Page 28 of Devil Black

He smiled at her and felt desire rush through him. Damn, if he did not want her again. He reached for her, and she planted both palms against his chest.

“They call for you,” she informed him. “Someone waits, outside the door.”

“Let them wait.”

A dull pounding erupted at the door, and Dougal heard the voice of his man, Dermott.

“My Laird? The search party waits without. Laird Randal’s men—”

Dougal groaned as reality returned in a dark wave. Aye, he had a ruse to play. He must go and search for his neighbor’s, his enemy’s, missing bride—the woman who lay beside him. His bride, now, and truly tried. Had he not, these two nights past, had her every way a man could have a woman?

Aye, and he wanted her all over again.

He bellowed to Dermott, “I will be right there.” And then he kissed his wife, even as he heard Dermott’s steps trail away.

“I suppose you must go,” she said with regret.

“I must play at this game a little while.”

“Eventually MacNab will discover I am here—and your wife. What will happen then? Can he not complain of you to the King?”

Dougal sat up in the bed and shrugged his hair back over his shoulders. “What, again? The King will be tired of hearing about me. And ’twas the King who bade me wed.”

“But he did not bid you capture and marry your neighbor’s intended bride.”

“I have not, in actual fact, wed his bride, as he was contracted to your sister, Catherine Maitland. ’Tis she for whom we search, to be accurate about it. She whom he believes was in the wrecked coach.”

“A fine enough point.” Isobel—his Isobel—looked worried. Could she truly be concerned for him? His heart, which he thought had solidified to stone, gave a twinge at the prospect.

And that, in turn, was enough to get him up and into his still-damp clothing. He might enjoy bedding her and relish defying MacNab, but he had no room for soft emotions such as concern.

“Let me worry about my own affairs, Wife,” he said shortly.

She sat up in the bed, her hair swirling around her, not even bothering to cover her naked breasts. The sight of her, so, caught at him and stole his breath away.

“You cannot expect to keep me hidden forever,” she pointed out.

“Nor do I so intend. Your presence in my household will be revealed at the most strategic moment.”

Her chin tipped up. “So, I am nothing to you but a weapon?”

And he answered carelessly, “A hidden weapon, at present. Aye, Wife, what more could you be?”

****

That day proved interminable. Though the sleet had ceased to fall, the weather remained sharp and cold, the roads sodden and mucky, and Dougal quickly tired of his private deception. Lachlan, bored and unconcerned as always, rode at his side, armed with a continuous stream of barbed conversation.

They rode in company with Randal MacNab himself. The erstwhile bridegroom, Bertram, headed yet another search party. Randal trusted Dougal not at all and had decided the best place for him was under MacNab’s own eye.

But the old man was clearly half distracted with worry and desperate to find his charge. His hands shook on the reins, and he pushed on through the day and the vile weather like a man possessed.

At one point, Dougal heard him say to one of his companions, “I will need to send word to her father concerning what has occurred. He entrusted his daughter’s care and welfare to me, and he is an old friend.”

Dougal smiled to himself in satisfaction. How does it feel, old man? How, to see someone stolen away and moved beyond your best efforts to protect her?

“It is no use, MacNab,” he told Randal when night once more began to draw down. “You might as well call off the search—you will no’ find her.”

Laird Randal glared at him, the hate visible in his eyes. “I will search as long as I choose, MacRae, and take no advice from the likes of you!”