Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Chapter 42

Linnet sat on the chill, damp ground, her back against the trunk of a tree and her legs stretched out before her, as she rested her weary bones. Ever since Kenneth had unbound her, she’d been made to wait upon her captors, forced by threats upon Robbie to heed their constant demands and tend those wounded in the raid.

Seeing no choice – for the moment – but to acquiesce, she’d bowed to their will, catering to their every whim until her back ached so fiercely she’d begun to walk like a crone, one hand pressed to her hip, her shoulders hunched in pain.

Now, sometime in the mist-hung hours before sunrise on the second day since they’d been taken, and for the first time, she’d been allowed to sit with Robbie. Sleeping peacefully, praise the saints, the boy curled next to her, covered with a threadbare blanket one of Kenneth’s men had deigned to toss over him.

Most of the brigands slept. To Linnet’s dismay, Kenneth was among the few who did not. He lounged near the low-burning fire, nursing a cup of wine and conversing in quiet tones with one of his men, a shifty-eyed weasel of a lout who suddenly held his cup aloft and motioned for her to refill it.

Rather than scramble to her feet as the miscreant surely expected, Linnet sent him an icy glare.

Truth to tell, she was too tired to stand.

“Seems the lady has wearied of serving her lessers,” the weasel taunted.

Kenneth huffed. “Perhaps her attitude will change once we’ve all had a turn at showing her how pleasurable servicing the lowborn can be. Once we’ve covered a bit more ground, we shall enlighten her.”

“Och!” The other man slapped his thigh. “Wait’ll she’s seen the size o’ yer-”

“Enough,” Kenneth admonished. “I wouldnae want her to suffer from yearning. There will be time a-plenty for her to enjoy my maleness, and yours, later.

“Truth is…” He glanced at her then and the raw lust in his gaze curdled Linnet’s blood. “She may find herself so taken with our charms, she’ll prefer us to my loathsome brother.”

His gaze still on her, and in a most disconcerting way, Kenneth pushed to his feet. Linnet willed her fear not to show as he strolled toward her. Beneath the folds of her cloak, her cold fingers found and closed around a small, leather-covered flagon.

A treasure she’d almost forgotten she had with her, secured as it was in a small linen pouch beneath the many layers of her clothes.

A miracle brimming with pure essence of valerian.

Filled, too, with her only hope of escape.

Kenneth loomed over her then, saying not a word, but prodding her hip with his foot. When the foot caught and lifted the hem of her cloak, exposing her ankles and calves to the brisk night air, and any leering eyes that might be gawking at her, Linnet forgot all pretense of appearing calm and frowned up at him.

“Leave me be, you craven,” she hissed, her hand curling tighter around the flagon. “Dare touch me, and I shall unman you at the first opportunity.”

Snickers and ribald comments came from those men still awake. Kenneth’s face turned a dark red, his eyes narrowing to slits. “You need the sharpness stolen from your tongue. I vow my brother did not break you well enough!” he fumed, barely restrained anger heavy in his every word.

“But ne’er you worry,” he crooned, leaning close. “’Tis an oversight I shall enjoy rectifying. And in his bed – once I’ve ousted him from what would have been mine had his whorish mother not stolen our father’s affection.”

Linnet pressed his lips together and glowered at him.

Her silence seemed to fuel his anger, for he grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly to her feet. His fingers digging deep into her flesh, he jerked his head toward the unwashed brigand who’d waved his cup at her.

“Replenish our wine.” The words were curt, his gaze, thunderous.

Linnet returned his glare. “I cannot fetch anything lest you release my arm.”

He did, but not before leaning even closer. “Watch your manners, lady. I’ve had done with less bothersome bawds than you.”

Linnet made a deliberate show of dusting off her sleeve. Then, her chin high, she made for the messy heap of supplies just beyond the circle of mostly sleeping men. It was where her captors kept their store of near-rancid wine, and not far from where their horses were tethered.

Horses too noble-looking to be anything but stolen. Not that she cared – she meant to steal one, too.

As soon as she laced the wine with valerian and Kenneth knocked back enough of the sleep-inducing brew to fall into a deep slumber.

“Make haste,” he called to her. “Our thirst is great.”

Linnet smiled.

A hearty craving for the soon-to-be potent brew would suit her well.

Her back to the men, she plucked an earthen jug from the untidy pile. The moment her fingers touched the vessel, cold waves of ill ease crept up her spine, but she forced herself to remain calm as she withdrew the flagon from its hiding place beneath her cloak.

Then, after a quick but wary glance over her shoulder, she removed its stopper and tipped the entire contents into the sour-smelling wine.

Kenneth extended his cup at her approach. “You make a comely serving maid. That is good, for soon you shall be offering up more than mere wine,” he drawled, his gaze sliding down the length of her. “Much more.”

Linnet said nothing and filled his cup to the brim.

Again and again until his eyelids drooped and his words slurred. Then she returned to her resting place by the tree and waited.

Waited and waited.

For what seemed like hours, she kept watch, her assessing gaze touching lightly on each slumbering man. Especially the one who, in sleep, looked so much like her husband, her heart twisted painfully within her chest.

Then – finally – a hush settled over the campsite. The fire burned low, the brigands’ restless tossing and turning ceased, and only a few hardy souls among them still snored.

All slept.

’Twas time.

Half-afraid to breathe, lest she make a noise, Linnet gently nudged Robbie’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open, the wariness in them giving and testament to how heavily the ordeal of the past two days weighed on him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Linnet quickly pressed two fingers over his lips. “Hush,” she whispered close to his ear. “We must leave here now. Can you be very quiet? Not make a sound no matter what happens?”

Robbie regarded her with rounded eyes and nodded.

Linnet returned the nod and ran the backs of her fingers down the boy’s cheek in what she hoped to be a reassuring gesture. Then she pushed slowly to her feet, gathered Robbie into her arms, and stole into the trees.

She paused beneath the spreading branches of a large yew until her eyes adjusted to the damp, earthy-smelling darkness of the wood, then strode toward the horses as fast as she dared. They stood quietly, only one bothering to glance her way and whicker softly in greeting.

At the noise, Robbie squirmed in her arms. “Are we going to steal a horse?” he piped, forgetting his promise to keep quiet.

Linnet clamped a hand over his mouth and froze, fear of discovery sending her heart straight to her throat.

A great bear of a man slept nearby, his head resting on a saddle, his slack mouth emitting a sputtering chorus of snores.

Praise be the saints, he slept on.

Unfortunately, his resting place was but a few steps away from her chosen mount, a fleet-footed courser she’d set her hopes on.

Linnet eyed the proud-looking horse again, weighing her chances. But when the man groaned and rolled onto his side, she abandoned any and all designs she’d had on the courser and lifted Robbie onto the bare back of the nearest beast, a gentle-eyed palfrey.

The only horse among the lot who appeared to be long of tooth and swaybacked.

It scarce mattered.

With a last glance at the sleeping guardsman and a silent warning to Robbie to keep still, she used the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree as a mounting block and scrambled up behind him. Sliding an arm about his waist, she drew him against her. To her immense relief, he appeared calm.

Would that she were calm.

Ne’er had she ridden without a saddle.

Truth to tell, she doubted she could, ancient-looking nag or nae.

At least, the beast wore bridle gear. Saving her relief over that particular blessing for another time, she took the reins in her free hand and urged the horse forward.

God willing, the palfrey possessed a stout enough heart to carry them a goodly distance before Kenneth regained his senses and discovered them gone.