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‘Is that your excuse?’
‘It needed no excuse. ’Twas a matter of common sense.’
Bereft of speech she looked away. The man neither appeared nor sounded even remotely apologetic. Instead he drew her to her feet and taking a firm hold on her arm led her aside to a clump of bushes. Then he thrust the bundle of clothing at her.
‘Put these on. They’re not the most feminine of garments, but they’re all that’s available and they do at least have the advantage of being intact.’
Ashlynn glared at him. The dark eyes grew flinty.
‘Perhaps you’d like my help, lass?’
‘No.’
‘Then dress and make haste or by heaven I’ll finish the task myself.’
Her jaw clenched but she took the offering without further comment and retreated a few yards behind a small clump of bushes. Bare of leaves, they were not ideal to the task but provided a degree of privacy from prying eyes. A glance over her shoulder revealed that her large companion hadn’t moved. Indignation surged: the brute had no shame at all! Then she reflected that it scarcely mattered; there was nothing for him to see now that he had not already seen before.
Giving her attention to the bundle she found it comprised a cloak in which were wrapped shirt, tunic, belt, trews and hose all clean and of strong and serviceable material. With them was a pair of leather boots. With no little relief she hurriedly pulled on the hose and trews and dragged the shirt over her head before divesting herself of the big cloak. Finally she pulled the tunic on. Like the shirt it was decidedly roomy but, she reasoned, it would allow for greater freedom of movement. It would be a lot warmer too. She fastened the belt but even on the last hole it still hung loose on her waist. The boots completed the outfit. Like everything else they were too big but better than going barefoot. Finally she threw the cloak round her shoulders and fastened it. Then, having retrieved the borrowed fur she rejoined her companion.
He watched her come, observing the transformation wrought in one comprehensive look. His expression gave nothing away but under that penetrating gaze she felt her anger mount again. With an effort she controlled it. The knowledge that she was beholden to the rogue didn’t make things any better. Trying to gather a few protective shreds of dignity she drew in a deep breath.
‘I suppose I should thank you for pulling me out of the water.’
‘Aye, you should. If it hadn’t been for you, Fitzurse would never have escaped.’
‘I’m sorry he did.’
‘So am I.’
‘Why did you want to kill him?’
‘That need not concern you.’
His wrath was almost palpable. That she should have been in part responsible only made matters worse. In a more diffident tone she said, ‘I am grateful for what you did back there.’
The reply was a snort that might have been compounded of anger or disgust, or both. It brought her chin up at once.
‘You could have left me to drown. Why didn’t you?’
‘Believe me, lass, I was tempted.’
With that quelling reply the conversation died, for Ashlynn could think of nothing to say and her taciturn companion clearly had no wish to pursue it further. Instead he took his cloak from her and put it on. Then, resuming his grip on her arm, he led her towards a shaggy bay gelding that stood among the waiting horses.
‘Get on.’
There was nothing for it but to obey. He watched her gather the reins and swing into the saddle. Then he mounted his own horse and drew it alongside. A few moments later the whole cavalcade set off.
They rode in silence for some considerable time. The stranger made no attempt to break into her thoughts and in truth she had no inclination for speech either. In her mind she saw Heslingfield in flames and the bodies of the slain all around. Her jaw tightened. She would never see any of her loved ones again. There had not been a chance to bury them either or say a mass for their souls. They lay unshriven on the cold earth for the crows and the foxes to pick the flesh from their bones, or else their ashes lay in the blackened ruins of the hall. They were memories too bitter for tears. Once she had imagined that an arranged marriage was the worst fate possible. How naïve she had been to think so.
It wasn’t until noon that the cavalcade stopped to rest. The landscape had changed as they progressed, wood and pasture giving place to rolling hills and open heath strewn with boulders and dead bracken. A few scrubby trees leaned to the prevailing wind and, hard by, a brook tumbled over a rocky bed. The riders turned off the road and dismounted. Ashlynn watched the stranger step down.
‘We’ll stop here awhile,’ he said. ‘The horses need a rest and the men too.’
Glancing around she realised with a start that there were perhaps fifty of them all told, mostly long-haired and bearded and variously dressed in stout leather tunics and cloaked like their leader, and every one of them fully armed. Remembering that they had defeated the Norman mercenaries she shivered a little. Unaware of her regard the men opened saddlebags and drew out bread and cheese and pieces of dried meat. It was then she remembered that she had eaten nothing since the previous morning and precious little then. The stranger threw her a shrewd glance.
‘Come.’
He steered her to a boulder nearby that was a convenient height to sit on. Then he opened his own saddlebag and drew out the food inside. When he offered her a piece of bread she took it and fell to devouring it at once. Observing this he passed over a chunk of cheese as well before falling to himself. The solid fare was coarse and plain enough but it lined the stomach and took the edge off the clawing pains she had felt before. They ate in silence and only when they had finished did he bend his gaze on her again.
‘Tell me, how did you fall foul of the Normans, lass?’
She looked away. It was a painful subject and she had no wish to discuss it. He made no attempt to push her. Instead he let the silence draw out and waited, though the quiet gaze never left her. Ashlynn forced herself to meet it and drew in a deep breath. He had saved her life after all so she supposed he was owed an explanation.
‘They burned my home and slew my family. I was the only survivor.’
‘How came you to escape?’
‘I wasn’t there. I’d gone out for a ride and when I returned…when I returned the rest were dead.’
‘I see.’ He paused. ‘Where was your home?’
‘At Heslingfield.’
‘Heslingfield!’
‘You know it?’
Recalling only too vividly what he had seen there, he could understand her earlier reticence. He would not revisit the nightmare now. ‘I know of it. Lord Cyneric was its thane, I think.’
‘Yes. He was my father.’
‘I never met him but his reputation went before him: a brave fighter by all accounts. He had two sons I heard tell.’
She nodded and blinked back treacherous tears. ‘They died trying to defend our home. Ethelred fell beside my father. I didn’t see Ban’s body and there was no time to look.’
‘How did the Normans find you?’
‘They had not gone far by the time I returned. When they saw me they gave chase. I thought they would kill me too at first but Fitzurse…Fitzurse had me taken to the barn and stripped. He meant to take his pleasure and afterwards let his men take theirs.’ She drew in another ragged breath remembering every detail of the ordeal at the Norman’s hands, the fear and the humiliation and the impending horror. The stranger was silent, waiting. Ashlynn’s gaze was on the ground and she missed the expression of pity and anger in his eyes. ‘Before he could do what he intended, your men arrived and launched their attack. In the confusion I tried to run away. The rest you know.’
‘Where were you heading before the Normans found you?’
‘North, over the border.’
‘You have kin there perhaps?’
‘No. I’d hoped to reach the court at Dunfermline and perhaps enter service there, but I didn’t exactly have time to make a detailed plan.’
He did not miss the ironic edge to the tone but let it go.
‘The border country is wild and dangerous; too dangerous by far for a woman alone.’
‘There was no other choice.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He paused. ‘You never told me your name.’
‘You never asked.’
One dark brow lifted. ‘I’m asking now.’
‘Ashlynn.’
‘A pretty name and most apt, I find.’
As he spoke he knew the words for truth. Dougal was right: most men would find her a welcome addition to their bed. Unbidden his mind went back to the scene by the river and relived it with startling clarity. He indulged the memory for a moment and then pushed it away. That kind of distraction had no place in his scheme of things.
Unable to follow his thought and uneasy beneath that apparently dispassionate gaze Ashlynn forced herself to meet his eye.
‘You still have all the advantage.’
‘Aye, I believe I do.’
‘Is your identity such a closely guarded secret that I may not know it?’
This time irony was underlain by a hint of impudence. Moreover, there was an expression in those blue eyes that was almost provocative as though she were testing the boundaries. It was tempting to show her just how close those were, but again he let it ride. His turn was coming.
‘No secret, my lady,’ he replied. ‘I am Iain McAlpin.’
The name seemed strangely familiar somehow though it resisted precise identification. It niggled like a bad tooth. Earlier she had heard him say they would stay at Hexham that night. Where exactly? Surely no inn could cater for so large a party. Had he friends then who would give them shelter? His men called him lord. Lord of what? Where was Dark Mount? The missing pieces of the puzzle plagued her. Rather than labour over it she decided to ask. The answer was given readily enough.
‘Dark Mount is a fortress at the head of Glengarron.’
‘Glengarron!’
‘Aye.’
She was suddenly very still as, in one moment of total comprehension, the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
‘You are the Laird of Glengarron?’
‘That’s right.’
Ashlynn felt her stomach knot. In her relief at having escaped the hands of the Normans she had put herself into others every bit as dangerous, for who in the north of England had not heard of Glengarron or the man they dubbed Black Iain? It was small comfort to think she had no gold, nothing with which to trade for her freedom, in short nothing to tempt him at all. Then she remembered his earlier conversation with Dougal and her cheeks paled.
‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll come with us as far as Jedborough at least.’
‘Jedborough?’
‘Aye, I’ve business there. When it’s concluded I’ll make my decision.’
She drew in a deep breath and tried to get her voice under control. ‘You could leave me at Hexham.’
‘I could, but I won’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘It doesn’t accord with my plans.’
Incredulous she glared at him but the gaze that met hers was unwavering and utterly disconcerting. Indignation swelled like a tide.
‘Why should I co-operate with you?’
‘Because you won’t like the consequences if you don’t.’
The threat was thinly veiled despite the mild tone with which it was delivered and, for a moment, it hung there between them. Given his previous experience of her, he was half expecting an outburst of rage. It never materialised, though her chin lifted at a defiant angle. In spite of himself he was amused and oddly touched. With somewhat grudging admiration he acknowledged that the lass had spirit as well as looks.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘My future can be of no interest or importance to you.’
‘It isn’t.’
‘Then the only reason for holding me is concerned with profit.’
‘Good enough reason, in my view.’
Ashlynn strove against rising panic. ‘Leave me at Hexham.’
‘I have just said I will not. The matter is closed.’
‘I cannot…I will not go with you further.’
The dark gaze met and held hers but now there was no discernible trace of humour in it.
‘You can, my lass, and you will.’
Chapter Three
The question of how to free herself from her captor exercised Ashlynn strongly now. What she would do after effecting an escape was uncertain; the important thing was to get away and find somewhere to hide. Somewhere he wouldn’t think of looking. When he failed to find her he would perhaps give up for all his efforts seemed to be directed towards reaching Scotland. What was his business in Jedburgh? Who was he meeting there? ‘After that I’ll make my decision.’ Since she had no close kin who might ransom her, there was only one other way for her captor to profit. The Scots frequently seized prisoners on their raids across the border. Slaves were a valuable commodity. She shivered. Was this what the brute intended? The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. That being so, the more necessary it was to prevent it.
The first stars had appeared before they reached the outskirts of Hexham and already frost glittered in the blue twilight. The frozen breath of men and horses hung in the still air as the group drew rein and dismounted before an imposing walled manor. Ashlynn looked around her, taking in the house and the courtyard with its outbuildings and churned snow, while the men led the horses off towards a big barn. Then Iain took hold of her arm and guided her towards the house, a large rambling affair of timber and stone. A servant hastened to open the door and the laird strode into a large hall, drawing his captive with him. It was dimly lit and passages led off it. She was conducted down one of these and thence to a door off to the right which the servant opened. It gave on to a small bedchamber. The man set down the candle on the table and then withdrew.
Ashlynn cast a furtive glance around. The chamber was clean but sparsely furnished. There was a window, now shuttered fast, and a fire burning in the hearth. By its light she took in table and chair, a stand with a basin and ewer on it and, most prominently, a bed on the far side by the wall. With calmness she was far from feeling she turned to face Iain. The confines of the room served only to emphasise that powerful presence, and he was watching her now with an unnervingly penetrating gaze. Her chin tilted a little and, forcing herself to return that steady regard, she waited.
‘You will sleep here this night,’ he said then. ‘I will have food sent to you shortly.’
‘Whose house is this?’
‘Does it matter?’
