Kidnapping the Laird Read online

  Kidnapping

  the Laird

  By

  Award-Winning Author

  Terri Brisbin

  Chapter One

  Invermoriston area

  on the banks of Loch Ness

  Scotland, 1360

  “She'd make ye a fine wife.”

  Padruig Grant drank deeply from the cup he held and shook his head at his brother—his drunken brother.

  “She is already my wife,” he replied. They both watched Catriona MacDonnell as she sat talking to some of the other women at the gathering. Padruig glanced at his brother to see if the man was pissed-drunk and decided he must be. His marriage had been arranged to bring peace to the neighboring and warring clans, so there was no doubt that he was married to the woman.

  “Aye. . . nay. . . aye,” his brother stuttered.

  When he was in his cups, Padruig knew no one but their mother could successfully intervene and order Jamie Grant to his bed—and live to do it again. She was nowhere to be seen. Padruig caught the eye of his other younger brother who joined their small group sitting at table in the front of the hall.

  “Dougal, I was just telling our brother that she would make him a fine wife,” his brother slurred his words now—not a good sign at all. Slurring words usually sat one step before a brawl.

  “Catriona is married to Padruig,” Dougal took their brother's arm and slung it over his shoulders, guiding him to his feet and supporting him once he stood. “I'm hoping you can find a comely lass for me,” his brother said to him as he eased Jamie away from the table. But, as most of this day had gone, this would go as well—not well that was. Jamie pulled away, straightened to his full height and glared at Padruig, wagging his finger to emphasize his words.

  “Ye need bairns, Padruig. Weeuns to carry our name and blood. And ye need them now,” his brother declared. “Get rid of that harlot who shares yer bed and see to yer wife.”

  Padruig stood then, his blood beginning to boil with rage, and he crossed his arms, glaring right back at his brother. “She is the daughter of our enemy. Why are you so intent on our marriage being anything more than what you helped arrange it to be and when you know the circumstances?” Though Dougal was the natural son of their father, his natural ability to negotiate made him the one to speak to other clans when business or treaties were needed.

  Jamie squinted and frowned. Why had Padruig ever tried to speak sensibly to him when he'd been celebrating and drinking since yesterday? “Aye, I arranged it between ye two. But, the MacDonnells arena our enemies. I think of them as rivals.”

  Padruig could not help it then. He laughed aloud at his brother's declaration. “Rivals? Rivals, you say? The MacDonnells are nothing more than a band of thieving, cheating criminals. Or have you forgotten already the cattle they stole from us? Or how they tried to push us from our lands here in Glenmoriston?” He shook his head, refusing to debate or argue when his brother was this drunk or to debate with anyone about her. Glancing up he noticed she was watching their exchange with some interest.

  Damn it to hell! Why did she have to be a MacDonnell?

  No one would argue that Catriona was a rare beauty with her heart-shaped face, clear blue eyes and wave upon glorious wave of gold-tinged auburn hair that reached to her hips when she unraveled it from the braid that usually confined it. And when she smiled, it was all he could do not to take her to her bed, peel off her garments, kiss her senseless and swive her until they could not move. His trews felt tight now as his cock surged in response to his thoughts about. . . his wife! Padruig could not be certain whether the lust in his blood for her showed on his face or not, but Catriona startled and looked away, not meeting his gaze.

  “Take him to his chambers, Dougal,” Padruig ordered, now in a softer voice. His younger brother began to help their sibling from the hall when he paused and smiled at Padruig.

  “Ye want her. She's yer wife,” Dougal pointed out the obvious, but Padruig waited for the rest. “It may have begun as something else, but that doesna mean it canna be something more.”

  Padruig closed his eyes, hoping they would both be gone when he opened them. Thankfully, they were. But Catriona remained where she’d been for most of this evening—sitting with some of his younger cousins as far from him as she could be and yet still in the same room. She’d forged a friendship of sorts with his sister, who would leave in a few days to live with her husband’s family in the western isles. What would Catriona do then? He heard footsteps approaching from his right and knew from Catriona’s darkening gaze exactly who walked closer to him.

  Seana’s hand glided along his arm and across his shoulder, touching his hair and tangling in its length. She pressed her body against his back, allowing the fullness of her breasts to rest on him. Then she leaned over and whispered in his ear. He could imagine the smile that sat on her full lips as she spoke, confident in her position as his leman.

  “Come now, Padruig. I am ready for bed,” she said in that sultry voice that usually sent waves of lust through his blood. This time though, the expression on Catriona’s face gave him pause.

  If he did not know better, Padruig would have thought her bothered by Seana’s presence or by her attentions to him. But he did know, the memory of their disastrous wedding night burned fresh within him even these four months later. And her words, filled with loathing and disgust as she demanded he stay away from her from that night on, yet echoed in his head. Padruig had not returned to her bed or even tried to since that night, seeking out comfort in Seana’s warm embrace when he needed the softness of a woman.

  But Padruig Grant was no fool and he knew better than anyone that he would seek out his wife if she gave but a sign that he would be welcomed. His pride and position as laird kept him from pursuing it and the current situation seemed to fulfill everyone’s needs—his, his wife’s, her clan’s and even his leman’s. Seana’s caress was ill-timed though and a blatant attempt on her part to lay some claim on him before the clan. He turned back to shrug off her hand and, when he glanced back, Catriona stood.

  * * *

  Until now, she knew she’d kept her reactions under control, but being shamed before his entire family was more than even she could bear without a response of some kind. Catriona pulled her emotions back from the brink of complete exposure and looked away from the scene unfolding at the high table between her husband and his whore. If she stood too fast or if her hands shook a bit as she gathered her cloak, surely the women there understood. As she walked out of the large hall where the Grants had gathered for the wedding feast of the laird’s youngest sister, she was not certain which hurt more— being shown how little she mattered to her husband or the pity she saw in the eyes of those who watched.

  Reaching the small chamber she now claimed as her own, Catriona added some peat to the smoldering pile in the small hearth there and waited for some heat to spread out from it before undressing. This room had been an addition to the stone keep, an additional cooking hearth and storage room used for large gatherings or when needed. Once things between her and Padruig had deteriorated the morning after their wedding, she’d moved her belongings into it and no one had questioned or bothered her. Gazing around the chamber, she shuddered. If her father ever learned of her treatment or that she’d been reduced to fleeing her husband’s bed for the safety of an empty one, the fragile peace forced by this arranged marriage would be shattered.

  And that was the only reason she even remained in this marriage, for her father had sworn that though she was the sacrificial lamb in this, she would not be led to slaughter. If she called on him and asked for his protection, Anghous MacDonnell would save his firstborn from the Grants. And war would follow. Catriona would not, could not, allow her family to suffer for her pride. Undressing, she hurried to climb in under the layers of warm bedcovers. Hours later, she lay awake, her pride pricking her over the constant insults to it.

  If she could only claim to hate him for the situation between them, it would be easier to accept. The truth of the matter was that she did not. He had accepted the terms of their marriage as she had—it was never meant to be a love match or more than a simple outward sign of the peace treaty between his family and hers. The only physical relationship demanded of them was to live in the same place and to consummate their vows at least once.

  They did. They had.

  When she demanded that he leave her alone and not seek to continue to do such things, he left her alone, allowing her to live unmolested and as she pleased in the keep. Other than keeping a leman, Padruig treated her respectfully and never raised a hand to her. And usually, she never drew his eye or his attention.

  Until this night.

  She supposed she was out of sorts because of witnessing her only friend in Glenmoriston getting married and knowing that Nairna would leave in but a few days. And from having to watch Nairna and her new husband look at each other with such love in their eyes. Nay, she knew it was because all evening and for days now, she’d watched her own husband, unable to ignore his masculine beauty or the strength in his body.

  Catriona shifted in the small bed, pulling the bedcovers up higher to stay warm, hoping that warmth would draw her into sleep and away from these disturbing thoughts and feelings. After watching his treatment of his leman and his reaction to her many public caresses and even kisses, Catriona recognized lust when she saw it in his dark, green eyes. And tonight, as he met her gaze after arguing with his brother, lust shone there. And something deep within her told her he lusted fo
r her!

  Another hour or two passed and the glimmer of an idea occurred to her about how to get past both her and Padruig’s pride in the matter of their marriage. After he’d sworn in front of others that he would never ask to come to her bed, she understood he would not, even if she invited him. But something inside her heart wanted him to want her and wanted something more than this inconvenient, impersonal arranged marriage. Something deep in her soul want to have a husband like Nairna’s who gazed on her with love in his eyes.

  Damn her foolish heart but she wanted Padruig Grant to look at her that way.

  Chapter Two

  The moon rose above him, shining enough light down for him to continue his journey home without waiting for dawn. The relentless spring rains had finally given way to drier days and pleasant nights. He was about two miles from the keep when they attacked. Padruig fought with all his strength, but they—four or five warriors—took him prisoner. A hood was tossed over his head, covering his eyes, and a gag tied around that. With his hands bound behind his head, he was trussed up like a roast in the cook’s larder and tossed over the back of his own horse. Though Padruig tried to estimate their direction and distance, but he lost track after only a few minutes of hanging upside down over a moving horse.

  ‘Twas clear to him that whoever they were, they wanted him alive, for once they got his sword away from him, they could have killed him. So, Padruig decided to wait to see before taking any action. Though laird of the clan, he had brothers to step into that chair if something happened to him, so he did not fear for the clan or its future. Even Catriona would be cared for. But why kidnap a laird? Only retribution and destruction could follow and who would gain?

  They traveled for some time, up hills and down, near rushing water and away from it, until they drew to a halt and he was dragged from the horse. His legs shook and his head spun as they pulled him along a path, through a doorway that was too low for his height and into some kind of croft or cottage. His arms were untied and he was forced to sit on the dirt floor. Padruig grabbed the nearest kidnapper and pulled him down, too, but he was quickly subdued, this time chains replacing the ropes.

  Other than some muffled whispers, Padruig could not tell how many were present or who they were, but they efficiently chained him to the wall, his arms separated and placed on either side of him. The chains were low enough and long enough only to let him sit or stand, but not to move more than a half-pace from the wall itself. Once he was secured, he heard them speaking both inside and outside the building, again, with voices too low and too muffled to identify. The conversation continued for some minutes and he took advantage of their inattention to him to shift around and get some idea of how much movement he could accomplish in spite of the chains.

  The door slammed, surprising him, and he heard hammers pounding nails into the frame around the door. He tried to yell against the gag, demanding answers, but between the noise of the hammering and the gag and hood, Padruig knew no one could hear him. Then, as quickly as this escapade had begun, he could hear them leaving—leaving him chained to a wall, and gagged. Padruig struggled then, pulling against the chains and trying to reach the knot in the gag to get free of it.

  Who would do this? Who would take him prisoner and leave him so? Did they think to ransom him? Ha! The Grants could call many to their sides in a dispute or war, but they were not a wealthy clan at all. There would be no ransom for him. If he got free, he would beat the truth out of someone.

  He twisted around and finally reached the knot behind his head and tugged it loose. Padruig loosened the canvas hood and drew it off. He expected not to be able to see anything in the dark, so the lamp burning on the table surprised him.

  But the sight of Catriona standing there shocked him more.

  Catriona swallowed against the fear and tried to meet his gaze. She had begun to reconsider this rash plan before she’d taken the first step, but now she knew it had been a mistake. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as though he did not believe what he was seeing and she recognized the moment when he accepted it was her, there, before him.

  Husband or not, Padruig Grant was a formidable man to have as an enemy. Even chained to a wall, the power in his arms was evident—his muscles rippled as he tested the resistance of the chains. A bruise darkened the edge of his jaw even now. Catriona fisted her hands and fought the urge to touch it. It must be the tension of this plot that made her notice such things now, when she’d rarely done so during the last four months.

  “What is this, Catriona?” he asked her, his voice milder than she dreamt possible.

  All of the words, all of the possible explanations, she’d planned in the weeks while she laid her plans and none came to mind in this moment.

  “Tell me!” he yelled louder than, his demand echoing around them both as his anger grew and the chains rattled against the stone wall behind him. Catriona trembled for a moment and then regained control over herself.

  “Do you do your father’s bidding? Who were your accomplices?” he asked again.

  He pulled against the chains and she jumped back a step in reaction. Cat raised her hand and rubbed her forehead. Why had she ever thought this would work? Padruig somehow managed to climb to his feet. Now he used his height to intimidate her since his loud voice had not. Dougal had warned her of what to expect when Padruig lost his temper and so far, he knew his brother well. What had he advised? Oh, hold her ground. Let him yell. Then negotiate. She’d done that the morning after their wedding and it had worked, so Cat had every expectation that it would she would be again. . . but this time with much different results.

  Laughter bubbled inside her at this inappropriate time. From the anger in his eyes, the clenching of his jaws and the way he pulled against the chains, Cat understood there would be no negotiating with him for a while. She would be lucky to leave here alive, let alone with a husband. His brothers had not seemed worried over their safety, but that gave her no comfort—they were blood, she was a MacDonnell. She sighed and shook her head and, crossing her arms over her chest and standing as tall as possible, she spoke the words that entered her mind.

  “I want a husband.”

  And then it happened and he responded as all Grants did—to her name, her family’s history and based on the animosity that existed between their clans—with anger. If anyone remained behind after bringing him here and securing him, they would have heard his rants in spite of the boarded-up door and windows and in spite of the thick, stone walls of this house. He rained down curses on her and her clan. He fought against the chains until his wrists bled. Cat attempted to interrupt him several times to explain, but he did not stop. . . .

  Until he did.

  Collapsing against the wall and sliding down to the floor, Padruig pulled in one ragged breath after another trying to regain his control. He’d always been lauded as the even-tempered of Micheil Grant’s sons, but clearly he had inherited his father’s ability to lose his self-control without warning. Though being attacked, beaten, kidnapped and threatened with death was more reason than most would expect. Now, he wiped across his face with his arm and tried to catch his breath.

  “Another husband?” he asked in a voice hoarse from shouting. “There are far easier ways than this to get a new one.” He jangled the chains for emphasis.