The Spellbound Bride (20 page)

The horses splashed as they began crossing the stream.

Chapter Eleven

"Laugh."

Sorcha stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

"What?"

"Laugh. We need them to believe they’ve just caught us in a tryst."

"I can’t." She became rigid with fear, her eyes wide, their centers dilated.

Ian kissed her soundly using everything he knew to overwhelm her senses. Her frame loosened in his arms. Then, before he stopped the kiss, he began to tickle her. She giggled. Ian nodded in approval.

The horses stopped moving.

"Did you think you could get away by playing mermaid?" Ian asked in a teasing tone just loud enough for the men to hear.

Sorcha giggled again, this time embellishing the role Ian had her thrown her into. She shivered again, her wet, naked skin brushing against him and stealing his concentration.

"You liked the water well enough when we were in it, my lord," she replied, her voice louder than normal.

Ian peeked from behind the rocks. One of the riders shrugged and the pair wheeled their horses around. He crouched back down near Sorcha.

"Just a bit more," he whispered in her ear.

"Come back here!" he said loudly and suddenly grabbed her bare bottom. She squealed out of surprise. Ian began kissing her neck.

"Perfect," he whispered, "just perfect."

In the distance men’s laughter rang in the trees. Ian moved closer, wrapping his arms around her. The closeness of danger and the warmth of him made her shiver from something altogether different than cold. His kisses made her long for the intimate touches he had shown her last night.

"You’re cold. We should swim back to our clothes." His touch made her tremble as much as the cool air on her wet skin. Then she felt the heated length of his shaft against her thigh. Sorcha shoved him away.

"I hardly think this is the time, or the place." Her nerves were stretched thin, and fear was still making her heart pound hard in her chest. She wanted to recapture what they had shared the night before as badly as he did, but wouldn’t dare admit the wanton wish. He grinned as if discerning her thoughts.

Ian sat back against the rock, laying one arm atop his bent knee. Droplets of water clung to the hair on his chest, glistening in the afternoon light.

"Granted. But can you think of a more pleasant way to spend the afternoon?" He gave her a particularly enticing smile. A smile that made her turn liquid inside with want.

She resisted the urge to push him down onto the ground, knowing that they were in danger.

"How about hiding out in a more secure location?"

"That doesn’t sound more pleasant to me..."

"How can you even think of such things at a time like this?"

He gently grasped her hand and pulled her toward him.

"You’re naked, wet and next to me. You expect me to think of something else, lass?"

She slapped lightly him on the chest. "That’s not what I meant."

"Aye, but it’s exactly what I meant."

She opened her mouth to retort, and he kissed her, his tongue tasting her, flicking and teasing hers. Sorcha felt herself melding against his heated skin. She dug her fingers into his skin, wanting more, needing more from him.

He pulled back from their intimate kiss and clasped her to him. His mouth brushed her ear in a hot caress.

"Why is it, lady of the wood, that you can drive all other thoughts from my mind?" Beneath her hand, she could feel his heart beating fast and hard. Just like her own.

"Perchance it is because you do the same to me."

His hand threaded through her hair, stroking it with such tenderness it made her want to forget that anything existed beyond the two of them.

"Then come with me to France."

His words were a slap she hadn’t expected. She pulled back, startled and hurt.

"You know I can’t."

"Why not? Argyll has an entire clan to see after him. Why does he need you too?"

"The curse— "

Those two words opened a chasm between them. He looked as if he were sculpted of stone, his eyes the only thing alive with a fire so intense that it singed her where she sat.

"Last night I did the unforgivable. You will die. I know it. Even if it is not by my hand, but by another’s."

He sat in silence, his gaze flat and hard as he rose from the ground and stalked by her into the water.

"Say something," she pleaded.

He was hip deep when he turned around, his glare fixed on her face.

"Damn the curse. You use it as an excuse to keep your heart safe. Well you are not the only one with a heart that has been hurt, lass. You are my wife. You will go with me. That is the end of it."

He dove into the water, slipping beneath the surface. Sorcha fumed. It was not that simple.

She had made the fatal mistake of lying with him. And while he hadn’t died from that, probably because of his superior strength and constitution, she believed he would if the circle was complete and he thought his love was returned. If he was such a stubborn fool he couldn’t see the danger lying in wait for him, then she would protect him. She would send him on his way to France, no matter the cost.

Her determination did not waver as they donned their clothing and returned to the horses to track the bandits. The afternoon light was fading to dusk when they first heard the voices and the crackle of a large campfire. Ian lifted his hand in signal for them to halt.

He swung down from the saddle with practiced ease and then came back to lift her from her horse. Soundlessly they made their way toward the camp. At the moment, Sorcha was grateful no one could hear the rapid thumping of her heart, and that she knew how to move quietly through the wood. Darkness pressed in on them.

Peering through the thicket, they saw the outline of the group. Seven of them, and Argyll, sat around the fire. They had not tied the Earl of Argyll up away from them, in fact, they had not tied him at all, which would make freeing him more complicated. Just out of the circle of light cast by the campfire, the reivers provisions sat atop a large flat rock.

"You stay back, and I’ll approach the food," he whispered to her, while he kept his eyes on the men around the fire.

"It won’t work. You’re much too large to be quiet in this brush. Let me put the draught into their wine flagon. Besides you do not ken how much of it to use. Once they drink it, they’ll tumble off to sleep, and in an hour we should be able to walk in and take Archibald."

"Go then, but be careful. I’ll watch you from here." He brushed her cheek with a kiss before she carefully moved away from him picking her way through the forest undergrowth. For a moment he panicked, second-guessing their plan, but it was too late.

He watched her hand as she reached through the brush and grasped the wine flagon from the provisions. Ian’s gaze flicked to the men around the fire. One of the larger men hefted himself up and approached the food. Fear sliced through Ian. He knew that at any moment the flagon would appear again. Could she see the man approaching her? Did she know enough to hurry before she was discovered?

The man came closer, the flagon appeared, settling down against a fat circle of yellow cheese.

She shrieked as his beefy hand grabbed her slender wrist and hauled her from the bushes.

"Hoy, what have we here?" Every man turned to look as she leveled a glare at the hand holding her wrist, but did not fight her captor, as if she intended he should find her all along.

The most slender man in the group scratched his face.

"Ye gads, Burke, it’s the lass you nearly nabbed for us."

The large man holding Sorcha pulled her closer to him.

"So it is." He brushed the dirty dark brown lock of hair from his face and grinned, revealing a missing tooth. "Perhaps we’re to have a bit of sport after all, eh, lads?"

Ian notched his crossbow and took aim, watched the others and noting their positions so he could quickly kill the ones closest to Sorcha.

Her next words stunned him.

"I think not. The commander of the two dozen men who surround you would not appreciate it."

What in the devil did she think she was doing? Surely she knew he would find a way to save her. Well, regardless of the current situation, he had to give her credit for her swift thinking.

The man they called Burke stopped in his tracks.

"I dinna’ see any but you, lass."

"We’ve come to retrieve The Earl of Argyll. Surely you’d know we’d come for him."

Eyes darted to the dark forest that surrounded them and a nervous murmur swept among the bandits. Ian took a step back toward the horses, making them move against the brush, hoping it sounded as if several of them waited in the wood, going with whatever she was trying to accomplish.

"But we’re willing to make a bargain with you. Should you be willing to give him up peacefully, we’ll be kind enough to spare your lives."

Burke stepped closer, and pulled his dirk. The lethal edge of it glinted in the firelight.

"That’s an interesting story coming from a lass trying to steal our wine."

"I’d put that dirk down before one of the bowmen lodges a shaft in your throat."

He put the blade away, but did not look any less menacing. His uncertain gaze darted to his men, then quickly back to her.

"If you’ve a garrison with you, then why would they send you out to us and not the commander?"

Sorcha lifted her chin and donned her most regal stance. "I am representative of the earl’s guardian, the Chamberlain of Argyll."

Burke lifted a bushy brow, crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels.

"Aren’t we honored then?"

"I would like to be assured that no harm has come to the Earl."

Burke stepped aside so she could clearly see Argyll, his arms tightly held by two men.

"He seems unharmed. You may release him and we will leave you at peace."

Before she could move away, Burke grabbed her arm.

Ian pulled back the bow and let the arrow fly. The arrow whizzed past Sorcha’s left ear and burrowed into Burke’s chest. In moments, two more men fell to the dirt.

Sorcha bolted. One of the brigands grabbed her, hauling her to her feet and sliding the dirk beneath her throat as he clasped her to his chest with her arm twisted behind her like a live shield.

"Come out ye devil. Do it! Or I’ll kill her where she stands!" the outlaw shouted to the darkened forest.

For a moment nothing moved. Ian stepped from the bushes, his sword drawn, the blood rushing in his veins, but his mind cold and sharp as his blade

"Let them go peaceably, and you may still live."

He saw dirk pressed into her flesh, making Sorcha gasp, and red rage popped behind his eyes, crowding out the cold reason.

"Is she worth it, lad?"

Ian paused. The muscles in his jaw flexed, trying to pull his focus together and push away the ache of fear gnawing at his belly. His sword hand went whitish as he gripped the weapon harder. His eyes darted at the men. He flicked his gaze back to the brigand.

He could take them all, but would Sorcha be sacrificed as a result?

"It depends on how you want to die, and how quickly." He was moving slowly toward her, crouched to spring, sword outstretched.

"I think I could neatly slice her from ear to ear before you could get to me." To emphasize his point he pressed the blade deeper, eliciting a trickle of crimson that ran along the edge of the blade.

Ian froze. His pulse thrummed loudly in his ears. He wanted to hack them all to pieces. Every last bloody one of them. But the bastard was right. His dirk would move faster than Ian’s sword, and Sorcha would die. He ached to do battle, but for Sorcha’s sake he throttled his instincts.

He could not risk that she would be sacrificed to win the battle. Ian clenched his jaw and then did something he never had before. He dropped his sword to the dirt. Instantly two of the remaining brigands were by his side, but none dared touch him.