Page 8 of Savage Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER SIX

Gradually, through a mammoth effort of will, she got a grip on herself.

I must be brave and not give into fear. In fact, it is a good thing that we are going to be traveling because there will be many opportunities for me to escape.

Somewhat comforted by that thought, she realized her throat was parched. She eyed the waterskin, craving a drink of water. She hated the thought of taking anything he offered her, and the idea of drinking out of the same waterskin as him was repellent.

But she was so thirsty! After debating with herself for a few minutes and deciding there was no need for her to add to her discomfort by dying of thirst, she reached for the skin and drank deeply from it, relishing the cool water as it soothed her dry throat.

“What’s yer name?” her captor asked again.

She lowered the water skin. “I said I won’t tell you,” she answered stubbornly.

“Well, I can hardly go negotiatin’ yer release if I cannae give him yer name, can I? Or have ye decided tae stay with me fer good?”

Blast!

“My name is Miss Constance Ashbourne,” she replied grudgingly. She took another drink, replaced the cork of the water skin, and threw it back at him.

He ignored it as it bounced off his knee and fell to the ground. “Constance Ashbourne. A very English name… fer a very English lady,” he replied, stressing the last two words mockingly, as though they were some sort of insult.

“I am an English lady, and I see no need to apologize to you for it,” Constance replied tartly, doing her best to push down her growing fears concerning her immediate future.

What is going to happen to me as this ruffian’s prisoner? Where is he taking me?

She shuddered at the idea of being imprisoned for days by this uncouth monster. She would be completely at his mercy, and who knew what he was capable of?

She would find way to get away from him, she silently resolved. She would do as he said until she got the opportunity to run.

“’Tis the same fer me, Constance Ashbourne,” he rumbled in his deep voice. “I’m proud tae be a Scot, and I’m proud of me country too. I’ll nae apologize fer what I am or where I come from.”

“Are you proud of having taken me prisoner then, an innocent woman, whom you have now tied to this tree and placed completely at your mercy?” Constance lashed out. “What sort of a monster are you to treat a woman so? If you are capable of feeling any human compassion at all, can you try to imagine how frightening this is for me? I demand that you untie these ropes at once and let me go!” She held out her wrists, urging him with her eyes to cut her bonds.

For a second, she thought she had convinced him. Crushing disappointment came when he shook his head and said resolutely, “Nay. Ye’re stayin’ put. As long as ye dae what I tell ye, ye’ll come tae nay real harm with me. And when yer faither gives me what I want, he can have ye. It just means ye’ll nae be meetin’ yer faither or yer sister until after the ransom’s paid. I’m sorry about that, but ’tis naethin’ personal.”

“And what if he will not pay?” she retorted, voicing her deep-seated uncertainty. Of course, she hoped her father would welcome her with open arms and would not hesitate to pay whatever the ransom turned out to be. But there was no guarantee of it.

Her captor frowned, and Constance glimpsed her doubt mirrored in his eyes. “Why would he nae pay? Ye’re his daughter, are ye nae? Of course, he’ll pay.”

“What if he does not believe you really have me? How will you prove it’s really his daughter you are holding?” She needed to know.

“Dinnae worry about that. He’ll believe me.”

Her blood turning cold, she cried, “What does that mean? Are you going to cut off my ear or a finger and send it to him?” She had read about such things in novels.

He astonished her by bursting into loud laughter. When he had stopped laughing, he said, “If ye dinnae keep a civil tongue in yer head, I might consider it.”

“Do you know, I do not think I have ever truly hated anyone in my life, apart from perhaps one person, but I truly hate you. You enjoy making me suffer, do you not? It makes you laugh to see me so afraid.” She meant every word.

“Go ahead and hate me, Sassenach, I couldnae care less what ye think of me.”

She huffed loudly and looked away. She was already tired from a restless night at the inn, and she had ridden quite a long way that day, without a proper rest, to reach the castle. Not to mention that the strain of being abducted by a madman was taking its toll on her. She had now reached a point where she could not find the energy to spar with him any longer.

I am his prisoner, and I have to accept it. But it is only for the time being. As soon as I get the chance, I shall run away.

Giving into her exhaustion, she sighed and looked past him, through the tree line, to the craggy walls and towers of Castle Ferniehurst. They loomed against the sky, so tantalizingly near, yet so far away.

She tried to cheer herself, to think beyond her captivity, to the time when her father would have paid the ransom and she was free. She envisioned a tall, faceless man embracing her warmly, calling her his own dear daughter, unmistakably the twin of his beloved Agnes. She would live with him and Agnes at the castle. She and her sister would make up for all the years they had missed, get to know each other, love each other. And she would finally have the loving father she had always craved.