The Laird of Blackloch (Highland Rogue #2)

Chapter 13

S arah awoke to the sound of pans clattering, the muted murmur of female voices, and the smell of…frying bacon?

Blinking sleepily, she pushed herself up against the plump pillows of the tester bed. Pale sunlight filtered through the mullioned windows of Eilean Dubh’s main bedchamber, highlighting the silver and gold thread in the sage-green embroidered counterpane. Someone had placed a vase of snowdrops on the window ledge.

It must have been Aileen. Sarah couldn’t imagine that Black would cook her breakfast or bring her flowers. But then, he’d made her hot chocolate...

She slipped from the bed and after donning some slippers and a velvet robe, peered into the adjoining chamber. Aileen and a young redheaded woman looked up from where they were plating food at the table.

“Ah, good mornin’, Miss Lambert,” greeted Aileen in her usual brusque manner. “The master said ye would be verra hungry so my daughter and I thought ye might like a braw meal.” She gestured at the young woman with her chin. “This is Isla.”

“Good mornin’ to ye, Miss Lambert.” Isla bobbed a curtsy and offered a shy smile. “I hope ye like the flowers.”

“Yes. Thank you. They are lovely.” Sarah glanced toward the door that led to the chamber Black had slept in last night. “Is Mr. Black about?”

“Nae, miss,” replied Isla, fiddling with her white apron. “He has returned to Bla?—”

Aileen gave her daughter a poke in the ribs and finished her sentence for her. “He has business to attend to. But he will be back this evenin’.”

Returned to where? Black-somewhere? Sarah would definitely make it her business to talk with Isla when she was alone. The girl seemed to have a loose tongue.

Pretending as best she could that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Sarah murmured, “I see,” and took a seat at the table. Aileen immediately offered her a plate piled with bacon, eggs, fat sausages, and thick slices of something Sarah didn’t recognize but reminded her of a coarse terrine. She touched it with a fork. “What is this?’

“Och, ye’ve never had haggis, miss?” replied Isla. “Lord?—”

Aileen shot her daughter a sharp look and again amended what Isla had started to say. “Aye, it’s haggis. And Lord above is it good. ’Tis the master’s favorite dish. It’s a sheep’s stomach stuffed with oats and sheep’s pluck. Ye ken, lungs, and liver, and heart.”

“Oh, it sounds...interesting.” Sarah took a tentative bite and despite her initial reservations, thought it rather tasty.

“Would ye like tea or hot chocolate, miss? Or coffee?”

“Tea thank you, Aileen.” Sarah watched with bemusement as the middle-aged woman poured her a steaming cup to her specifications. Then the servant shooed her daughter into the main bedchamber where she began issuing brusque orders about making the bed and heating water. For jailers, they were both very attentive to her needs.

Sarah shook her head but decided not to dwell on how strange everything was—not when the plate of food in front of her looked and smelled so good. As she began to eat, she realized it had been a whole day since she’d last had anything substantial. She couldn’t let anxiety get the better of her. She’d be more likely to succeed in escaping if she were well fed and well rested.

Which reminded her... She was completely alone right now. Had Aileen and Isla locked the door? As quietly as she could, Sarah put down her knife and fork and pushed away from the table. The legs of the chair scraped a little on the flagstone floor and she held her breath, listening. When neither Aileen nor Isla returned to the room, she rose from her seat and crossed to the heavy, iron-studded oak door. Damn it . It was locked, and there was no key to be seen anywhere. It wasn’t in the lock and it wasn’t hanging conveniently from a hook by the door.

Double damn. She scowled. It was probably on that blasted iron ring at Aileen’s waist.

“Och, lassie. Ye’re no’ one to give in easily, are ye?” said Aileen from somewhere behind her. “But I wouldna bother trying to escape. Even if ye did manage to open the door, one of the master’s burliest footmen, MacLagan, is guarding the stairs. He’s a big laddie and ye wouldna get verra far.”

Sarah sighed heavily and turned to find the woman standing in the doorway to the bedchamber, arms crossed over her ample chest and an almost sympathetic look in her eyes. However, Sarah refused to feel contrite. “You cannot blame me for trying,” she said stiffly.

“Nae, I suppose not.” Aileen brushed her hands down her calico apron then nodded toward Sarah’s abandoned breakfast. “Is it no’ to yer liking? I would be verra happy to make ye somethin’ else. Toast or scones. Or porridge.”

“No, what you have prepared is quite fine, Aileen. But thank you.” Sarah returned to her seat. Whilst she ate and lingered over her tea, Aileen stirred something in a large pot that was suspended over the fire—it smelled like some kind of soup or stew.

At least she wasn’t going to starve to death.

Eventually Isla returned to the room and offered to help Sarah with her morning toilette, and she readily agreed. The young woman had an amiable nature and a ready smile, and her inconsequential chatter provided a welcome distraction as she helped Sarah to bathe then don the provided stays and stockings, petticoats and pannier, and finally her gown.

Even though Isla prattled away, the girl didn’t inadvertently divulge any more useful tidbits of information about Black or the location of Eilean Dubh; Aileen had obviously warned her daughter to speak with more care. But that didn’t mean Sarah would give up. A slip of the tongue was bound to happen eventually, especially if she led Isla in the right direction with an artful question or two.

Within the space of a half hour, Sarah was attired in the blue and ivory satin robe à la francaise with her hair styled into a neat arrangement of twists and curls at the back of her head. As Isla offered her a silver-framed hand mirror, she decided that even if she didn’t feel like her usual self, at least she looked presentable—if one discounted her bandages, the shadows beneath her eyes, the touches of windburn on her face, and the scrape upon her cheek. Whilst it still rankled that she must wear the garments Black had procured so deviously, if she had any hope of snaring his affections, she needed to make some effort with her appearance.

She thanked Isla for her help then drifted back to the main chamber. Aileen was busily rolling out pastry on the table and there looked like there was nothing for her to do except sit in the window seat and gaze out upon the view of loch, forested braes, and snow cloaked mountains for hours on end. The vista was stunning but dear Lord, she would surely die of boredom.

Rather than sit, she began to make a slow circuit of the room, examining the contents of the dresser, the candelabra on the mantelpiece, the enormous tapestry depicting a hunting scene—and that was when she noticed a heavy velvet curtain to the left of one of the window embrasures; it swayed slightly, as though caught in a draft.

Curiosity piqued, she twitched the curtain back. A narrow set of stairs spiraled upwards into shadow.

“The old solar is up there, miss,” Aileen informed her matter-of-factly. “The master says ye are welcome to go up there if ye like. There are books and other things to keep you occupied.”

“Oh. That’s...” Considerate? Wonderful? Another method Black is employing to ensure my compliance? Sarah swallowed back her bitter retort and made herself smile. “That’s useful to know.”

She had, after all, been seeking some sort of diversion. Pacing around the kitchen-cum-dining room would wear thin very quickly. Picking up her voluminous skirts, she ventured up the worn stone stairs. When she reached the top, she paused to catch her breath…and gasped.

The room was lovely. Just like in the main chamber, diamond-paned windows in each wall afforded breath-taking views of the countryside in every direction. The upholstery, thick rugs, and damask curtains were all in shades of cream, ivory, primrose yellow, and gold with touches of spring green. It was like being inside a bright, sunlit flower.

A glass-fronted bookcase in golden beechwood held an array of leather-bound volumes and in one corner of the room stood an exquisite spinet. In quiet awe, Sarah ran her fingers along the gleaming parquetry lid that featured an intricate pattern of leaves, fruit, and flowers. She was not a brilliant musician by any means—at least that’s what her music tutor had told her countless times—but that wouldn’t stop her playing. Or singing.

An escritoire of honey-hued oak contained all manner of writing tools—swan quills, fine parchment, a crystal and brass inkwell—and inside a cherrywood box by one of the window seats she found everything she would need for sewing: dozens of skeins of jewel-colored embroidery thread, an array of needles and a silver thimble, a small pair of ornate embroidery scissors, an embroidery frame, and numerous squares of soft ivory linen.

As she sorted through the silken skeins, an idea for a project sprang into her mind. When Isla joined her an hour later, she’d already made a good start.

“Oh, ye’re verra clever, Miss Lambert,” Isla exclaimed as she examined Sarah’s design. “Is that an iris petal? Or a crocus?”

“An iris,” Sarah replied with a smile, pleased at Isla’s reaction. “I’m going to embroider several cushions for the window seats. All of them will have flowers like snowdrops, daffodils, crocuses, and irises. Indeed, the snowdrops you put in my bedroom gave me the idea.”

A pink blush of pleasure bloomed across Isla’s cheeks. “May I help ye, miss?”

“Yes, of course. Perhaps you could wind some of the thread onto bobbins for me so it doesn’t get tangled.”

Isla sat beside her in the window seat and dug out the embroidery scissors from the sewing box. “’Tis a braw morning, miss,” she said as she unraveled a decent length of bright purple thread and snipped it. “I was going to ask if ye wanted the fire lit but it is muckle warm here in the sun.”

“Yes, it is indeed.” Sarah let her gaze wander to the loch. “And the view is beautiful. Have you always lived here? By the loch?”

“Aye. Always.”

Isla’s smile faded but Sarah decided to risk another gentle question in the hope of finding out something useful. “And your family has always been in service to Mr. Black?”

Isla’s mouth turned down and she shook her head. “I ken what you are tryin’ to do, Miss Lambert. But I willna tell you anythin’ of import. The master and my ma both said ye would try to wheedle information oot of me.”

Sarah sighed. So much for being artful. She decided to try another tack. “I do not want to get you into any sort of trouble, Isla. But it is very difficult being in a situation like this—to be so far away from those I care about and who care about me. Did you know I was...I mean, I am to be married in three weeks?”

Isla’s mouth tightened with displeasure. “Aye. To the Earl of Tay.”

“Yes.” What on earth had the girl heard about her fiancé to make her pull such a face? It was beginning to look like she wouldn’t be able to count on Isla for any kind of sympathy or assistance after all. “Do you know him?”

“Nae. I do no’.” Isla’s gaze remained fixed on the purple thread she was winding neatly around a small bone bobbin.

“But you have heard of him,” Sarah persisted, her fingers stilled. “And judging by your expression, you don’t seem to think much of him...”

“Aye. I’ve heard of him. And that’s all I’ll say aboot the matter. I fear I’ve already said too much.” Isla put down the bobbin. “If ye’ll excuse me, miss, I will light the fire. The sun seems to have gone behind a cloud.”

Indeed it had. An ominous bank of dark clouds had begun to pile up behind the mountains on the other side of the loch. Wind ruffled the surface of the water and the trees below the tower shivered.

When Isla took her leave—claiming her mother needed her—Sarah put aside her embroidery frame and curled up on the window seat. She suddenly felt too weary, too dispirited, too troubled to focus on such fine needlework anymore. She watched the clouds draw closer and it wasn’t long before snow swirled about Eilean Dubh, turning the world to a miserable pewter gray.

What did you do, Malcolm? I’m trapped here because of you.

It had to have been a terrible act considering how negatively Isla had reacted at the mere mention of the Earl of Tay. Unless…unless the girl was only judging Malcolm based on information Black had told her. Although, logic dictated it must be dreadful, for why else would Black resort to such extreme measures to exact revenge?

The more Sarah thought about it, the more it made sense to her that Malcolm had indeed done something that must be beyond the pale.

But what?

Pinpricks of doubt needled at Sarah. As she watched the whirling snow, she examined everything she knew about Malcolm…though now it seemed she didn’t know much at all.

She and her father had met him through mutual acquaintances at a private dinner party in London in June the year before—and she’d been smitten at once by the earl’s charming manner and handsome looks. And of course, his title. It wasn’t every day a peer of the realm paid court to the daughter of a mere shipbuilder, rich or not. Naturally, her father and Aunt Judith had been initially suspicious of the earl’s interest—they’d been concerned Malcolm might be a fortune hunter—but when her father had made discreet inquiries about the earl’s circumstances through their mutual friends, all accounts indicated that Lord Tay was not only well off with a vast estate in Perthshire, but well regarded by Society. Her father had also been impressed to hear that Malcolm had been lauded for his service to King and country during the Forty-five Rebellion at the age of only three-and-twenty. So of course, when Lord Tay had offered for her hand only a month after their first encounter, Sarah had readily accepted with her father’s blessing.

But now...now she had to wonder if Malcolm had been hiding something—something dark and horrible. She recalled how moody he’d been over the last few weeks. She’d put it down to his impatience to wed because she’d been in mourning for her father and their marriage had been delayed by an extra five months. Indeed, even though she would have preferred to marry after Easter, Malcolm had insisted they wed a whole month earlier, even though it would still be Lent. He'd asserted that he’d waited long enough for her to become his wife.

Sarah’s mouth twisted and a hollow feeling settled in her belly. In reality, Malcolm hadn’t waited for her at all. He’d betrayed her in the worst possible way at Kenmuir House.

Which begged the question: what else was he capable of besides infidelity?

Sarah shivered, but not because of the cold permeating the now gloomy solar. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that she was discovering the man she’d been going to marry was not who she thought he was.

The only person who could answer her questions about Malcolm—and grant her freedom—was Alexander Black. Charming him, and somehow coaxing the truth from him, had become more important than ever.

Alex pushed open the door into the welcoming warmth of Eilean Dubh’s kitchen and was unexpectedly greeted by not one, but two heavenly things: the mouth-watering smell of pastry baking and the ethereal sound of an angel’s voice intermingling with the sweet tinkling notes of a spinet.

And then his collie dog, Bandit, rushed in. He shook the snow from his shaggy coat, eliciting a string of muttered curses from Aileen, and the magical spell was broken.

Alex removed his tricorn and greatcoat and stamped the snow off his boots. “My apologies, Aileen. I know you and Isla are about to leave but I wouldn’t worry about a wee bit of melted snow on the floor.”

“Aye, sir. If ye say so.” Aileen gestured at the scrubbed oak table where Isla was laying out plates, silverware, and wine glasses for two. “There’s a beef pie for ye and Miss High-and-mighty on the hearthstone, and a dish of neeps and carrots. The bread and butter are on the table and I took the liberty of decantin’ some of the wine from the cask by the dresser.”

“Excellent. May I venture to ask how the day has gone?” Alex tilted his head meaningfully toward the stairs leading to the solar before pouring himself a glass of claret.

Aileen’s brow furrowed. “As well as can be expected, sir.” She shot a scowl Isla’s way and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Although this one needs to watch her tongue. She nearly mentioned the castle and almost called ye by yer title.”

A bright red blush stained Isla’s cheeks. “I’m verra sorry, sir. I didna mean to. I have been verra careful around Miss Lambert ever since.”

“That’s good to hear, Isla. Miss Lambert is certainly a canny young lady so you must always be on your guard.”

Isla threw him a shy smile as she dipped into a curtsy. “Aye, sir. I will be, sir.”

“Good. MacLagan is waiting to row you and your mother back to shore. I shall see you both on the morrow, weather permitting.” The snowfall had grown heavier throughout the day and a storm seemed likely. Fortunately, Blackloch Castle—where both he and his servants resided when not at Eilean Dubh—was but a mile from the island. Farther along the shore of Loch Rannoch, tucked away behind a thickly forested bend, there was no way that Sarah could see his ancestral home from here. If she had been able to, no doubt she’d be asking him all sorts of inconvenient questions that he wasn’t ready to answer. Worse still, she might mount another genuine escape attempt if she thought help might be close at hand…

Hopefully Isla wouldn’t have another accidental slip of the tongue. For that matter, he must be on his guard around Sarah too given his own near miss the night before.

Once the door closed after Aileen and Isla, Alex stood by the fire drinking in its warmth as he sipped his claret. Sarah had begun to play a melancholy tune which reminded him of the old Scots ballad O Waly Waly . Her lovely voice floated down the stairs as she sang.

“The seas are deep and I cannot wade them,

Neither have I wings to fly,

I wish I had some little boat,

To carry over my love and I.”

Alex’s mouth curved into a sardonic smile. Sarah’s song choice was not only apt but ironic, given her circumstances. He put down his glass of wine then ruffled Bandit’s scruffy black and tan mane. “Why don’t we go upstairs and I’ll introduce you to Miss Lambert, my lad?”

Bandit stood and cocked his head.

“And just a word of warning, you must be on your best, gentlemanly behavior. Miss Lambert is a fine lady, so no jumping under any circumstances.” Bandit’s tongue darted out so Alex added with a mock frown, “And no sniffing her person, or licking either.”

Bandit whined but stayed at heel as Alex climbed the stairs to the solar. On entering the room, Sarah immediately ceased singing and lifted her fingers from the spinet’s keys.

“Oh, you’re back,” she said with a soft smile that was wholly unexpected. A smile that suffused Alex’s blood with more warmth than the fire or his discarded claret could. Her gaze settled on Bandit. “And you’ve brought a handsome friend, I see.”

“Aye,” Alex replied, ruffling the collie’s fur. “This is Bandit. But do not stop singing or playing on our account. We were enjoying your performance immensely.” And the splendid view. Sarah in a blue and ivory silk gown featuring a rounded, low-cut neckline was a sight to behold.

“Oh...thank you.” The flickering candlelight from the gilded candelabra atop the spinet revealed a wash of bright color flooding Sarah’s cheeks.

Alex wasn’t sure if it was his compliment or the appreciative look he’d raked over her that put her to the blush. Either way, he was encouraged that his plan to woo her might just work. As Alex flipped out his coattails and took a seat on a silk-upholstered chair by the fire, she took up the ballad where she’d left off.

“I set my back against an oak,

I thought it was a trusty tree.

But first it bent, and then it broke,

And so did my false love to me ? —”

Sarah’s voice cracked on the last word and her fingers stumbled over the ivory keys. “Heavens.” She blinked rapidly as though clearing tears from her vision. “Perhaps I should have chosen another song.”

Alex sat forward, unable to hold himself back. “Perhaps. But it was lovely all the same. Might I suggest we repair to the kitchen for dinner? Aileen has baked a wonderful beef pie for us and it smells divine.”

Sarah rose from her seat at the spinet and Alex’s gaze was drawn to the sway of her skirts about her hips as she crossed the floor toward him. “I think that is a very good idea. My appetite has quite returned.”

“I will admit, I’m particularly famished myself.” But not for food. It was such a very long time since Alex had deliberately set out to win a woman’s affection. Since Maggie, all of his liaisons over the years had been impersonal affairs with experienced women—widows, bored wives seeking sexual gratification, or paid courtesans. Courting a virginal young lady was not de rigueur for him, by any means, and he reminded himself to flirt with care.

Nevertheless, the rogue within him couldn’t resist teasing Sarah as he offered her his arm to escort her to the stairs. When he dipped his gaze to her mouth, her breath caught and he was rewarded with the sight of her luscious breasts swelling above the tight bodice of her gown.

Considering his thoughts were rapidly running toward lustful, Alex decided it would be prudent to return to playing the part of the perfect gentleman for a little while. After all, he didn’t want to scare Sarah by showering her with too much rakish attention too soon.

However, as he pulled out a chair for her at the dining table, Alex was more than a wee bit surprised when she gifted him with a decidedly coquettish glance from beneath her eyelashes before taking her seat. She was certainly more at ease tonight. Indeed, her defiance and anger seemed to have melted away like the snow on Rannoch Moor beneath a warm spring sun. While he didn’t want to be suspicious of her more amiable attitude, he couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted the change.

Pushing aside his apprehension—he really shouldn’t complain about Sarah’s genial, bordering-on-flirtatious manner—Alex played servant and plated the pie and vegetables before pouring both of them generous glasses of claret. Bandit, who’d followed them downstairs, flopped on the flagstones in front of the hearth. He knew better than to beg for food; Alex would feed him the rest of the pie later.

As Sarah ate, Alex’s gaze fell to her bandaged wrists below the cascading white lace at her sleeves. “How are your rope burns?”

“Improving.” She put down her fork, her expression suddenly apprehensive and a little shy as she added, “I... It may sound odd, but I want to thank you, Mr. Black. I had not expected to be treated so well during my...confinement. The solar and all the lovely things you’ve provided to keep me entertained, my luxurious bedchamber, the care Aileen and Isla have shown me...”—her cheeks pinkened as she touched a wrist—“the way you tended to my injuries and offered me comfort last night after I woke from a bad dream…I am most grateful to you. If you were another sort of man...” She inhaled deeply as though gathering her nerve. “Well, for a kidnapper, you are being very civilized about everything. If I am to be deprived of my liberty, I’d much rather be here than locked up in a freezing dank dungeon.”

To say Alex was astonished at Sarah’s pronouncement would have been an understatement. “I... Thank you. I am aware how hard this must be for you. And I want you to know that I appreciate your exceptional courage and your graciousness in such trying conditions. As I’ve said before, I truly believe Lord Tay doesn’t deserve you.”

A shadow of sadness crossed Sarah’s face. “I’m beginning to wonder if you might be right, Mr. Black.” She picked up her claret and took a delicate sip before her blue eyes returned to his face. “I have wondered... It bothers me that you seem to know so much more about Malcolm than I. I cannot help but dwell on the fact you won’t tell me what it is he did to you. It must be terrible. Perhaps even unspeakable. Truth to tell, that worries me more than I can say.”

Alex frowned. Although this was exactly the topic he’d wanted to discuss with Sarah, he needed to tread carefully. “There is much you do not know, but it is difficult for me to talk about, Sarah. Suffice it to say, Lord Tay is not... He is not an honorable man.”

Sarah fiddled with the bandage about one of her cut fingers. “It is abundantly clear to me that you do not need Malcolm’s money, Mr. Black. Or mine. Malcolm is wealthy too, so demanding a ransom for my safe return will surely be nothing more than an inconvenience to him rather than a punishment. If he still wishes to marry me, of course.” Her features slid into an expression that was heartbreakingly sad. “I’m all but ruined now. I doubt Malcolm, or anyone else for that matter, would want to marry me after this.”

“Sarah, he’d be mad not to want to marry you,” Alex asserted. Dare he ask her his next question? How she responded was critical. He caught Sarah’s gaze and when the corners of her lovely mouth turned up into a slight smile, he decided to dive in. “The real question is, do you want to marry him?’

She shook her head and the look in her eyes grew haunted. “I really don’t know any more,” she murmured thickly. “I’m so…confused. Whichever way I look at any of this—my situation, how I feel about Malcolm, what is to become of me—my thoughts seem to keep going round and round and tripping over themselves. I just...” She sighed heavily. “I just wish I knew more. About him. Then I could make a fully informed decision about my future.”

Alex drew a fortifying breath. Now was the moment to share a little of the truth. But how much? And would Sarah believe him? “Perhaps it will make more sense to you if you consider what it is that I’m trying to put a stop to. In a few weeks’ time…”

Sarah frowned. Last night, Black told her that the due date for the ransom was a fortnight away. A mere week before her wedding day. The realization jolted her to her very bones. “You…you’re trying to stop our marriage from taking place? You don’t want Malcolm to marry me?”

“Precisely.”

“But...but why?”

Black stroked the stem of his wine glass, as though weighing his words before he spoke. When he did, it was with a slow, steady tone. “This may come as a shock to you, Sarah, but did you know that your Lord Tay is on the brink of financial ruin?”

“Wh-What?” Sarah picked up her wine with trembling fingers then put her glass down again on the oak table, untasted. “That cannot be true. I’m sure my father would never have agreed to our betrothal if that were the case. Never.”

Black shrugged a wide shoulder and twisted the onyx and gold ring he always wore on his right ring finger. “I cannot speak for your father, but what I’m telling you is true. Tay is desperate to wed you, Sarah. He’s desperate to get his hands on your fortune. But I won’t let him.”

Sarah pushed her plate of half-eaten food away. Nausea roiled as things she’d noticed but had politely dismissed during her stay at Tay House sprang into the forefront of her mind. The shabbiness of some of the furnishings. The dark patch on the green flock wallpaper in the upstairs gallery where a painting had once hung. The stray cobwebs and dust upon the furniture in some of the rooms. The scarcity of servants... Aunt Judith had mentioned these things, but she’d refused to listen. She’d fancied herself in love and that Malcolm was falling in love with her too. What a fool I’ve been.

“If this is indeed the case, there’s no possibility he will ever to be able to pay the ransom,” she whispered.

Black’s gray eyes narrowed and an emotion akin to sympathy crossed his features. “Probably not. He’ll try to raise the funds though. Make no mistake, he does want you for his wife, Sarah. But not for the reasons you thought, I’m afraid.”

“Yes...” The fact that Malcolm had been with another woman didn’t seem all that strange anymore.

He doesn’t love me. He’s never loved me... He never will. The knowledge stung far more than it should. Hot tears welled and Sarah dashed them away roughly. He’s not worth crying over. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” murmured Black, his voice soft with compassion.

Sarah inhaled a breath and raised her chin to meet Black’s gaze across the table. “You...you could have just told me all this. In Edinburgh. You could have come to me at Linden Hall, months ago for that matter. I would certainly have reconsidered the union if I’d known the full facts. Why—why kidnap me?”

Black’s features tightened with anger. “Because I want Lord Tay to suffer like he never has before. I want—” His fist clenched on the table, his knuckles bone white beneath the skin. His eyes closed and, on a ragged exhale, he relaxed his hand. “I’m sorry for my display of temper, Sarah,” he said at length. “I don’t wish to frighten you.”

Sarah nodded, acknowledging his apology. “I can see how strongly you feel about Malcolm. But you still haven’t told me why you want him to suffer so. Please, I need to know. I want to understand.”

“Lord Tay and I have a long history...” Black paused, clearly measuring his words again. His anger had dissipated but deep lines of tension bracketed his wide mouth. “He hurt those I loved, Sarah,” he said at last, his voice rough with emotion. “Grievously. I will never be able to forgive him nor forget. And I will make him pay if it’s the last thing I do. I will not say more.”

The bitter determination in Black’s voice, the turbulence in his gray eyes, made Sarah shiver. And she was more than a little afraid. She wanted Black to tell her everything, but she could see he was in no mood to make further disclosures. Instead, she reached for his hand. The onyx ring was cold beneath her palm. “I believe you,” she said softly. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

Black nodded. “Thank you,” he said. His mouth suddenly quirked into a wry smile. “Who would have thought you would be offering me comfort, Sarah Lambert?”

A blush scorched Sarah’s face and she withdrew her hand. “Yes... Well,” she muttered. She took a sip of her wine and then another. When she chanced another glance at Black, he was smiling.

“I know you said your wrists were improving, but are you sure you wouldn’t like me to change your bandages?”

Sarah’s first instinct was to say no. But if she were to gain Black’s complete trust and her freedom, she needed to continue to court his favor. He’d let down his guard more than she’d anticipated so she’d be foolish not to take things further. Her heart beating faster, she extended her arm. “Why yes. Thank you.”

Black pulled his chair closer until his muscled thigh, clad in figure-hugging buckskin breeches, brushed against hers. She didn’t pull away—didn’t want to pull away—and brazenly leaned closer. When Black’s gaze grazed the tops of her breasts, her nipples tightened and her breath quickened. She was playing with fire, but for better or for worse, she wasn’t going to stop.

After all, she owed Malcolm nothing. Not one deuced thing. And so far, turning Black around her finger seemed to be working.

Black very carefully unwrapped one bandage, exposing the abrasions beneath. Wherever his fingers brushed, her skin burned, and heat coursed through her veins.

“You are right. Your wrists are much better,” he murmured. His thumb brushed over the heel of her hand, raising gooseflesh along her arm.

“Aileen’s salve has worked well,” said Sarah, her voice low and more than a touch breathy. “I-I don’t think I need fresh bandages.”

“Aye. I agree.”

Sarah let her wrist linger in Black’s warm grasp. He didn’t seem in any hurry to relinquish his hold on her either. His long fingers stroked the underside of her forearm, and when she leaned forward a fraction, his gaze caressed her lips. From beneath his black lashes, she could see his gray eyes were dark with desire. No, it was more than that. It was hunger.

Oh my goodness. She knew that look. Black wanted to kiss her. And in her heart of hearts, Sarah knew she wanted to kiss him too. But if she let him, where would it end? They were totally alone. Anything could happen…

A potent combination of sharp want and trepidation catapulted her heart into a wild gallop. “Alexander,” she whispered, not sure if she was uttering an invitation or a warning.

At the sound of her voice, Black gently released her hand and sat back in his chair, breaking the spell. “I... Ah... Perhaps... Applying a little more ointment wouldn’t hurt, Miss Lambert.” He stood and went to the dresser, dug around in one of the drawers, then placed the pot of Aileen’s salve on the table. Bandit abandoned his spot beside the fire and nudged Black’s leg with his nose. “All right, lad,” Black said as he snagged the remains of the beef pie off the table. “Let’s go outside so you can have your dinner.”

Sarah closed her eyes as the door shut and the key scraped in the lock. Her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to a regular pace, but her mind was in turmoil. Feverish, unfulfilled desire warred with disappointment and an overwhelming sense of relief.

What on earth am I doing?

Tempting Black, winning his trust, this was a dangerous game indeed. The question was: how far was she willing to go? What price was she willing to pay for her freedom? Did she really want to give herself to Black completely? Because if they kissed, it wouldn’t end there.

Aside from finally acknowledging she no longer wished to have anything to do with Malcolm, that was the only other thing Sarah was sure of.

Sweet Jesus, he needed some fresh air.

With Bandit at his heels, Alex all but bolted down the stairs of Eilean Dubh to the ruined courtyard below. Once he’d deposited the remains of the pie onto the snow-covered flagstones, he took up a position behind one of the crumbling walls. A howling, bitter wind flung flurries of snow through a yawning gap, and he welcomed the shock of it. Inhaling a great lungful of frigid air, he closed his eyes and slowly but surely, the rampant lust surging through his veins began to subside.

Things were careening out of control and he had to slow down. Stealing a kiss from Sarah was one thing, but he couldn’t afford to scare her away with the strength of his ardor. God help him, when she’d leaned toward him, her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took, her luscious pink lips slightly parted as though inviting him to drink his fill, his cock had thickened and he knew that if he did kiss her, he’d be hard pressed not to try for more. And she didn’t deserve that, to be ravished like a common doxy. Not when the poor lass was already plagued by nightmares of cold-blooded men who’d tried to take her against her will.

Yes, if he wanted Sarah to care for him, he had to woo her slowly. But slow wasn’t what he was capable of right now. She was a decent young woman, and she was alone and completely at his mercy. It would be wrong of him to take complete advantage of her in this situation, just as he would never force her to do anything against her will. No matter how much he desired her.

He wasn’t like Tay. He was better than Tay.

He had to be.