Page 6 of Sins of the Highlander

He’d done his share of lying and thieving and killing.

He’d never taken a woman unwilling.

But Elspeth Stewart hadn’t seemed particularly unwilling. At least, not at first. And he’d already proved his body was up to the task if he should decide upon ravishing her.

Rob smiled because it seemed to unnerve her when he did. “I kissed ye because it seemed the best way to shut ye up at the time. Though I didna expect ye’d like it so well.”

Her eyes narrowed at that. “I didna like it.”

“Liars go to hell, ye know.”

“So do men who steal brides from the altar,” she snapped back, still retreating, bunching the train of her velvet skirt in one hand to keep from tripping on it. Then she reached the rear of the cave and could flee no farther.

“Oh, rest easy on that score, lass. I was bound for hell long before this morning’s work.” Rob closed the gap between them and laid his hand at the base of her throat.

She didn’t fight him, which showed intelligence. He might hurt her unintentionally if she struggled. Her pulse raced like a hummingbird’s wings.

Plenty of men would kill her now, he knew. He’d certainly travel easier without her. Hidden in this remote cave, her body would likely never be found. He could claim she ran away from him and must have perished in the cold with no shelter from the elements. If their places were reversed, Drummond would certainly kill his hostage and get away clean.

Rob tightened his grip experimentally. It would be easy enough, with a little neck like hers. One good twist would do the trick. She’d feel little pain. The symmetry of the idea appealed to him.

Even the good Lord said “an eye for an eye.”

But that would mean punishing the innocent for the sins of the guilty. And Rob wasn’t quite mad enough to see justice in that.

She swallowed hard beneath his hand. He loosened his grip but didn’t release her.

He’d seen men sniveling in the dirt over less threat to their persons, yet she didn’t plead. He slanted a gaze of grudging respect toward her.

“Will ye no’ beg for your life, Elspeth Stewart? Aye, lass,” he said with a nod when her eyes went wider, “I ken who ye are.”

“No, I’ll never beg.” She stood straighter and met his gaze squarely. “Why should I give ye what ye want?”

The lass has spirit. Rob liked that.

Fiona’d had spirit too.

But Fiona wouldn’t be pleased with what he was doing now, he was certain. A half-heard sibilance curled round the cave. He released Elspeth and cocked his head, straining to listen, willing the small voice to come again. Was that Fiona trying to speak to him?

So often, while lying on his lonely bed, he thought he heard his wife singing to him just on the edge of sound. If only he could listen hard enough, if only he could follow the song to wherever she was, heaven or hell or that slice of a moment between sleep and wakefulness, it mattered not—

“Let me tend your wound,” the flesh-and-blood woman before him whispered. “You’re bleeding badly.”

Elspeth Stewart’s voice brought him back.

Now that she mentioned it, his arm did sting a bit. He’d thought the steady drip on the cave floor was water pattering from the stone vault overhead. It turned out to be blood trickling from the fingers of his left hand.

“Let’s get you into the sunlight where I can see what’s needed,” she said, taking his good arm.

“Clever, lass, but no,” he said. “We’ll no’ need to leave the cave just yet. Yer bridegroom might turn back this way. Come with me.”

***

Elspeth drew a deep breath and followed her captor back along the cave’s main corridor. At least he no longer seemed disposed to harm her.

Madmen were changeable as weathercocks. One moment he was making love to her mouth and the next he threatened to squeeze the life out of her. She’d have to tread warily to avoid setting him off again.

He turned sharply down a narrow passage she’d missed when she was backing away from him.