Ines spotted Mr. Fortescue in front of the cottage and breathed a sigh of relief. If Fortescue was here, Duncan was nearby as well. She just prayed Duncan wouldn’t do anything foolish. She worried, more than anything else, that the Scotsman would be hurt.
So much for PED. She wanted excitement and danger and gotten both plus passion, but she did not want anything if it meant she would lose Duncan.
She knew their party didn’t have enough coin to satisfy the men who had taken her. They’d dragged her to their camp, tied her to a tree, and left her alone for the afternoon. When she’d stopped shaking from terror, she had concentrated on listening to them talk. They kept some distance from her, which she appreciated, except that it made it hard to hear them very well. What she did piece together from the snatches of conversation she overheard was that they expected a large sum for her return. If her man did not have it with him, then they would keep her for a few days until he could gather it and pay them.
Ines felt sick at the prospect of having to stay with these men for even a night, but she felt sicker knowing that Duncan would never allow that. He would get her back, no matter the cost. She had already almost cost him his life. She didn’t want to do so again.
And so she felt relief at seeing Stratford Fortescue but also dread. Her gaze met Mr. Fortescue’s, and he gave her a reassuring smile. She kept her gaze on his, knowing that to look for Duncan might give him away. Better if her captors thought their only foe was Fortescue.
The man leading her, a man she had learned was called Graeme, stopped a few yards from Fortescue, and Ines stopped as well. She knew Graeme had sent men on ahead, but she didn’t see them. She wished she could warn Fortescue that Graeme had not come alone.
“I hope ye’ve brought a large purse,” Graeme said, eyeing Stratford up and down. “I’ll want a nice sum for the trouble of caring for yer woman all day.”
Fortescue looked unconcerned. “If you did not want the responsibility for her, you should have left her where you found her. Now, I suggest you give her back before I am forced to do something unpleasant.”
A light rain started to fall, and Ines blinked the water out of her eyes. She was already damp and cold from the rain that had fallen on and off all afternoon, and she dreaded the wet night ahead, especially if she was to spend it tied to a tree.
“I should think ye would be more worried aboot what I might do. I have yer woman, and if ye dinnae plan tae pay me a fine sum tae give her back, I might just keep her. She’s a bonny lass.”
“If that means she is pretty, you are right. But I can’t think she is pretty enough for all the trouble you will cause yourself if you do not hand her over right away.”
Graeme made a show of looking about. “What trouble? Ye are standing here alone. If ye had bothered tae look aboot ye, ye’d ken I have my men surrounding ye.”
“And if you’d bothered to pull your head out of your arse for three seconds, you’d realize you will be dead in the next quarter hour, if you do not release this lady immediately.”
Ines was trying to remain calm, but it was difficult when she still didn’t know where Duncan was. And it was even more difficult when she could see Graeme’s men creeping closer.
“Oh, I have my heid in my arse?” Graeme yanked Ines’s bindings, causing her to stumble forward. “Do ye want the lass or nae?”
Fortescue raised an unconcerned brow. “I said I did, but I won’t pay the likes of you for her. Now give her to me and scurry back to the hole you crawled out of.” Fortescue held out an imperious hand.
“I ought tae kill ye now,” Graeme said as his men moved even closer. Ines’s heart thundered in her chest. Soon the men would have Fortescue surrounded and then they would both be prisoners.
“I would like to see you try,” Fortescue said, seeming unconcerned by the men moving up behind him.
“Ye dinnae believe me? Then maybe ye’d like tae watch me kill her instead.” Graeme yanked Ines to the ground and grabbed her by the hair. She gasped at the bite of pain, her eyes watering.
“You won’t kill her,” Fortescue began.
And then through the drizzle and her tears, she saw Duncan. It seemed to Ines that he flew out of the crofter’s cottage. Of course, he couldn’t really fly. Her eyes must be deceiving her, but the way he moved looked like flying. He leapt, his hair streaming out behind him, his handsome face a mask of rage, his arm wielding what looked like a sword, though she could not remember him having one before.
Fortescue yelled, his arms cutting through the air as though giving some sort of direction or rebuke. And then he sagged, seemed to gather himself again, turned to the man closest to him and delivered a hard kick to his hand, sending the dagger he held flying. Impressive as the move was, Ines could not keep her gaze from returning to Duncan. As he came closer, she realized what she had thought might be a sword was actually a sharpened stick.
Caramba! He was fighting men armed with real weapons with nothing more than a stick! She knew he had a dagger as well. He had a habit of tossing it when they sat waiting for another cart to pass or a merchant to finish a negotiation. He would hold the handle with the tip of his fingers, toss it in the air, and then catch it by the handle again. But where was that dagger now? He would need it against Graeme. Duncan landed, crouched, then turned his head as a lion might when scenting prey. His amber eyes fixed on his target, and he lunged for Graeme.
Graeme didn’t flinch. He met the attack head on. Ines meant to flinch—to close her eyes—but she had to see what would happen. Graeme was on his feet, arms raised for attack one moment, then flat on the ground, the next. Duncan loomed over him, sharpened stick at the ready. Suddenly, that stick looked far more dangerous than any stick had a right to, and Ines could not watch. She had the sudden realization that the rope binding her hands was slack. When Graeme fell, he must have released the end he held. She began to wriggle her wrists in an attempt to free herself. But the knots were tight, and her hands slick from the rain. Around her, men yelled and cried out in pain. Ines tried to focus on her task, but she couldn’t stop looking about her.
A man grabbed her hands and Ines cried out. She looked up and into Duncan’s leonine eyes. There was no warmth in them now, only hard determination. Duncan pulled her to her feet. The dagger she had seen him toy with on so many occasions was in his hand, and it flashed, freeing the bindings. Ines stared at the crimson liquid that washed briefly over her hands before being rinsed away by the rain, which had begun falling more steadily now.
Blood. Duncan or Graeme’s?
“Go,” Duncan said to her.
She frowned, still staring at the last droplets of pink on her skin. He shook her, and she looked up and into his face, so hard and ferocious. All of that rage, all of that fury—for her. “Go!” he said and gave her a gentle push.
As though a gear in her mind was suddenly turned, she understood. She looked about, found an opening, and ran.
The sounds of fighting followed her as she tumbled into the brush just out of view of the crofter’s cottage. She did not know who was winning, and she could not bear to watch. She heard Duncan and Fortescue’s voices in a quick exchange and knew at least they were still alive. They would stay alive, wouldn’t they? They had fought together in a war against the French. They could hold their own in a fight against a small group of bandits.