Page 50 of Never Tempt a Scot
“Hold on to me, lass.”
“I’m so—sorry.” She buried her face against his chest as tears flowed down her face.
“You have nothing to apologize for, lass, you hear?” He brushed a kiss to her hair and then against her forehead. “It is I who should apologize. I shouldna have let you go off alone, modesty or no. I kept telling you how beautiful Scotland is, lass. But I forgot to remind you that it’s dangerous.” He held her for a long moment in the thicket, until she found her panicked breathing had eased.
“Now, can you ride?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good.” He grasped her by the waist and lifted her onto the horse’s back before climbing on behind her.
“Sorry there’s no saddle. Lean back against me. You can rest while we ride.”
She leaned back as he suggested and started to close her eyes. “How far are we from the coach?”
“Quite far, lass, but we aren’t going that way. Those men meant to trade you at an inn farther up the road. I dinna know how far away it is. Rafe wanted to come with me, but I feared I wouldna find you in the dark and might be too late. So I sent him to the inn with the coach to pay your ransom if I couldna catch up to you first.”
Lydia hadn’t realized how exhausted she had been until she was safe in Brodie’s arms. Funny that she would think of being with him as safe, given that he hadalsoabducted her. Yet here she was, resting against him, grateful that he was the one who’d found her.
She tried not to think about the men he had killed. She did not mourn them, yet at the same time she couldn’t help but see them as desperate men doing what they felt they must to survive. She felt oddly guilty that Brodie had taken their lives to save hers. Would he hate her for it? Perhaps he didn’t care at all. Perhaps that was life in Scotland.
During the ride, she somehow managed to drift in and out of a light sleep. The horse’s quick canter was at first jostling, but it soon became a soothing rhythm. At one point she thought she was dreaming, but she realized she was half-awake as Brodie sang a song to her in Gaelic. The language was soft, seductive, and exotic in a way that made her feel homesick for a land that wasn’t even hers.
“We’re here, lass.” Brodie gently stirred her awake as they neared a small coaching inn, with a faded painted sign that read “The Boar’s Head Inn.”
Rafe, who had been standing outside the door, rushed toward them. “Bloody Christ!”
“Take her inside and find a doctor,” Brodie said.
“Come on, kitten.” Rafe carefully helped Lydia to dismount. “Who is the doctor for?”
“I got stabbed ... but only a little,” Lydia replied, raising her wounded arm, giggling at the absurdity of it all.
“Only a little? Hell’s teeth, you’re in shock, my dear,” Rafe muttered. “Best to get you some warm food, a bed by a fire, and a stout glass of brandy.”
“That sounds lovely,” she agreed, and let him escort her inside the inn.
Brodie dismountedand walked his horse over to the stables, where a young groom took charge of his beast.
“Give him a few sugar lumps when you’re done brushing him down. The horse has earned it.”
“Yes, sir.” The lad clicked his tongue and led the horse away to be looked after. Brodie remained inside the stables a moment, and when he looked down, he noticed that his clothes were covered with blood and dirt, as were his hands. He turned his hands over, and they suddenly trembled.
He hadkilledthree men. Killed them with so little thought except that they had taken Lydia from him.
Was he truly a monster to kill without hesitation like that? Lydia would fear and despise him now, he was certain of it. She would always look at him and see a man who took lives, brutally and bloodily. What she thought shouldn’t matter. But it did—it mattered far too much.
He remained in the stables contemplating his actions another ten minutes before he returned to the inn. The valets were downstairs, but Rafe and Fanny were missing.
“Alan, where is Lennox and the maid?”
“With Miss Hunt, sir. She was in a bad way, all shaky and sort of laughing, like she’d gone mad.”
Brodie sighed and dragged a hand down his face. He supposed he’d been facing the same thing, though in a different way.
“Do you need anything, sir?” Alan looked politely at Brodie’s bloody attire.
“Aye, clean clothes.”
