Read Online The Laird's Captive Wife by Joanna Fulford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joanna Fulford
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his visitor to the barn, the farmer went indoors again. As Iain dismounted and led the horses toward the designated shelter, Ashlynn craned her neck to take a quick look around, now keenly aware of their isolated position and the fading light. Was this where he meant to rendezvous with his men? As yet she could see no sign of them and for the first time missed their presence. For all sorts of reasons she was aware of the old proverb about safety in numbers. Moreover, she was tired, sore and cold for with the approach of darkness the wintry bite in the air was pronounced.
When they reached the barn Iain led the horses to their stalls. Then he paused, surveying his captive. Ashlynn waited, silently willing him to cut her free, though still she could not bring herself to plead. He waited a moment more, then smiled faintly and untied the rope that held her to the saddle. Having done that, he untied her ankles and let her slide down. She stifled a gasp as her cold feet jarred on the hard ground and felt her legs buckle. Had it not been for his arm she would have fallen. It kept her upright while he dragged her across to some upturned barrels by the wall.
‘Sit down there and don’t stir.’
The tone implied that to do anything else would be a serious mistake. Ashlynn said nothing. In fact she had no intention of disobeying him, all thought of rebellion long gone. Apparently satisfied by her chastened demeanour he turned his attention to the horses. From her vantage point she watched as he unsaddled and rubbed them down, noting with reluctant approval the sure methodical way in which he performed each task. Having done what was necessary he fed them some grain and filled the hay racks. Only when the horses were settled and comfortable did he turn his attention back to his prisoner, surveying her with a cool speculative eye.
‘If I untie your hands will you give me your word not to try and escape again?’
She nodded dumbly, too cold and tired to contemplate a further attempt now. He knelt beside her, his strong fingers working the knots until they slackened. Then, blessedly, the rope loosened and she was free. Flexing her wrists she began to massage the aching flesh.
‘Where are we?’ she asked then.
‘Among friends. We’ll stay here tonight.’
‘But what of your men?’
‘We’ll catch up with them later. It’s almost dark now and the countryside is crawling with Norman mercenaries. It’s too dangerous to continue.’
Ashlynn shivered, knowing it was true. Along with that realisation came the first stirrings of guilt that it was she who had put them in this position. As the possible consequences dawned she began to see the extent of her folly and the reason for his anger. It occurred to her that, had he wished to, he could have followed his earlier inclination and thrashed her soundly. She swallowed hard. Knowing his strength she was devoutly thankful that he had restrained the urge. The only thing he’d bruised was her pride.
She was drawn from these thoughts by the return of the farmer. Again he glanced once at Ashlynn and then ignored her, speaking quietly with Iain before setting down a wooden tray on one of the barrels nearby. From under the cloth covering she could smell the savoury aroma of stew and realised suddenly that she was famished. Then she glanced at Iain. He had not beaten her but he could still punish her by withholding food. If he did it would be a long time before the next meal. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the growling in her stomach. Whatever happened she would not beg.
However, it seemed that such was not his plan for he handed her a bowl of the steaming concoction and a hunk of bread.
‘Here. Eat.’
Rather shyly she took the bowl. As she did so her fingers brushed his. The touch sent an unexpected frisson along her skin. Avoiding his eye she focused her attention on the food and, unable to resist, fell to. The stew was thick with meat and vegetables and, after a day in the
When they reached the barn Iain led the horses to their stalls. Then he paused, surveying his captive. Ashlynn waited, silently willing him to cut her free, though still she could not bring herself to plead. He waited a moment more, then smiled faintly and untied the rope that held her to the saddle. Having done that, he untied her ankles and let her slide down. She stifled a gasp as her cold feet jarred on the hard ground and felt her legs buckle. Had it not been for his arm she would have fallen. It kept her upright while he dragged her across to some upturned barrels by the wall.
‘Sit down there and don’t stir.’
The tone implied that to do anything else would be a serious mistake. Ashlynn said nothing. In fact she had no intention of disobeying him, all thought of rebellion long gone. Apparently satisfied by her chastened demeanour he turned his attention to the horses. From her vantage point she watched as he unsaddled and rubbed them down, noting with reluctant approval the sure methodical way in which he performed each task. Having done what was necessary he fed them some grain and filled the hay racks. Only when the horses were settled and comfortable did he turn his attention back to his prisoner, surveying her with a cool speculative eye.
‘If I untie your hands will you give me your word not to try and escape again?’
She nodded dumbly, too cold and tired to contemplate a further attempt now. He knelt beside her, his strong fingers working the knots until they slackened. Then, blessedly, the rope loosened and she was free. Flexing her wrists she began to massage the aching flesh.
‘Where are we?’ she asked then.
‘Among friends. We’ll stay here tonight.’
‘But what of your men?’
‘We’ll catch up with them later. It’s almost dark now and the countryside is crawling with Norman mercenaries. It’s too dangerous to continue.’
Ashlynn shivered, knowing it was true. Along with that realisation came the first stirrings of guilt that it was she who had put them in this position. As the possible consequences dawned she began to see the extent of her folly and the reason for his anger. It occurred to her that, had he wished to, he could have followed his earlier inclination and thrashed her soundly. She swallowed hard. Knowing his strength she was devoutly thankful that he had restrained the urge. The only thing he’d bruised was her pride.
She was drawn from these thoughts by the return of the farmer. Again he glanced once at Ashlynn and then ignored her, speaking quietly with Iain before setting down a wooden tray on one of the barrels nearby. From under the cloth covering she could smell the savoury aroma of stew and realised suddenly that she was famished. Then she glanced at Iain. He had not beaten her but he could still punish her by withholding food. If he did it would be a long time before the next meal. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the growling in her stomach. Whatever happened she would not beg.
However, it seemed that such was not his plan for he handed her a bowl of the steaming concoction and a hunk of bread.
‘Here. Eat.’
Rather shyly she took the bowl. As she did so her fingers brushed his. The touch sent an unexpected frisson along her skin. Avoiding his eye she focused her attention on the food and, unable to resist, fell to. The stew was thick with meat and vegetables and, after a day in the
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