his sporran rested between them because she suspected what she would have felt otherwise. They rode through the evening until darkness forced them to make camp. Matthew bound her wrists after she ate, but he didn’t bind her ankles or tie her to a tree. She could have gotten up, even tried to run. But she knew she wouldn’t outrun any of the men, especially if they were on horseback. She didn’t want to die. She wanted her husband. She would wait until she could find a safer alternative.
When the sun rose, Matthew tossed a waterskin at her. She pulled the stopper and sniffed.
“Just drink it.” The barked command resulted in her casting a scathing glare at Matthew, but she put the waterskin to her lips. She was thirsty, and she doubted they would give her another chance to drink for several hours. She hesitated when the water had a bitter taste to it. She sniffed it, but there was no scent. “Drink it or go without. But don’t ask for aught if you don’t drink this first.”
Laurel closed one eye and looked down the neck of the waterskin, spying some sediment at the bottom. She assumed it was from the river they’d camped near. She prayed it wouldn’t make her ill. Using her teeth to strain the water, she kept whatever had settled at the bottom from entering her mouth, but the water still tasted off. When she finished, she handed the container back to Matthew. He watched her as she slipped behind a bush for a moment of privacy. With no more reason to dawdle, she joined the men and found herself in front of Nelson once more.
The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but Laurel was sweating profusely. Her stomach churned as she considered what she might have ingested. She no longer assumed what she’d tasted in the water was there when it was drawn from the river. She was convinced she’d been drugged. She felt light-headed, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Her lids were heavy, and she caught herself dozing off more than once. She thanked God for small mercies since Nelson left her alone, his hold around her waist light as he steered his horse with his other hand. Whatever tincture they added to the water, Laurel doubted any of the men knew how to brew it. Someone—some woman, more likely—brewed a tea or made a tincture that Matthew or one of the others later added to the water. They wanted her to sleep, but she couldn’t understand why she was sweating so horribly.
As Laurel’s head finally became too heavy for her neck to support, she considered how she must look. She was certain she looked ill, her pallor ashen. She suspected the MacDougall brothers drugged her to keep her complacent and to make it look as though she ailed in case they ran across anyone who wondered why they traveled with a slumbering woman.
“She’s finally asleep,” Nelson stated when they stopped to rest the horses. “Hopefully, she remains asleep while I give her another dose of the catnip tea Margaret gave me.”
“Won’t she choke?” Andrew wondered.
“We shall see,” Nelson said with a shrug. He handed Laurel down to Andrew before he dismounted. Andrew propped Laurel against a tree and supported her head when it lolled from side to side. “She’s sleeping more deeply than I expected.”
Nelson put a waterskin to Laurel’s lips and eased the contents into Laurel’s mouth. The natural response to swallow kept her from choking, but a small rivulet trailed from her lip to her jaw. The men waited with bated breath to see if she would wake. But when her body went lax and slumped, Nelson smiled.
“Better than sleep. She’s unconscious. Now to just keep her that way.” It wasn’t long before Nelson ordered the men to mount. Riding without Laurel pitching to one side or another proved more challenging that Nelson expected. His frustration with the unconscious woman grew when she continued to sweat, and it poured off her forehead onto his forearm. He called for them to make camp early.
“Riders approach,” Andrew called out.
“Campbells?” Nelson asked.
“Nay. Looks like Rosses. Her brother.”
“Perfect!”
The men turned to look at Nelson, who left Laurel to slump to the ground. He scooped dirt into his hand and forced Laurel’s fingers to scrape through it, leaving her nails encrusted with it. He grasped a nearby twig and ran it over Laurel’s cheeks and forehead, leaving scratches but no significant wounds. Her