Page 10 of A Sinful Night with a Scot
“Or, I can just kill her and be done with it,” Keane spat.
Alisdair’s face softened while he shook his head. “Killing her will only torture ye. Ye may well be hellbent on revenge. Ye may even have changed intae a man I hardly recognize, but yer conscience willnae allow ye tae kill an innocent woman.”
Keane looked Alisdair directly in the eyes. “Ye dinnae understand, Alisdair. I have nay conscience left.”
For the next half hour, Keane and the rest of his men packed up camp. Every blanket, piece of rope, and uneaten morsel was lifted.
“I dinnae want a scrap o’ evidence left that we were here,” he commanded, gathering dead leaves and covering the burnt patch where the fire had been.
Of course, a trained eye would be able to tell there had been a camp, but the less obvious their trail, the harder it would be for Gunn’s men to follow. He would catch up with them sooner or later, but Keane wanted to be safely behind his castle walls when that time came.
Alisdair arrived at Keane’s side and said, “I think ye’re missing something.”
“What?” Keane frowned, checking the ground he had just covered for anything obvious.
“Nae that,” Alisdair said. He then jerked his head across the camp. “That.”
Keane spun around to discover the tree where his prisoner was supposed to be tied up now stood without the lass in sight.
“God damn it,” he spat.
“Shall I get the men?—”
“I’ll find her,” Keane growled. “She cannae have got far.”
He headed toward the tree and then made his way behind it. It was the most obvious direction she would have run in. She certainly hadn’t crossed his or any others path. Making his way through the dense trees, he continued up the steep incline. She couldn’t have gone far. Apart from the fact that she likely had no idea where she was, she was clearly a woman who had spent most of her life tucked away in a castle. Last night had proven that.
She had been so confident she would be fine sleeping alone, but her shivering and chattering teeth had woken him up several times. He had tried to offer her warmth, for it would have been far better for her had she been wrapped in his plaid, but she was as stubborn as they came.
Reaching the brow of the hill, he noted the terrain now leading down again. But before he ventured down the steep bank, he stopped dead, peered through the trees ahead, and turned his ear to catch any sound that might lead him in the right direction. For a second, he heard nothing other than the birds singing above him. It was a rather peaceful sound and he allowed himself to enjoy it.
But then, a strange noise reached him. A sound not ordinarily heard in a forest of dense trees. Someone was taking small intakes of breath, while at the same time, sounding like they were in pain.
Moving slowly down the bank, he followed the noise, which was getting louder the closer he got. When he eventually saw her, he automatically winced at her situation, for she had clearly fallen down the bank and had tumbled into a patch of thistles.
Elspeth was currently trying to get herself untangled, hissing with the pain of a thousand needles that pierced her from every direction.
“Dinnae move,” he called out.
She jerked her head up, and then heaved a resigned sigh at the sight of him. Her escape had been short lived and she knew it.
Grabbing a nearby broken branch, he thrashed through the thistles, creating a path for him to walk. Bending down, he caught his own arm against them as he scooped her up, butignored the slight sting. With her arms around his neck, he then turned and carried her back the way he had come.
“Ye didnae get too far,” he smirked.
But there was no biting comeback this time, perhaps because she was in too much pain.
Keane climbed back up the bank with ease, holding her closely to him as he went. Once he reached the brow, he slowly trudged down the other side, carefully keeping his balance as he skidded at some parts.
Once at his horse, he stood her on her own two feet, and, opening a saddle bag, began rummaging inside. A second later, he found what he was looking for, and produced a small dark brown bottle.
“Hold that,” he said, handing it to her. “Now, turn around.”
She did as she was told, and, wrapping his hand in his plaid, Keane began brushing the thistle needles from her frock. He moved down her back, over her finely shaped behind, and all the way to the bottom of her dress. He then lifted it.
“What are ye doing?” she cried, clearly afraid he would see her legs.
“Dae ye want these needles out or nae?” he growled up at her.
