The Laird's Captive Wife. Joanna Fulford

border country is wild and dangerous; too dangerous by far for a woman alone.’

      ‘There was no other choice.’

      ‘No, I suppose not.’ He paused. ‘You never told me your name.’

      ‘You never asked.’

      One dark brow lifted. ‘I’m asking now.’

      ‘Ashlynn.’

      ‘A pretty name and most apt, I find.’

      As he spoke he knew the words for truth. Dougal was right: most men would find her a welcome addition to their bed. Unbidden his mind went back to the scene by the river and relived it with startling clarity. He indulged the memory for a moment and then pushed it away. That kind of distraction had no place in his scheme of things.

      Unable to follow his thought and uneasy beneath that apparently dispassionate gaze Ashlynn forced herself to meet his eye.

      ‘You still have all the advantage.’

      ‘Aye, I believe I do.’

      ‘Is your identity such a closely guarded secret that I may not know it?’

      This time irony was underlain by a hint of impudence. Moreover, there was an expression in those blue eyes that was almost provocative as though she were testing the boundaries. It was tempting to show her just how close those were, but again he let it ride. His turn was coming.

      ‘No secret, my lady,’ he replied. ‘I am Iain McAlpin.’

      The name seemed strangely familiar somehow though it resisted precise identification. It niggled like a bad tooth. Earlier she had heard him say they would stay at Hexham that night. Where exactly? Surely no inn could cater for so large a party. Had he friends then who would give them shelter? His men called him lord. Lord of what? Where was Dark Mount? The missing pieces of the puzzle plagued her. Rather than labour over it she decided to ask. The answer was given readily enough.

      ‘Dark Mount is a fortress at the head of Glengarron.’

      ‘Glengarron!’

      ‘Aye.’

      She was suddenly very still as, in one moment of total comprehension, the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

      ‘You are the Laird of Glengarron?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      Ashlynn felt her stomach knot. In her relief at having escaped the hands of the Normans she had put herself into others every bit as dangerous, for who in the north of England had not heard of Glengarron or the man they dubbed Black Iain? It was small comfort to think she had no gold, nothing with which to trade for her freedom, in short nothing to tempt him at all. Then she remembered his earlier conversation with Dougal and her cheeks paled.

      ‘What are you going to do with me?’

      ‘I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll come with us as far as Jedborough at least.’

      ‘Jedborough?’

      ‘Aye, I’ve business there. When it’s concluded I’ll make my decision.’

      She drew in a deep breath and tried to get her voice under control. ‘You could leave me at Hexham.’

      ‘I could, but I won’t.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘It doesn’t accord with my plans.’

      Incredulous she glared at him but the gaze that met hers was unwavering and utterly disconcerting. Indignation swelled like a tide.

      ‘Why should I co-operate with you?’

      ‘Because you won’t like the consequences if you don’t.’

      The threat was thinly veiled despite the mild tone with which it was delivered and, for a moment, it hung there between them. Given his previous experience of her, he was half expecting an outburst of rage. It never materialised, though her chin lifted at a defiant angle. In spite of himself he was amused and oddly touched. With somewhat grudging admiration he acknowledged that the lass had spirit as well as looks.

      ‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘My future can be of no interest or importance to you.’

      ‘It isn’t.’

      ‘Then the only reason for holding me is concerned with profit.’

      ‘Good enough reason, in my view.’

      Ashlynn strove against rising panic. ‘Leave me at Hexham.’

      ‘I have just said I will not. The matter is closed.’

      ‘I cannot…I will not go with you further.’

      The dark gaze met and held hers but now there was no discernible trace of humour in it.

      ‘You can, my lass, and you will.’