Helen Dickson - Traitor or Temptress

When she had clambered over the rocks and her feet were back on the green sward running alongside the burn, she strode off without a backward glance. She realised she was famished and those oatcakes were suddenly very appealing. When she’d eaten she would think of a way to escape.

Rolling up his shirtsleeves and tucking the hem into the waistband of his breeches, Iain watched her go, admiring the flowing, long-legged grace of her stride and gentle sway of her slim hips, and the way her hair tossed in the breeze. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the change he had made to his plans to return to Norwood early, but after his brief encounter with his hostage and the taste of her lips, and remembering how his starved senses had wanted to feast on them again, he was more inclined to dwell on the amazing quirk of fate that had caused Lorne McBryde to reappear in his life. No longer a child, but a woman full grown—and still a McBryde, a woman bearing a name that had insinuated itself into his soul from an early age, a name that stirred his hatred and mistrust.

Lorne sat quietly on a grassy knoll on the edge of the courtyard close to the trees, watching the proceedings as some of the men prepared to escort her and the trophies of the hunt back to Norwood. Preceded by a dozen or so hunt-servants, whose duty it was to find the deer and drive them towards the hunt, under the leadership of Sir Hugh, it was a rather reduced number of sportsmen who were preparing to start out for a final day’s pursuit of the red deer and wild boar.

Lorne’s eyes were alert, watching Archie, who was supposed to be guarding her, but had left her side for a moment to saddle his horse close by and away from the rest. She observed Iain, clad in a dark brown leather doublet, black breeches and knee-high boots, moving among the men. He never looked her way once, and anyone would think he had forgotten her existence, but of course he hadn’t.

He was the most handsome, fearsome man Lorne had ever beheld, bent on coldly and unemotionally capturing her father and destroying her family, and she ought to hate him. But she could not. He had just cause to despise every one of the McBrydes, herself included, and for that she felt profound regret.

Her gaze shifted to Archie, who was tightening the girth on his horse’s saddle. This done, he looped the reins over a wooden post and went to assist in securing the carcass of a splendid young deer over the back of a sturdy garron. It proved awkward. Attracting the attention of the others, Iain included, they went to help, their attention momentarily diverted from their captive. Lorne glanced at Archie’s horse. The opportunity was not to be missed.

She found herself getting up and walking slowly towards the mount, trying to keep her nerves under control. If Iain should look towards where she had been sitting and find her gone, she was too afraid to imagine what he would do. On reaching the horse, she glanced towards her captors. No one had noticed she had moved. The sun vanished as she led the horse into the dense woods. Out of sight, she brought the mount around and climbed into the saddle, digging her heels into its flanks and setting off through the trees. Her route lay east and she headed towards it.

Satisfied that the carcass of the young deer was well secured over the back of the garron, Iain stood back and smiled when Hugh rode up to bid him farewell.

‘I go to London in a few weeks, Iain—before the hard weather and dark days of the Scottish winter begin. Come with me. The company would be appreciated—and I know for a fact…’ he chuckled, with a conspiratorial lowering of his lids ‘…that the fair Mistress Fraser is to be in town. Couldn’t keep your eyes off her the last time you were together. Come, what do you say? It might be just what you need.’

‘I’ll let you know, Hugh. I confess the idea is appealing and the thought of meeting Maria Fraser again extremely tempting, but this latest development might take longer to settle than I care for.’

Iain’s gaze unconsciously sought out Lorne where she had been sitting on her grassy knoll, her hands clasped around her knees and a long lock of golden hair hanging heavily over one shoulder.

Finding the place empty, he froze. He was momentarily unable to believe she wasn’t there, his gaze ricocheting from the place where she had been sitting, around the courtyard and back again. He thought he could never be as angry as he had been last night when he had come face to face with her, but the explosion of rage and foreboding surmounted even that. Immediately he turned his blistering gaze on Archie.

‘Where is she?’ he thundered. ‘Your primary job was to guard her. God damn the woman! Where the devil has she gone?’

Archie looked around in consternation, afraid that his master was losing his hold on that precarious temper of his. His gaze was drawn to where he had left his horse. ‘My horse—it’s gone! She—she—’

Rage continued to explode in Iain’s brain. ‘Must have taken it,’ he bit out in a soft, murderous voice.

Striding swiftly towards his horse, he felt his emotions veer crazily from apprehension to fury. Apprehension because she had obviously gone careering off into the forest where she might get lost or meet with an accident, and fury because where most men would quake in his presence, this chit of a girl had openly defied him. As a demonstration of headstrong defiance, disobedience and rebelliousness, it was supreme. He had foolishly believed she would be too afraid to try escaping in this inhospitable countryside—but she was a McBryde, he reminded himself bitterly, who would dare anything.

Cursing her to perdition, within seconds he had swung himself on to his horse and was in hot pursuit, correctly assuming she would go in an easterly direction. His men followed, some dispersing in other directions.

Lorne had deliberately avoided looking over her shoulder as she picked her way amongst the hollies, the birch and the alder, but, coming to the end of the wood, she glanced back. She was unable to see the rider who pursued her, but heard the thunder of following hoofbeats becoming ever louder and nearer.

Emerging out of the trees into the full glare of sunlight, she rode like the wind. There was nothing ahead of her but a wide expanse of forest and sunwashed heather-emblazoned hills, and no sign of life. Her face set, her eyes blazing, she urged the horse to greater speed.

Behind her Iain saw a girl whose golden, unbound hair streamed out like a silken flag. She was a good horsewoman, riding in a way that would have done credit to her father and brothers, and in that unlikely moment he was overwhelmed with admiration.

Suddenly, from somewhere not far away, came the long, ululating blast of the hunting horn and the baying of hounds. Panicked, Lorne’s already excited, panting and sweating horse instantly reared and bolted. Struggling to bring it under control and at the same time outrun her pursuer, Lorne clung on in desperation. Ahead of her there loomed a narrow plateau with a steep incline on either side, the ground littered with outcrops of loose stones. Unable to turn and take a safer route, she found herself riding along it, trying not to look down the steep slopes to her right and left. All she could hear was the horse’s laboured breathing and the hollow thud of hooves.

Suddenly another blast of the hunting horn caused the horse to balk, pitching her over its head. The fall knocked the breath out of her body and she lay still, dazed and disoriented and fighting for air, while her horse galloped away. Through a haze she saw a rider appear along the plateau. Her heart almost stopped when she recognised Iain on his huge white hunter, riding low over its neck and looking like an ominous spectre of doom. Terror and rage and an acute sense of fear overriding everything, recovering her senses and getting her breath back, she scrambled to her feet, and, as quick as a harried fox, took flight.