Juliana clenched her jaw. She would not fall victim to a man again. Even if she must commit murder.
…
He’d just missed them, damn it. Rory lay on his belly, his head poking over the ridge as he watched Neal and Juliana, accompanied by a half dozen men, ride into the glen below. If he tried to rescue Juliana now, he’d be exposed in open land, and Cameron’s men would see him coming. Seven-to-one odds weren’t good any time, but not having an element of surprise was pure stupidity. Besides, it would be foolish to attack this close to their destination.
He cursed again. Not only had Cameron had a good several hours’ head start on him, but he’d lost valuable time on the first two attempts to pick up the trail. On the third try, he’d had to travel a good half mile in the burn itself before he finally found a muddy patch on the bank where Cameron’s group had exited the stream. Baron had shown his displeasure at keeping his hooves wet by kicking up his back ones as he climbed out of the water and had nearly unseated Rory.
His first plan had been to follow them, wait for nightfall, overtake whatever guard had duty, snatch Juliana, and ride for home like the hounds of hell were chasing him. Which they would be, no doubt. He’d even thought, if he were lucky, the Camerons would all be drunk and no one would be standing a watch. He should have known such wishful thinking was tempting the fae. While he might outwardly claim that faeries were the stuff of myth, no Scot with half a brain would ignore the possibility that the stories had truth to them. In any event, the Camerons hadn’t even stopped for the night.
At least he knew where Juliana was and wouldn’t have to spend more time searching. Rory watched as the group approached the gate and said something to the man standing guard atop the barbican. A moment later the gate swung open, and Cameron and his men—with Juliana—disappeared inside.
He studied the property. The main building was stone, but it wasn’t a castle. There were no merlons or embrasures along the roof, nor towers at either end. Although there were no other men posted along the top of the wooden fence, it likely had a battlement walk, since there was a watch house by the gate. The number of outbuildings, including what looked like a large stable, indicated that a sizable group of people lived there.
Rory narrowed his eyes. The place was a fortress of sorts, but not one blatant enough to draw the attention of English soldiers. Whoever the owner was, it was a perfect place for the Cameron laird to seek refuge. As it was seemingly not guarded, King George wouldn’t consider it a threat, but Rory would wager that, if need be, well-armed men could be summoned to assume positions at a moment’s notice.
He sat back on his haunches and thought. He could wait until it was dark, then ride down and circle the barricade, looking for a back entrance. But because no visible guards were posted during the day to draw attention, there was still a good possibility that men would be standing watch at night. The holding was situated in the middle of an open glen, and he’d be spotted since the moon was full.
The other problem with that idea was that he didn’t know where the hell Juliana would be once he was inside. He couldn’t very well stroll through the halls, looking about. He had no idea of the layout of the place, either, although bedchambers were usually on the second floor.
Andthatthought made his blood chill.Bedchambers.So far, Juliana’s virtue was intact since Cameron hadn’t stopped, but how long would that last? How long before Neal accosted her in one of those bedchambers? Would he give her time to rest? Or even have a meal? Rory knew the bastard had a reputation for taking what he wanted.
He glanced up at the sky. The sun was still fairly high. Nightfall was several hours away. By that time, he might be too late. He thought about what his brother Alasdair—who had been to London—had told him of English society. If a woman were found in a compromising position, the man was obligated to marry her. And, if he didn’t, she would be considered ruined. Rory didn’t give a tin farthing about any of that, but Neal had said he wanted to marry Juliana. And, in any event, he would certainly bed her, even if he had to tie her down.
Rory grimaced as he stood up and walked toward Baron. He really only had one option left, something time-honored by Scots. Something he’d never thought he would do. And certainly not withJuliana, who hated his guts.
Marriage had not been something he’d contemplated, at least not for several more years. Now that the MacGregor name had been reinstated by King George, there were lands to be reclaimed, battles to be fought to get them, and honor to be restored. He didn’t have time—and he didn’t need the diversion—while he sought to make their clan great and worthy once more. And, when the time for marriage came, he always thought he’d choose a Scottish lass, willing to raise bairns and tend his house.Notone to cause him any trouble. Juliana was nothingbuttrouble. He just hoped the blasted woman had the sense to keep her mouth shut when he claimed her for his own.
Chapter Three
Juliana looked around the bedchamber as the door closed behind her, and she felt like she’d swallowed hot coals. Neal’s cloak had been thrown over one chair, and his muddy boots stood next to it. The breeches and tunic he’d worn lay crumpled on the floor. There was no doubt whose room she was in.
There was no adjoining door to the next room, only the one she’d been pushed through. Since she could hear boots scuff on the floor outside, she didn’t need to open it to know she was being guarded. She went quickly to the small window to see if there was an escape route there. Unfortunately, the room was on the second floor. There was no portico below with a welcoming roof for her to jump to. No trees offered a branch to crawl out on, and there wasn’t even a vine trellis to climb down.
She was stuck, and Neal would return soon.
Juliana reached into her pocket and fingered the knife she’d managed to purloin by dropping several utensils at the quickly arranged meal they’d had once they’d arrived. The blade wasn’t that sharp, but it would have to do.
Hearing a feminine voice outside, she wondered if a maid had been sent to help her undress. Not that she had any intention of taking off one stitch of clothing. Perhaps, though, she could convince the maid to help her escape? It was a far-fetched notion, but worth a try. The house was not the Cameron seat, so the servants might not feel any sense of loyalty to Neal. A bit of hope sprang within her.
That hope was dashed when the door opened and Neal’s sister Margaret appeared.
She was probably only a few years older than Juliana and had been quiet at the table earlier.
“I’ve come to help ye get ready for the night,” she said as she carried a pitcher to the dresser. She wrinkled her nose at the dirty water in the basin. “I figured Neal would forget to order fresh water for ye.” She emptied the contents into a brass chamber pot standing in the corner, then filled the basin with hot water. “I brought ye some soap, too.”
“Thank you.” Even though Juliana wasn’t about to remove any clothing—not even her cloak—just washing her face and neck would feel wonderful. She eyed the girl as she performed a hasty ablution. “Do you know why I am here?”
“Aye, of course. Neal means to marry ye.” She smiled. “’Tis what he’s speaking to our father about now.”
The coals in her stomach burned hotter. “This is insane. I do not want to marry your brother.”
Margaret’s brow rose. “Why nae?”
Dear Lord. She didn’t want to insult the other woman. “It is not Neal specifically. But I do not want to get married.”
The brow rose fractionally higher. “Never?”
Juliana shook her head. “I do not want to be controlled—owned—by any man.”
