Page 39 of Laird Of Her Heart

They would miss the massacre.

That was worth any price.

She hoped when he came in, settled down for the night, he would be calmer. He would be willing to listen to her once more.

But he never came back.

Night fell and silence settled over the camp and he never came to her.

He left her there, tied to the pole in his tent. All alone.

It was the longest night of her life.

But morning was worse.

She could hear the men rising, packing up, chattering. She could smell breakfast cooking. But no one came to untie her.

Her wrists were sore, her arms, having been in the same position all night, ached. Her bladder was full.

When Ewan came through the tent flap, she nearly collapsed in relief, but even though she called out to him, he ignored her, merely collecting Dominic’s things and carting them outside.

He came in several times, until everything was gone except the pallet and furs on which she rested.

Her belly went hard. Her blood went cold. Were they going to leave her here? The thought palled. When the sounds outside rose, calls of farewell, the thunder of hooves, she nearly broke into tears.

She knew he’d left her.

Felt it in the hollow core of her being. A coil of dread rose to take the place of hope.

Yes, he was a grown man. He could take care of himself. But she couldn’t help thinking, he needed her. Needed her to keep him safe.

It didn’t occur to her that she needed him for the same reason. Not until Ewan and Harry stepped into the tent. Their expressions were blank, but not blank enough that she did not sense their anger, their distrust of her.

“Have they gone?” she asked, though she knew the answer. It hardly mattered that they didn’t answer. Her gaze fixated on the knife Ewan held. Trepidation skittered through her.

Oh lord. How angry was Dominic? Or was it not anger? Was it mercy to send his man in to slit her throat? To save her from hanging?

Fear clutched at her. She struggled to catch a breath. Sweat prickled on her brow. She was tied. Helpless. She couldn’t even fight—

But Ewan strode past her to the tent pole and cut her tether. It wasn’t lost on her that he did not untie her hands. He jerked her to her feet and led her from the tent, while Harry collected the bedding and broke down the structure.

To her shock—once her eyes adjusted to the glare of the sun—the camp was empty. Utterly deserted. Even the fire had been doused. All that remained was the cart filled with salted deer carcasses. Ewan towed her in that direction.

She stopped short and braced herself for his tug when he noticed she was not obediently following him. He frowned at her.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she said.

He shot a look at Harry and then changed directions toward the woods. He didn’t take her deep in, but paused beside the first bush. When she opened her mouth to protest, his frown darkened. “Hurry up.”

She blew out a sigh and tried to move quickly, but it was difficult with her hands tied before her. She knew better than to ask him to release her. His expression made clear he’d been commanded to keep her on a short leash.

Literally.

By the time she was finished, Harry had stowed the tent. Ewan led her to the cart and lifted her into the back. She could hardly complain—the seat in the front was barely big enough for the two burly Scotsmen—but seriously? Did they expect her to travel all the way to Castle Dar on top of dead meat? The smell alone was revolting.

“I think I’m gunna barf.”

“Be silent, woman,” Harry snapped.