She nodded, her mind whirring for an escapeplan. They were only a few hours ride north of the area ofPerthshire where she lived with her cousin at Draughon. If shecould hide and elude him, she would find her way back home.Somehow. She had oft been called determined.
Using his lethal-looking, foot-long dirk, hecut the ropes binding her wrists. She was glad he took care to keepthe blade away from her hands. Mayhap he was not as ruthless as hewished everyone to believe. When she looked up into his eyes, hefrowned and shoved the dirk back into the scabbard on his belt.
Determined to ignore him and his surliness,for she would soon flee far from him, she glanced around for somesuitable bushes. The yellow-flowered ones to her right looked likethey'd provide good cover. She headed toward them. Upon hearingfootsteps behind her in the grass, she stopped and turned. Thedamnable chief was following her.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"If you think I'm letting you run off intothe bushes alone, you're daft."
"I am not daft! I require privacy. Do youknow nothing about women?"
He smirked. "Aye, I ken more than enoughabout your gender. I don't trust you to go behind the bushes alone.You'll run at the first opportunity. I can tell by the look in youreye."
She glared. How could he tell so much abouther? She would have to conceal her thoughts better. "Well, I don'ttrust you either."
"I don't require your trust." He took her armand guided her away. "Come, I'll find you a nice thick bush."
"Stop manhandling me." She tried to yank herarm away, unsuccessfully, while avoiding being jabbed by theprickly gorse bushes. "I'm capable of walking on my own."
Ignoring her, he kept going. Once in thegrove, he pointed to one which stood by itself. "There. Go behindthat bush. I can't see you, but if you run away from it I willknow. And be quick about it."
Blast him! She wished she could get her handsaround his thick neck.
She removed her new satin gloves and tuckedthem away in a hidden pocket, lest they get ruined in the wilds ofScotland, just as her blue silk dress was becoming. At least hercloak was black which would hide any mud stains.
How mortifying to have to relieve herselfbehind the bushes, while a couple of dozen men waited out by theloch. And Dugald, not too far away. Her warden. Despite being theleader of his clan, he was as wild, rugged and untamed as thecountryside surrounding her.
Even after she'd finished, she took her ownsweet time behind the bush. This was her sole moment of freedom. Ifonly she could slip away without him seeing. Carefully, she peepedthrough the limbs of the bush and saw him waiting there, facingher. Could he see her watching him? She had her small daggerstrapped to her calf, but 'twould do her no good to use it now.Even if she killed Dugald—which she didn't truly want to do—hisguards would kill her. He did not appear to be a murdering fiendlike Pierre. Her intuition told her, deep down, Dugald was probablya decent man, despite his idiotic kidnapping of her.
"M'lady?" he called to her, his voicegruff.
She sighed. Her moment of freedom was over.She emerged from behind the bush. "What do you want, Dugald?"
He sent her another of those humorless smilesthat were starting to grate on her nerves. "'Tis time to join theothers."
She moved toward his tall, broad-shoulderedform.
"How would you ken my given name if you arenot Lady Lindsay, as you claim?" he asked.
"Your sister called you Dugald in the commonroom of the inn. I saw you there, talking to her."
"Aye, of course," he said doubtfully and,with a hand around her upper arm, guided her toward the loch'sedge. At least he didn't drag her, or she would've protested. Themen, standing farther along the loch with their horses, eyed hercuriously. They were no doubt exactly like their chief—barbarians.Willing to do whatever was required to get his precious daggerback.
Camille had hoped to find a brawny Highlanderof her own, but she had been in Scotland since the autumn beforeand had not managed to snare a handsome man's attention. Althoughher captor might have an attractive face and a body hard withmuscle, he was far too loathsome. Besides, he might already bemarried. Oh, if he was, his poor wife. He probably treated her likea lowly servant.
"Give her some of your wine, Owen," Dugaldcalled to a guard a short distance away.
"Aye, m'laird." The man proceeded toward her,carrying a wineskin.
"Watch her. Do not let her run." Dugaldstrode away.
Once she'd washed her hands in the icy,peat-tinged water of the loch, she stood, eyeing the man Dugald hadset to guard her. Owen was large and solid as an ox with a headthat was near bald.
"Where does he think I would run to?" sheasked him.
Owen shrugged and handed her the skin ofwine. Ugh. It looked horrid but she was indeed thirsty. Her onlyother option was the murky water of the loch where the horses hadjust drunk. She took a tentative sip of the wine. When shediscovered the taste wasn't too bad, she took another swallow.
"Tell your chief I am hungry, too," she said."He nabbed me before I broke my fast and it is now near tonoon."
