by D. K. Combs
“Yer no’ understanding my point here, Father—”
“No, I think ye’ need help. I always have. Lord, Alec, would ye’ stop suspecting that the world is against ye’?”
“But she is against me! I gave her an opportunity to leave, and she...the damn woman took it as a challenge.” The McGregor opened his mouth to say something, but Alec shook his head. “Nay. Donna try to tell me otherwise. Hold yer damn feast tonight and see for yerself what kind of woman this is.”
Alec began walking again—then paused. “While yer at it, find out why she was drunk.” Then he continued down the hall—only to stop again. “Nay, wait. Donna do that. I must find out on my own. Damn woman,” he muttered.
He was too focused on the conundrum that was the drunk forest fire starter to notice the speculative look his father was giving him.
The forest was silent. Eerie. Filled with the silent rage from the men who had burned. The leader lifted his head, letting the sun touch his face. It burned, but then, it made sense…the rest of his body was burnt.
Not only his, but his comrades’. He clenched his hands, using the pain and tightness of his charred skin to fuel his rage. Two were dead. The others, barely alive. His second in command, his blooded brother, watched him from an unmoving face.
“It…hurts,” he grated. His lips barely moved, but the pain in his brother’s eyes was enough to make him tremble with rage. This had gone wrong—all wrong. He had not planned to harm the woman—but after what she had done to him and his, he would make her pay. He would make her pay until her flesh was as tight as his was, until her flesh was as hot as his had been, until her flesh was as ravaged as his was.
Until her flesh matched the fatal, burnt color of his brothers.
He leaned down to his brother’s face, baring his teeth.
“She will pay,” he promised. That’s all he could do with the agony that was washing over him. In the mix of his rage and pain, his bloodlust won, giving him the strength to roar with fury.
Aye, the woman would pay…starting with the one thing she held most precious.
“The laird said ye’ could no’ leave the keep—”
“Do ye’ really think I give a bloody hell what this man wants?” she shouted over her shoulder, picking up her pace. If she had been in her skirts, Blay knew she would not be walking with this much speed…but then, she also knew that if she had been in her skirts, she would not be as soaking wet as she was right now—at least her arms, she thought regretfully.
Oh well. What had to be done, had to be done.
“My lady, I beg of you—come inside so we may get you properly clothed.”
“Properly clothed.” Blay snorted. “I think that I much prefer traipsing about in this garb, if ye’ please. Yer just trying to get me to stop my activities.”
“Well,” the young girl said, hands twisting in her lap. “This is not much of an activity…tis more like…”
“Re-decorating? Why, of course it is. I’ll make you a deal,” Blay said, handing a stone to the girl. She was stocky, obviously used to hard work, but she had a pretty mop of red hair piled on top of her head in a messily made bun. It seemed her mother had not given her much time to prepare herself before she had been forced to follow after Blay.
Poor girl—but it was for the better. She did not need to be dressed fashionably for what Blay planned to use her for—er, have assistance with. She was sure the laird, who she had yet to be supplied a name for, would appreciate Blay “using” one of his clanswomen.
And Blay had always been an obedient little girl, as her mother would say.
Not.
“I donna ken if the laird would like me making deals with ye’, my lady. No offense is meant…” The girl worried her hands together, and Blay almost felt bad for her. But she would not. Whatever Blay did, and this girl followed, would be on no one’s shoulders but the laird’s—and he could deal with that frustration in whatever way he liked.
He was the one holding her captive, after all.
Though she was not so sure it was captivity if she was willing. Oh well. That did not matter right now. What mattered was finishing her task in a timely matter so that her absence would go unnoticed.
“If ye’ help me with this one thing, I’ll no’ ask ye’ for assistance again. I’m no’ doing anything wrong, am I? No’ bringing danger to the clan? Threatening yer life? Plotting to murder the laird?”
“Well—no. I mean—I’m not so sure about the last one, but—”
“I can assure you,” Blay said with a smile, giving the girl a lump of soaking wet weeds, “I donna plan on murdering the laird. Quite the opposite, actually. Once he sees my work, he’ll be more than lively.”
“I think you mean livid,” the girl squeaked, eyes widening when Blay began to put some shiny stones in her arms as well.
“That, too. Donna fear. Ye’ll no’ be punished for this.”
“How can you assure me of that?”
“Why, I’ll throw these stones at his head, of course. That’s why I’m bringing them, you know.”
The girl’s eyes not only widened even more, but her face went pale. Still, she did not question Blay, and for that Blay was grateful. Her eyes, however, wandered to the buckets that Blay let sit by her feet.
“And…and what is that for?”
“Oh, donna worry about that. Please, take that to the room I was quartered in, then return to me with a large sheet. I’ll be needing to bring more of these rocks with us next time.”
“My lady, what…what are ye’ planning to do with all of this?” The girl started to motion around the edge of the river, then seemed to realize she was still holding the bundle that Blay had given her.
Blay only smiled sagely.
“He is trying to contain me within his keep, so I will do what I must to survive.”
“This will help ye’ survive? Ye’ have everything ye’ already need in the keep. Food, shelter, clothing. He told me to give it all to ye’ if ye’ asked for it.”
“This is a different type of survival, my dear. I hope that one day, you will understand what I’m speaking of. Now go, and return quickly. I will need to begin making my clay soon if I want to get this done in a timely manner!”
The girl opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. She left Blay by the river without another word.
Good girl. The sooner the girl returned with the sheet, the better.
She began filling the buckets with water, picking out all of the nasty bits, until only clear water remained in them. Aye, she thought, peering into the buckets. This is perfect. If all went as planned, she should be done before dawn…if she found the limestone that she needed.
The girl returned sooner than anticipated. Her face was red and hair an even worse mess, so Blay gave her the easiest of the jobs.
“Here,” she said, gesturing to the buckets as she got to her feet. “Give me the blanket, and you take the buckets to my quarters. You can take one at time, if you wish. Make sure none of that water spills, though, understood?”
Blay laid the sheet on the ground, spreading it out, then began to collect the pretty plants that surrounded the water, making sure to grab only those with extra stems. She felt bad about taking their life, but it was for the greater good.
She paused when she noticed the girl standing there, staring between the two buckets.
“You can take your time,” Blay said gently, noticing how worn the girl appeared. “When yer done, if ye’ take a break, I willna tattle on ye’.”
The girl sighed with relief, and then bent to grab both buckets.
“Just be careful not to spill them!” Blay said sharply.
“Aye, my lady. I willna spill a single drop.” Then she turned on her heel, her body evenly balanced, and true to her words, she did not spill a single drop. It was shocking for Blay to see, because the buckets were not tiny ones in the least.
When the girl was out of Blay’s sight, she set about collecting the plants u
ntil she was content with the amount and quality of them. Then she grabbed all four corners of it and slung it over her shoulder, going in search of either fresh mud or limestone. She preferred limestone, but she knew the find would be rare in the middle of the Highlands.
No matter, she thought with a smile. Her project, if finished on time, would show the rude laird just what he was dealing with—an artistic woman with a vision that would not be suppressed.
“I have just realized that I do no’ ken yer name, and I—what did ye’ do to my room, ye’ bloody wench?”
Blay rolled onto her back, cracking an eye at the sound of a man bellowing.
“Oh, my,” she said between a yawn, stretching her arms above her head. “Ye’ do look quite furious, standing there with yer face all red like that.”
“What. Did you do. To my room?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure—oh.” Blay looked at the corner he was standing directly in front of, then nodded. “Aye. That is in yer room.”
“I did no’ ask if—woman,” he bellowed. Blay jumped to her feet, her finger in the air. That had been such a nice, cozy nap from a day of hard work, and she would not let this brute of a man destroy how happy she was. Blay had worked hard on her creation, and was quite proud of it.
“Shame on ye’,” she said, stabbing a finger at his chest.
“On me? Woman, ye’ donna live here. This is no’ yer house, where ye’ can do whatever ye’ please. I did no’ approve of this…this—whatever the hell this is!” he shouted, gesturing to her corner.
“That’s no’ my fault,” she said. “And aye, shame on ye’—for being so unbearably rude and no’ appreciating my masterpiece.”
“That is no’ a masterpiece. That’s an evil plan concocted by an evil woman, who—”
“My lord, I am sorry to point this out, but ye’ canna possibly know I am evil.”
The rage came straight off his face, and then…he had that damn look. Blay pressed her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. Oh, he just had something to say, didn’t he? It seemed he always did.
“I can surmise from multiple things that yer evil,” he said coldly. “The first indication that yer no’ right in the head—”
“Being evil is no’ the same as being right in the head, ye’ bru—”
“—ye’ did this on purpose, in order to infuriate me. The second indication, ye’ obviously had help, and any person foolish enough to help ye’ must have suffered through tremendous efforts in order to make this happen without me finding out sooner. The third indication—ye’ created a bloody puddle in my room.”
Blay’s nostrils twitched.
“Actually,” she corrected him coldly, “that is no’ a puddle. Tis a quaint little pond and I find it—”
“I donna even ken yer name and yer ruining my keep,” he grated in disbelief.
At least that damn look was off his face. Once again, he looked furious—a look she was accustomed to. She remembered all of the times her mother had done something to anger her father—and smiled.
“I’ll no’ be telling ye’ my name, either, lad.” She gave him a sweet smile, then returned to her spot on the bed, lying across it on her stomach. Trews were no’ so bad a thing to nap in, she had figured out. Much more manageable than a puffy skirt.
If Connor ever asked for these back, she was going to run for the hills in them. Her mother may not approve of them so much, but in private, she could do what she pleased.
The thought of her mother sobered her. By now, her mare had most likely made it back to the castle and her parents had realized something was wrong. At least, she hoped so. Her father was probably sending out his warriors right now in search of her.
She had to contact her father somehow. She couldn’t leave here—partly because this brute of a man deserved to be put in his place, and she wasn’t ready to face her mother and Leith’s proposal, but…she could send him a missive, if she found the right person.
“Of course ye’ will,” he said, narrowing his eyes on her. Blay rolled over, bending her knees and putting her hands on her tummy. Aye, this was so comfortable. She could just imagine trying this in a dress. Men had made it their job to make life harder for women, she thought angrily. If it were not for the men and their expectations of a perfect wife who wore dresses and worked by the stove all day, she would be able to wear trews all she pleased.
“Of course I willna,” she said smartly, narrowing her eyes on him.
His jaw ticked. “Yer doing that thing.”
“What thing?” she asked innocently. She knew very well what he was talking about, and was immensely pleased that it was bothering him. He did no’ like the fact that she wasn’t hanging on his every word and complying with his every demand.
Poor man. At least he was realizing this sooner rather than later, though.
“Being…insufferable.” His jaw ticked. A long finger pointed to the adorable little pond she had made in the corner of the room.
It really was a beaut, she thought proudly. The clay had dried during her nap, and she had woken with just enough time to fill it with the buckets of water then return to her nap. Sticking out of the clay were the plants that she’d picked, tufts of grass, and smooth pebbles. Along with the large stones that boarded the fake pond, the plants and pebbles served to create an adorable little scene.
Her mother would be proud of her.
“That needs to be taken out of this room,” he said furiously. “No ifs, ands, or—.”
“I refuse to take that out of here. If I am going to be yer captive and kept away from the river, then I must have a piece of it here with me, ye’ inconsiderate man.”
“This is not up for discussion, woman.”
“Good!” she piped, rolling back onto her stomach. She closed her eyes, not caring that this was worthy of a lashing. She was disrespecting a chieftain to the highest degree. If he ever found out who she was, he could be so furious with her that he would start a feud with her father. The thought made her sick.
Nay, after her catastrophe marriage to Hagen, and the trouble she undoubtedly caused by refusing Leith and running away, he was already going through enough. He did not need more trouble because of his daughter’s lack of respect for a fellow chieftain.
The good thing about this, she thought with a cat-like smile, he did not have to know who she was, so she could continue her teasing.
“I have no need to discuss it anyway. Now, if ye’ will kindly leave me to nap in peace, that would be much appreciated.”
“Yer no’ napping until ye’ take this damn thing out of here.”
She sighed.
“If ye’ donna, I’ll have someone else do it,” he threatened.
She sighed again.
“And ye’ll never be allowed to leave this room again.”
Sigh. “What, will ye’ starve me, too?”
“Aye. And ye’ll not get a wink o’ sleep, either, woman.”
“Am I allowed to breathe?” she asked, moving her head to give him a droll look.
The man was standing there with his knees a part, arms crossed over his chest, complete seriousness covering his face.
“What sort o’ question is that? O’ course ye’ can breathe, ye’ dull-witted wench.”
The insult caused her to sit up once again, this time anger stiffening her back. “Would ye’ like to repeat yerself?”
He growled, eyes flashing. Good, let him be angry at her blatant disrespect. He wasn’t being very kind to her either! What sort of chieftain insulted a woman’s intelligence? Aye, woman may not be accounted for as much, but one did no’ simply insult them. “Nay.”
“Oh, I think ye’ would,” she said coldly, pushing herself off of the bed. He didn’t move from his place, staring at her with eyes as hard as rock—which made sense. The man could have been made out of rock, she thought as she ran her eyes over him.
He…was a handsome warrior. Nay, not handsome. Rugged. He was ruggedly appealing. It was no’ his face
that drew her to him, but his presence, the way he demanded her attention simply by the way he stood before her.
Her fists curled. By the time she was standing next to him, she was nearly trembling.
“Would you,” she asked quietly, “like to repeat yerself?”
She knew he could not only see how angry she was, but sense it. Even a dolt like him should know better than to be so rude. She did not care if he was a chieftain—her father would never be this insufferable.
Then, her father had never been faced with a woman like Blay. She had her mother’s passion and her father’s viciousness. The two of them together? Not a very good combination for the man standing in front of her.
“Nay,” he said, just as quietly, his voice a near growl, “I donna think I would.”
She stared at him for the longest time. In truth, she stared at him for so long that his features began to blur in the red haze that was overcoming her vision.
“Ye’ dare to insult me—”
“Tis no’ like yer worth my time. I donna care if yer offended, woman. I am only going to tell ye’ this once more. Clear out the room.” He turned to the door, then paused. “There is to be a feast tonight. I will have a maid bring you a dress so ye’ can finally get out of…that.” He raked his eyes over her garb, sneering, then left her in silence.
He didn’t like her clothing? Blay left the bed, sitting on the floor next to her make-shift pond. As she stuck her hand into the shallow water, she couldn’t stop the smile that overcame her face. Poor man, not liking that.
Too bad she was not a pleaser.
“Agatha has a complaint—”
“Thomas, I do no’ have time to take up the complaints of a servant.” He expected the hard words to leave his squire with nothing but silence. When he heard the sigh, Alec closed his eyes to the missive that was in front of him.
“Tis about the woman.” Alec knew who Thomas was talking about, simply by the way he said, “woman.” It was wrought with irritation, much the way Alec felt when he thought of “the woman.”