked a little in surprise. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you. I’ll tie you to a tree.”

Pippia had complained, of course, but it was no good. Arran carefully unpicked the knot that bound them together and then bound both of Pippia’s wrists to a nearby oak. He was careful with the knots, keeping them tight, but not uncomfortably so. Pippia couldn’t possibly reach around the tree to unpick the knot.

“I’ll set a fire,” Arran said. “And I won’t be far, I promise.”

“I don’t like the idea of being tied up and helpless all by myself in the middle of the forest,” Pippia said, trying to make her eyes look wide and appealing. She’d seen other women do this back at the keep. They’d flutter their eyelashes and look up coyly, and men would do anything for them. Pippia had even known some women to bring themselves to the brink of tears, and men simply crumbled before them.

Arran, however, was unmoved.

“As I said, I won’t be far. There’s nothing in this forest to hurt you.”

“Except for other people. I was in a forest when you kidnapped me,” Pippia remarked sourly.

Arran smiled at that. “Well, you’ll be glad of it when we’re eating roasted rabbit tonight. Stay here, and try not to make a noise unless you need help.”

True to his word, Arran built up a blazing fire, which did a good job of driving away the oncoming chill of night. He tied up Edward, running a loving hand down the horse’s flank, and then he melted away into the forest.

Pippia was alone. After a few moments’ worth of fruitless tugging at her bonds, she gave up. She wasn’t going anywhere without Arran.

That wasn’t a pleasant thought. What if Arran fell into the river and drowned? What if he got lost or ran into a band of bandits or enemy soldiers?

No, not enemy soldiers,Pippia reminded herself firmly. McTavie soldiers. Arran’s enemies, but not mine. They would kill him and then look for me. I hope.

But that idea, far from filling her with relief, filled Pippia with dread. The idea of Arran lying, bleeding and dying, unheeded on the forest floor made her feel sick. Or worse, he could be killed, and she would be left here to slowly die of hunger and thirst.

Suddenly, the bright firelight only served to emphasize the dark shadows around her. The warmth from the fire made the chill of the night even colder, and her solitude just reminded Pippia of how truly alone she was.

She squeezed her eyes closed and reminded herself that she was a grown woman, a lady of the McTavie clan, and she would not be frightened into submission by a dark, cold night in a forest.

Even so, Pippia kept her eyes and ears sharp for any sight or sound of Arran’s return. However, she barely had time to register the crackle of twigs underfoot before Arran stepped into the clearing, a couple of dead rabbits hanging from a string.

“Hungry?” he asked brightly.

Pippia swallowed hard, almost bowled over by the feeling of relief that swept over her. What on earth possessed her to be so happy to see her captor—her kidnapper—of all people?

“Aye, I’m fair starving,” Pippia managed. “Any chance you could untie me?”