“Love, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Connor. Nothing…at all.” She shook her head, more to clear her thoughts than warn him from bringing it up again. “Did she send you?”
“Aye, love. She doesn’t want you by the creek anymore.”
“She couldn’t have told me that herself?” Blay asked bitterly, pulling out of his arms. He gave her a look.
“Let’s be rational about this. Do you really want your furious mother to talk to you at this point?”
Blay looked at the ground.
“I thought as much. Now, what had you so scared? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you scream like that, not since you were but a babe. Oh, my. Those were the days,” he said thoughtfully, not giving her a chance to answer. “All the shite that was thrown, the piss that was aimed. Those were your more elegant years—and you didn’t give your mother conniptions.”
She stared at him, silent.
“I miss the days when you would actually speak to us,” he said with a laugh. “Now you just look at us like you don’t know how to talk.”
“That is not true at all,” she defended herself. “I just wait for people to speak. It’s called being polite.”
“It’s not polite when they are waiting for you to speak back to them, darling. Now, come sit with me and tell me what happened today.” Connor sat his fancily dressed bottom on the ground. His movements were slow, showing her just how aged he was.
“I thought Mother said I wasn’t allowed to be near the creek,” she murmured, though she followed suit, and sat beside him.
“She said nothing about you staying here with me, though. As far as I’m concerned, you’re escorting an old man.” He chuckled, then sobered. The look he gave her made her feel like she was only ten winters. “I’ve heard some talk of your…rebellion—”
“I am not rebelling, damnit—”
“And while I know your first marriage ended in catastrophe…I know Leith is more capable of surviving longer than several months.”
She stopped trying to cut in, pressing her lips. Everyone had it wrong—everyone had it so entirely wrong that it made her want to scream. But she didn’t. Like she always did, Blay stayed silent.
The only person she would ever discuss her failed marriage is with Anna, and without her horse, it would take Blay ages to reach her.
“He’s also a gentleman. A warrior. A fine, young lad—”
“He’s also yer best friend’s son, Connor.”
“That’s besides the matter! Your mother is dead set on this marriage between the two of you, and—”
“Can ye’ not talk her out of it? Explain to her that I’m…I’m past my prime for marriage. I am no’ good meat anymore. Connor, please—”
“Did you know your mother was just about the same age as you are when she met your father? The court has this silly notion that when you reach a certain age, you’re past your prime. I beg to differ,” he said with a quaint nod. “You’re at the perfect marrying age, in my opinion.”
She swiped a hand over her face, groaning. He was missing the point completely—and she knew it was on purpose. Connor was one of the most intuitive people she had ever met in her life, more so than her parents combined.
“I need to get away from here,” she said tightly, pushing herself to her feet. She couldn’t listen to Connor or any person besides Anna. They didn’t know.
“Do you want help with that? I saw you leaving the stables and—”
She shook her head. “Gary will not let me pass for any reason. He has strict orders from my mother.”
“Pfft.” Connor flapped a hand at her. “You’re so unadventurous that it makes me pity the life you’ve lived. Come, my sweet lemon drop. We will fix this predicament of yours.”
“Which one? The horse or the marriage?”
“The horse, you ninny. There’s nothing in the world that will persuade your mother in her decision.” He laughed like he found her plight hilarious, then twined their arms together. “Now, let us de-lady you.”
* * *
“Gary, my old friend. How fare thee on this fine day?” She clung to Connor’s side, feeling…exposed.
Exposed in a way she had never been exposed before.
Lord, this was not what she had thought he meant by “de-ladying” her. She crossed her arms over her chest, then winced. Probably not the best idea when her breasts were already beginning to ache from the binding.
She whimpered, drawing Gary’s attention.
“Quite all right,” he said, frowning. “Who’s the lad? I’ve no’ seen him here before.”
“The boy is from the village over. He’s been brought here to train Lady Blay’s mare.” Connor patted her on the back, grinning. Gary looked less than convinced. She gave an uneasy nod, afraid to open her mouth.
Connor had said her voice was far too innocent to pass as a man’s, but if she absolutely had to speak, she would have to deepen it—though it would sound like a strangled cow, as Connor had warned her.
What a reassuring friend he was.
“Name o’ the lad?”
“Angus. He’s a very good learner. Lady Blay sent for him ages ago, but the missive was delayed for some reason.”
Gary leaned in, face twisted with the force of his concentration.
Her palms began to sweat. He knew—he knew exactly who she was, and he was going to tell her mother that Connor was turning her into a lad, and then they would both get into trouble, and she’d be locked in her room like a captured princess. And then that would make it all too easy for her mother to force her into the marriage, and...and—and—
“Well, all right then,” Gary finally said, his voice way too dubious for her own comfort. Still, the sweating of her palms lessened when he let the two of them pass. She sighed, giving Connor a grateful look.
He only winked.
“Be good, love. And don’t stay out too late.”
“What if she asks about me?” Blay whispered, giving him a worried look. “I don’t want you to get into trouble over this.”
“I’ll make up something if she does, which is doubtful. Kane has been working to calm her down.” He laughed.
She almost vomited.
“That’s…lovely.” She opened the stall to her mare, giving Connor one last hug before Blay mounted her. She chose bareback, too worried about Gary questioning her if she was in the stables too long.
Connor backed away, giving her a small solute. “Be safe, love.”
“I always am.” She smiled at him before motioning her horse into a trot. Before Gary could talk to her, she was at a gallop.
She loved riding, loved the way the wind felt on her face, the sound of powerful hooves storming over the ground. It was thrillingly beautiful—but the weight on her shoulders was too much for her to take any joy out of the ride.
It’s not as dire as I’m making it out to be, she lied to herself. Even if I do end up married to Leith, not all men are like Hagen. Leith has already shown that he is not…yet, Hagen started out as a gentleman, too.
She didn’t know what to think or say—all she knew was that she needed a good shoulder to cry on, and Anna had always been there for her. The two of them had more in common than just being good friends. It was their past, and Anna’s present, that bound the two of them together—
Her horse came to an abrupt stop, rearing back. A pained scream ripped from her mares throat, and that was when she became aware that men were coming out of the forests. Men were coming out of the forests, with weapons drawn, and their faces painted completely black. The plaid they wore was one she couldn’t place.
Her horse whimpered and whined under her, drawing her stupefied attention to the bleeding wound at her flank. The cause of the blood and pain her horse was feeling centered around the arrow that had been shot.
Her heart dropped to her stomach. Staying on her horse would only cause her pain—but by the amount of men that were coming from the trees, it was either death or a little more pain to get them out of there.
“Try running, and ye’ll find an arrow buried in yer own throat.”
She stayed silent. Her heart was racing too much to speak. The only thing her mind could think of to do was escape—but they had already shot her horse. She doubt they would think twice about shooting her.
Rogues. They were rogues and were going to take all of her possessions—she had heard stories of men that did this, roaming the Highlands in order to catch unsuspecting females and travelers. There were rogues that did not kill their victims, but then…there were. By the look of the men surrounding her, these rogues would kill.
Her heart met her stomach in a painful battle of wills as to which would cost the most damage. She should have listened to her mother—she should not have defied her and gone on the ride. She should have stayed at the castle.
But it was too late for the “should have”s, wasn’t it?
Blay clutched her horse’s mane tightly, remembering that she was dressed as a male. They would no’ rape and kill a male, would they? She thanked Connor for his unintentional foresight.
“Get off the horse, woman.”
Never mind about the thanking of his unintentional foresight. Connor was a master of disguise, so these men…they had known beforehand what her plans were. And they had chosen now to attack.
But why?
Hands shaking, she unthreaded them from her poor mare, trying to whisper reassuring words but failing. Her lips were trembling too much to create a coherent sentence.
She slid her leg over her horses back, just as she went to her knees. Her breathing was labored. Blay stared at her struggling horse and felt a rage so profound, she knew the second she could, she would hurt them for what they had done.
Another man came forward. She couldn’t differentiate between any of them. They were all painted black, all wearing the same plaid, all had the same brute-strength bodies, and were all riding astride black horses. The sun was beginning to set, making it too dark for her to see their eyes.
All in all, she was not in a good position.
Hadn’t been since she’d woken up, actually, but now her situation was even more dire.
“Take off the cap,” one ordered. “I need to see that ye’ are who we think ye’ are.”
“We saw the two of them—”
“Quiet,” he bellowed. “Take off the damn cap.”
Without a word, she did as she was told. The anger inside of her began to grow, until her breathing was ragged, and she couldn’t see a thing through the red haze overcoming her vision.
Her long, black braid fell down to her back, and a collective grunt came from the men around her.
Something hit her square in the chest. “Take the dirt off yer face.”
She held the skin of what she assumed was water, staring at who was obviously the leader, holding his gaze. She was aware of every single movement, of every single breath. The first thing she had forced her father to do after her husband had died was teach her how to defend herself.
She wasn’t as good as her mother, and never would be, but she knew enough.
There were too many men for her to attempt to fight, and she had no weapons, but one of the things that he’d imprinted on her was being aware of their every movement. Too many men would be dangerous to fight, but at least she knew when they were ready to attack so she could try to make her escape through the commotion.
Her idea of a grand escape was as unrealistic as childhood stories of the fey.
There was no possible way she was going to get out of this—right now. If they were planning to kill her, then…she didn’t know what she would do. If she waited till nightfall, until the majority of them were asleep—she wouldn’t lie to herself and think they would leave her unguarded—then she had a chance. However, she doubted they were going to kill her. Why would they bother making her reveal who she really was if they were?
Nay. They obviously knew who she was—and they wanted something from her father.
There was a greedy look in all of their eyes. Greedy, malicious, vicious. It turned her cold to see it on their faces, knowing that she was at their beck and call, lest she be hurt.
“Wipe off. The damn. Dirt,” the leader grated.
She swallowed thickly, debating whether she wanted to defy him right then. The men began to shift on their horses…and she poured some water into her hands, letting extra amounts of it fall to the ground.
She swiped her hands over one side of her face, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the wetness off, then repeated with the other side. This time, when she was done cleaning her face, there was no water in the skin. She chucked the empty skin at his face, pressing her lips when he growled with displeasure. She couldn’t have cared less.
“Tis her. Get the rope.”
If her heart hadn’t been beating like a horses’ before, it was now. Somehow, she managed to stay calm through it all. She stayed still as two men dismounted from their horses. She stayed still when they bound her wrists and hands, and when they put a black cloth in her mouth.
“If ye’ try to escape, yer goin’ to have a lot more to worry about than yer damn horse.” The men mounted their horses, and she looked at her own. The sanguine blood was stark against her white coat, but her breathing was less labored. The arrow hadn’t gone all the way through—only an inch or so was in. She wanted to think it was the shock of the hit that had brought her horse down, and when the mare began to move her legs in an attempt to get up, she breathed a sigh of relief.
She was going to be okay, Blay thought. Thank God.
“Start walking, Lady Blayne. We donna have time for this.” The rope that was tied to her hands was tugged, and her attention snapped back to the men. They were going to make her walk? Her stomach roiled. She had no clue how far the trip was, or where they were even going—but she had to walk.
As she was forced to follow them or be dragged on the ground, hate and rage boiled in her gut.
These pieces of shite were going to pay….as soon as it was time.