The Laird of Blackloch (Highland Rogue #2)

Chapter 7

T o Sarah’s immense relief, Black removed her gag and bonds as soon as the carriage began to bowl along the open road just outside of Edinburgh.

“Thank—” Sarah bit her lip, swallowing back the words as she rubbed her wrists and rolled her stiff shoulders. Why, in God’s name, was she thanking her captor? He was a brute. A monster. He’d ripped her away from her aunt and her life. It didn’t matter one little bit that her life was in tatters right now. She was being denied her liberty and the right to sort through and reorder the remaining pieces. She wanted to confront Malcolm about his betrayal and decide what to do next.

She wanted to go home to Linden Hall.

Black had acknowledged he was being unfair, but it was worse than that. What he was doing was undeserved and unjust, especially since he’d hinted her kidnapping had ostensibly nothing to do with her per se.

But considering she was the one being held captive, it most certainly did.

Angry tears scalded her eyes but Sarah blinked them away and swallowed hard. She wouldn’t cry again. At least, not in front of Black.

“Miss Lambert, I know this is difficult for you, but I will do my utmost to make this situation as painless as possible,” said Black carefully. After he’d released her, he’d moved to the opposite bench seat. His long muscular legs, encased in form-fitting buckskin breeches and top boots, stretched out before him as he lounged negligently back against the squabs. Regarding her through half-closed eyes, he reminded Sarah of the lions she’d once seen prowling around the Royal Menagerie at the Tower of London. His pose might be casual, but Sarah sensed the coiled, leashed power within him. She had no doubt he’d stop her if she made any move to try and escape.

“How considerate of you,” she replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. Taking a chance that Black wouldn’t complain, she drew back one of the curtains to study the countryside. “I’m still trying to work out what this situation actually is. I don’t even know how long you intend to keep me. Or where you are taking me.” She didn’t recognize the road or the snow-dusted landscape beyond, so perhaps they were heading westward rather than south toward England. Or north? Lord, it could be any direction.

“Somewhere safe,” said Black. “That’s all you need to know.”

Sarah shot him a withering look. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

Black inclined his head. “Fair enough. But I hope you’ll soon see I’m a man of my word.”

“Yes, it’s already very clear to me how noble you are.” Sarah turned her head away again and tried to focus on the passing scenery instead of Black. His steady scrutiny was making her blush so she added, “And by the way, has no one ever taught you it’s rude to stare?”

“I like the view.”

Before Sarah could scold him again, he opened a compartment beneath his seat and withdrew a wicker basket.

She swallowed. “What’s in there?”

Black opened the lid and looked at her over the top of it. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s just food and drink for the journey. I imagine it’s been some time since you last had a meal.”

Oh. Sarah swallowed again. Her mouth was incredibly dry and she’d been trying and failing to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach since she’d woken up. “Yes, it has been a while.”

“I promise you that everything is safe,” Black said, turning the basket toward her. “Choose anything you like.”

Sarah leaned forward and peered into the napkin-lined basket. Aside from a bottle of what appeared to be wine or ale or even cider, there were several small pies, some bread rolls, a hunk of cheese, and fruit—apples and pears. Her mouth watered. She selected a pear then sat back in the corner.

Black raised a quizzical brow as if questioning her choice, then took out a pie. “I’m glad you didn’t try to knock me out with the bottle,” he said, before biting into the golden flaky pastry with relish.

“The thought did cross my mind,” admitted Sarah, and when Black smiled, she dropped her gaze to examine the pear. The fruit looked completely ordinary—the pale golden skin was unblemished. Besides, it appeared Black had chosen his pie without hesitation. She risked another glance at him and he was still chewing with gusto. Surely he wouldn’t be doing so if everything was tainted with laudanum…or something worse. Would he?

Taking a deep breath, she bit into the flesh and closed her eyes as the sweet juices hit her tongue. Had a pear ever tasted so good?

When she looked up again, it was to discover Black was still watching her. His gray eyes were alight with amusement as he handed her a napkin. “You may need this, Miss Lambert.”

Oh, my goodness, she did. To her dismay, sticky pear juices had run down her chin and she quickly dabbed them away. “Thank you,” she murmured, before wiping her fingers and then wrapping the pear core in the linen.

“Would you like some apple cider as well?”

“Yes, please.”

Black uncorked the bottle and offered it to her. “I’m afraid there aren’t any glasses,” he said with an apologetic smile.

Sarah shook her head. “You first, Mr. Black.”

He shrugged and took a good swig from the bottle before passing it to her. His long fingers brushed hers, and to Sarah’s great consternation she blushed again. The idea of putting her lips where his had been only moments before was too odd, too intimate, but what else could she do? She was well and truly parched. Thankfully, Black began to rummage around the basket again, so while he was distracted—whether by accident or design—she took the opportunity to take a few long sips of the cider before handing the bottle back.

When Black had polished off another pie, she ventured another question. “So…so how is this ”—she gestured around the carriage—“all going to work?”

He frowned as he brushed a pastry crumb from the snowy cuff of his shirtsleeve. “In what sense?”

Sarah nodded toward the basket. “We clearly have quite a way to travel. How...what if I need...?” How could she possibly talk to this man about the call of nature? Her face burned with embarrassment.

Black seemed to recognize the reason for her discomfort as he stated matter-of-factly, “Aileen has accompanied us. She’s sitting atop with the coachman, Dobson. She will continue to assist you when necessary.”

Sarah’s mouth twisted. “And I’m sure she’ll try to stop me escaping. This traveling ensemble is red for a reason, isn’t it? And it’s not because red is your favorite color.” She’d stand out like a hunted fox in the snow if she tried to run, curse him.

Black’s gaze drifted lazily over her before returning to her eyes. “I stand by my assertion that you look well in it.”

Why did it feel like Alexander Black was always trying to flirt with her?

Ignoring the fact that her pulse was racing and her face was probably as red as her gown, Sarah squared her shoulders and firmed her resolve; she was determined not to let the scoundrel’s charm affect her. He was a rogue with a black heart. He’d drugged and kidnapped her. Tied her up and gagged her. And she still had no clue as to what his intentions were, or what would become of her. Even though she didn’t seem to be in any immediate physical danger, Black was a stranger and she had no idea what he might be capable of.

It was beyond frustrating. And terrifying. Like fumbling about on a precipice in the dark.

If she couldn’t get away from him, Sarah needed to talk her way out of this situation. And she couldn’t do that until she’d worked out Black’s motivation for kidnapping her. “I don’t understand you,” she said as evenly as she could. “You said you don’t want my money, that you need me alive and well...” She trailed off as another thought struck her. “You’re going to demand a ransom, aren’t you? That Malcolm must pay.”

Black didn’t answer. However, a muscle twitched in his lean jaw.

Why? Black says he doesn’t need money. This doesn’t make any sense. Unless... Sarah’s brow knitted as she turned over all the possibilities, examined them, then rearranged them again. Maybe it does make sense, if Black wants to hurt Malcolm.

Sarah met Black’s gaze. The expression in his gray eyes had grown steadily cooler as she’d questioned him, and she knew she was getting closer to discovering the truth. A cold wave of foreboding washed over her. “This is about revenge, isn’t it? What terrible thing has Malcolm done to you, Mr. Black? Tell me.”

If you only knew...

Alex pushed the dark memories that haunted him to the back of his mind as he fought to keep a neutral expression. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

Sarah’s blue eyes sparked with determined fire. “Well, I do. I offered you money?—”

“And I already told you I know how wealthy you are.”

“Then you know very well that I can pay you handsomely.”

“It doesn’t matter one jot what you say, or what you offer. I don’t want or need anything from you, Miss Lambert.”

She arched a fine brow. “But of course you do,” she returned hotly. “You’re using me to punish Malcolm. I’ll ask you again, what did he do?—”

“Enough!” Alex growled. “I do not wish to talk about it anymore.” Stubborn chit . He crossed his arms and turned his gaze to the window. Sarah Lambert was clever and she was clearly trying to negotiate her way out of this situation. But there was nothing she could say that would move him. He’d charted his course and he wouldn’t deviate from it until the Earl of Tay was utterly destroyed.

If he were lucky, the bastard might end it all and send himself to purgatory. Or better yet, hell.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex watched Sarah subside into her corner and rest her fair head against the leather squabs. Her pale brow was furrowed and he had no doubt her mind was working furiously to come up with various escape plans. He had to ensure that didn’t happen. That would be an utter disaster, especially if she went straight back to Tay and they both worked out who he really was.

Then he would be the one who’d be ruined.

The journey was interminable. As Sarah watched the snow-blanketed fields and drear woodlands slip by, her eyelids eventually grew heavy and she dozed. Sometime during the afternoon, Black bade the carriage stop in the middle of nowhere for a comfort break. Sarah guessed they must be heading north as the snowfall had become heavier, and the drifts deeper. When she stepped down from the carriage into a freezing mizzle, her thin satin shoes had immediately become soaked right through.

Aileen, her face red and pinched with cold, had tied a rope tightly around Sarah’s wrist before leading her off the road to a small copse of fir trees. Sarah had briefly thought about trying to undo her bonds, but even if she did manage to untie the knots with her frozen, gloveless fingers, then tried to make a run for it, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. All around was only open ground, sparse woodland, and fog-blanketed hills in the distance.

And Alexander Black would be sure to catch her before she’d even managed to run fifty yards across the snow-covered field.

And then he’d probably drug her again. A frisson of fear tripped down Sarah’s spine at the thought.

No, she’d best bide her time and wait until a better opportunity arose. If they were to maintain the cracking pace they’d been traveling at, at some point they’d need to change horses at a coaching inn. So she would watch and wait, and when the right time came, she would act.

By the time she’d taken her seat in the carriage again, she was shivering violently, toes and fingers numb, teeth chattering.

Black flicked a wing of dark, damp hair out of his eyes, revealing a frown as he sat down. “Miss Lambert, you look half frozen,” he said, tugging off his black kid gloves. His onyx and gold ring winked at her in the uncertain light as though mocking her.

“I’m f-f-fine,” she said, pushing her hands into the sleeves of her woolen jacket. She was hardly going to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how discomforted she was. “T-T-Truly.”

“No, you are not. You’re blue with cold.” Black’s gaze raked over her then he cursed beneath his breath. “Damn it, lass, what are you wearing on your feet?” He leaned forward and flipped up the hem of her skirts. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered when he saw Sarah’s wet, mud-stained satin ball shoes. Scowling, he got up and threw open the carriage door. “Aileen, Dobson. I need Miss Lambert’s trunk. Now.”

Sarah blinked in confusion. “Wh-What trunk?”

Black ignored her and jumped down from the carriage. The man barked a few more orders and then after a minute, he climbed back inside. In his arms he carried a large bundle of woolen items which he tossed onto his seat. He draped a large black cloak around her shoulders—it smelled of sandalwood and citrus, and Sarah suspected it was the same cloak she’d worn last night on the terrace at Kenmuir House.

As the carriage rolled off, Black sat on the edge of his own seat, his knees almost bumping hers. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said gravely as he draped a blanket across his lap. “It was thoughtless of me not to make sure you were dressed for the conditions.” Before she knew what he was about, he’d lifted her legs up, flipped off her pumps, and had placed her stocking-clad feet onto the blanket.

“Wh-What are y-you d-doing?” she demanded, trying to pull away from his firm grasp.

“Your feet are frozen. I won’t have your toes falling off because of frostbite.”

Before Sarah could draw breath to protest, Black had reached beneath her skirts and had peeled off one of her wet stockings.

“Stop,” she cried, but she didn’t pull her foot away. His bare hand upon her ankle felt deliciously warm. “Please, let go.”

Black cocked an eyebrow. “Miss Lambert, I’ve seen you in practically nothing but your shift. Upon my honor, all I’m going to do is attempt to restore your circulation.”

Sarah eyed him for a moment but couldn’t detect any insincerity in his tone or manner. “Very well,” she said. “But don’t dillydally about it.”

“I won’t.” After he’d removed her other stocking, Black used the blanket to gently chafe and rub her frozen feet back to life.

Sarah bit her lip as the blood began to flow again. A burning, tingling sensation spread through her tissues but the pain soon abated and it wasn’t long before she closed her eyes and relaxed against the squabs. Somewhere at the back of her mind, warning bells sounded. She really shouldn’t let herself succumb to the illicit pleasure of having Black’s large warm hands massage her toes and the soles of her feet…but another part of her was melting. His ministrations felt so very good. If she were a cat, she would have purred.

When Black gently placed her feet on the floor, she discovered he was smiling. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes. I suppose I should thank you,” she said stiffly while her mind whispered a warning. Be honest. You liked it too much, Sarah Lambert, you contrary ninnyhammer. Malcolm had never touched her so intimately or with such tenderness. It was befuddling, not to mention vexing, that her kidnapper’s touch could turn her into a mindless syrupy puddle.

Black’s gray eyes darkened and his smile developed a sensual edge. “It was my pleasure.”

Oh, blast. Somehow he knew what affect he’d had on her . Sarah blushed and set about straightening her skirts so her bare feet were tucked away.

“These are for you.” Black passed her a fresh set of wool stockings and a pair of shiny black leather ankle boots with neat little buttons up the sides. “Aileen should have given them to you earlier.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes in suspicion as she examined them. Her kidnapping was clearly well planned—remarkably so. Black hadn’t done this on a whim. “Why... How did you manage to arrange all this? You asked for my trunk just before. This habit”—she gestured at herself—“fits remarkably well and these boots also look like they will be the perfect size.”

Black shrugged. “What can I say? I like to be prepared. Despite what you may think of me, I’m not a monster. It has never been my intention to treat you badly.”

Resentment flared to life within Sarah. “Yet you are,” she countered hotly. “If you had any decency, you’d let me go. When we stop to change horses at an inn, I could easily hire another carriage?—”

Black’s gaze was stony. “No.”

“But what if Malcolm won’t pay the ransom?” Sarah demanded, desperation sharpening her tone. “After last night, after what I saw?—”

“He wants you back.”

“How can you be so sure?” To Sarah’s mortification, her lower lip trembled. “I’m certainly not.”

“Sarah—” Black reached for her hand but she snatched it away.

“Leave me be,” she spat, angry at herself for momentarily falling under Black’s spell. “Trying to mollify me with pretty clothes, flirtatious words, and gestures of kindness won’t help. No matter how much you deny it, you are a selfish, dishonorable beast. I detest you. Now turn around. I wish to put my stockings and boots on without you leering at me.”

Black’s smile was tight as he turned away. “Of course, Miss Lambert.”

Alex turned his gaze to the window to give Sarah the privacy she’d asked for.

Although, little did she know he could see tantalizing glimpses of what she was doing in the reflection caught by the carriage’s windowpane. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the passing scenery, his attention was hopelessly drawn to the much more appealing sight of Miss Lambert rolling on her stockings and fastening the ribbon garters about her slender legs.

There was no denying the fact she was unaccountably pretty. More than that, she appeared highly intelligent and he had nothing but admiration for how brave she was, how she fought back and scolded him rather than dissolving into a blithering wreck or becoming hysterical. Indeed, if he weren’t an attainted Jacobite, she was exactly the sort of woman he’d be tempted to formally pay court to. A woman who’d make a fine Lady Rannoch... If he were ever pardoned and his title was reinstated.

Lord Tay certainly didn’t deserve her.

Of course, a part of Alex did regret the mental and emotional suffering he was putting her through. A beast and a scoundrel he might be, but he would never, ever subject her to the vile, depraved, unspeakable things Tay had done to his mother and sister.

And his sweetheart, Maggie.

Alex clenched his jaw and closed his eyes as the anguish of eleven years ago burned through him. He could still feel the scar on his left palm. Could still recall the deep, satisfying sting as he’d made his blood vow to avenge those he’d loved and lost.

No matter how wronged Sarah Lambert felt, her discomfort paled into insignificance whenever he remembered that long ago day at Blackloch Castle.

He wouldn’t stop until Lord Tay was rotting in hell.