True to the Highlander(8)
Hugh’s once-over made her want to bathe all over again, and he oozed malevolence. She grabbed her gown and struggled into it, doing up the laces as quickly as she could. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll certainly give it some thought.” Not on your life! But she couldn’t say that. He had the upper hand and knew it. Best not provoke him in any way.
“If I might be so bold, who do you belong to? Will there be a ransom offered for your safe return, I wonder?”
Stepping into her leather slippers, she searched for a deer path along the banks of the stream. Wait. Given her earlier dash for freedom, he probably hoped she’d head deeper into the forest. Best to work her way back toward camp. “I belong to myself. There’s no ransom.”
Hugh chuckled low in his throat. “A lady of gentle breeding, obviously of noble birth, and you claim to belong only to yourself? How delightfully mysterious. No one searches for you, my lady?”
Alethia sucked in a breath as she realized her mistake. If she had no one, belonged nowhere, he’d have no reason not to harm her. “I mean—”
“I understand your meaning well enough. No doubt you are fleeing from someone. Poor lass. Did your father marry you off to some wealthy old goat you find repugnant?”
She kept her mouth clamped shut and fought for calm.
“Ah, well, ’tis only a matter of time before I uncover the truth. In the meantime, I do hope you will accept my offer of protection.”
His eyes went from the gold chain around her neck, down her gown and back to the pendant, like he was tallying their worth in his head. Alethia cringed inwardly. He was the last person she’d turn to for anything. “Like I said, I’ll certainly give your kind offer all the consideration it deserves.” She pushed through the brush to pass him and hurried back to camp. How the hell was she going to get out of this mess?
Malcolm watched the woman return to camp. Her cheeks had turned a dusky rose, and her silken tresses fell around her shoulders in damp, shiny ripples. The sight mesmerized him. Likewise, his men were transfixed. Then he caught sight of the fear in her eyes. “Make ready for travel.” He barked the order, breaking the spell.
Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm watched Hugh slink back into camp. The notion he might’ve been nearby while the lady washed at the falls sent a chill down Malcolm’s spine. Something had happened, of that he was certain. He should’ve had one of the lads follow at a distance. Nay. He should’ve seen to her safety himself.
“Robley.” He looked over his shoulder at his cousin and gestured toward the woman. “See that she’s fed. Liam, ride back a league and make certain we aren’t being followed.” Malcolm tied her small case to the back of his saddle. “Angus, go on ahead to see we aren’t riding into an ambush. We’ll meet where the road splits to Inverness.”
“Aye, Malcolm.” Angus spurred his horse into a gallop as he left. Liam’s eyes swung from Hugh to the lass and back to Malcolm. With a slight nod, he signaled that he’d noticed her fear and shared Malcolm’s suspicions. Then he rode out of camp in the opposite direction.
Robley smiled and handed her a piece of jerky and an oatcake. “Have you a name, my lady?”
“Of course I do. Thank you for asking. I am Lady Alethia Goodsky.”
“Sky, like the heavens above? ’Tis a lovely name. I’m called Robley, and the youngster over there is Galen. Angus and Liam are the two who left to see that our way is safe. That’s Hugh,” he said, pointing across camp, “and the last is my cousin Malcolm.”
Malcolm frowned. “Aleth” was the Greek word for truth. His thoughts flew back to the summer he was ten and three. He and his cousins had gone to a fair in Inverness, determined to find some mischief. They all feared an old fortune-teller who plied her trade there. On a dare, he’d agreed to have her tell his fortune. Could this foreigner be the “truth” the old woman had referred to as her?
He turned to study Alethia. Had she been left in his path, certain to be found by him? Shaking his head, he dismissed the notion and went back to readying his gear. ’Twas coincidence and silly superstition, nothing more, and he prided himself on being a modern-thinking man.
Swinging up into the saddle, Malcolm continued to give orders. “Galen, carry the lady’s larger pack. Hugh, take the lead, and Robley, you take up the rear.” Malcolm scooped Alethia up and set her astride in front of him.
“Hey,” she protested as part of her oatcake broke off and fell to the ground. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather ride with Robley.”