by D. K. Combs
“The complaint is? I can only imagine that she is doing this on purpose. I sent Agatha to assist her because I knew the old woman would no’ let her get away with nonsense.”
“Aye, that is what all of us expected, but…”
“But, what?”
“The raven haired girl has taken to throwing herself over the pond, mid-destruction.”
“That’s not surprising.” If she had done anything less, he would have been worried. She seemed to have a vindictive, impulsive, and foolish nature. Taking this in silence would have given him cause for worry. That she was reacting…well, to Alec, that meant one less thing to worry about.
“Aye, but the dress ye’ve sent for her…well, it has been ruined.”
He paused.
“Did ye’ provide her with another?”
Thomas nodded his shaggy blond head. Alec took a moment to absently study his squire. The tall, lithe lad looked scattered, confused. Almost out of breath, as if he had been running around. Alec forced his grip on the missive to loosen.
“How many dresses has she destroyed?”
“She—she, ah, she’s ruined three. Two of which were from your mother’s chest. After the third one, Agatha refused to let her dress like a lady and gave her a drab gray gown—that one met the same fate as the others.”
“Have they all been ruined by the water?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Of course they have. What other way to rebel against him than to ruin his offerings with the very thing he was trying to take away from her. Vindictive woman, indeed.
“Aye.”
“Has no one thought to take that…that thing out of there before attempting to dress her?” he asked, lips pressed. The woman was serving to be more of a bother than the news the missive he held in his hands did.
“The second someone goes near it, she screams like a banshee.”
“Surely my men can handle screaming. Tis no’ something they’ve never heard before.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Ridiculous woman. Absolutely ridiculous. “Even if her screaming drove them off, they could have brought her to another room.”
“Then she just throws herself into the water.”
Alec was beginning to understand something—and honestly, he wished he had thought better of involving himself with her nonsense. Leaving her out in the woods would have been better for his clan than bringing her within the walls. But nay, he had foolishly brought her inside, expecting to get answers, only to get complete absurdity.
He was not going to let it bother him. That was her whole plan—to get under his skin. Alec was an even bigger fool to think that she did not have a brain. Obviously she did—or she wouldn’t know that her insane antics would get under his skin.
Order. Rules. Peace. That was what he valued most with his clan, with his home. Not even a full day here, and she was ruining that order as if she had been born to do so.
“Leave the pond. We will clean it out during the feast, when she is nowhere near that room. Get her into a decent gown so that she looks presentable. The clan will no’ like me letting a ninny into the keep when they are so used to steady routines. She is…” He couldn’t even finish his opinion on the woman.
“Aye, my lord. Should we attempt to give her another one of your mother’s dresses?”
He hated to risk his mother’s gowns, but his father would not like to see the woman dressed in dower garb. If he wanted to save himself some more headache, it was a necessary risk. Still, his poor mother was most likely rolling in her grave over her first two gowns being destroyed.
“Aye. Just…be careful.”
Thomas nodded, bowing out of the room.
“I do no’ like this,” Blay muttered. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching the colorful crowd of people mill around the room. It was a classical, lively highlander party—with the classical, lively drunk men. The thought of it, and the reminder it gave her of what she had experienced not even a night ago, gave her the chills.
She could play being unaffected by the kidnappers all she wanted, but she would never forget the kernel of fear she’d felt—before it grew into something much more fiery. Aye, she’d never forget that as well, though she had already forgotten half of what had happened after the rage had come upon her.
She definitely knew what had caused that.
“What do ye’ no like, lass?” a deep voice said from beside her.
She pursed her lips, hiding her skittish jump by facing the man who’d spoken to her. He was old, with more grey than fire on his head, and bright green eyes that matched the canopy of the forests.
And she knew who he was the second he grinned. How could she forget the face of her father’s old friend who used to bring her a new pony every day she had in honor of her birth?
“Alexander McGregor?” she gasped, joy filling her. She launched herself at his chest, laughing. “What a surprise it is to see ye’! I canna believe yer here…it’s been so long!”
“Aye, lass, it has. Now, what do ye’ no’ like, and how did ye’ find yerself here?” The hearty laugh he gave shook both himself and her. She pulled back, unable to stop the grin that spread across her face. The man was like a grandfather to her—it felt amazing to be hearing his jolly laugh.
“How did ye’ find yerself here? In the household of a complete brute of a man…well, I’d think you’d be halfway across the country side. I wish I was,” she said with a huff, gazing back at the party. She sought out her captor, not surprised in the least when she didn’t see him.
He hadn’t been to the feast all night. After demanding her presence and forcing her into this room, with guards stationed at every door, he had disappeared. Of course. The brute was…a brute. Rude. Inhospitable. Insufferable. She would take so much pleasure in ruining his perfect brute of a life, she thought, pressing her lips.
Tis what he deserved, for kidnapping her and then doing his odd…deductions to her. He was a most vexing man.
“’Household of a complete brute,” The McGregor muttered, looking down at her with a raised brow. “Now, what makes ye’ think that? Tis my own—oh.” The dark look that came over his face was enough to make her step away.
“’Oh’, what?” she asked wearily. “Do ye’ know of this man? Truthfully, I haven’t had the best impression of him. Is he the laird of this keep? Because I don’t understand how anyone in this place could look happy with him in charge.”
That had the old man snorting. “Lass, tis my son yer insulting.”
“What?” The world could have stopped spinning in that instant.
At her stupefied look, he nodded. “Aye. My son.”
“But yer…”
He held up a stub of an arm—then winked. “He won the title fair and square some years back. And donna tell anyone I said this—I’ll deny anything ye’ repeat—but it was time for me to step down. I’m simply too old.”
“A laird does not step down until he’s dead,” she said, completely aghast. How had she not heard of this from her father? The McGregors and the Shaws were the best of allies!
“Tis the more honorable way, aye—”
“He just stole the title from you! That—that brute!” She was going to wring his throat. No matter that he was the son of a man that she loved dearly—she was going to rip him to shreds and bathe in his blood. How dare he dishonor his father by taking the title from him?
From what she could remember, The McGregor had held the title since he was a mere lad—and deserved it more than anyone she knew. He had grown into a fine chieftain, had combined two of the greatest clans in the Highlands, and then trained her own father in the ways of lairdship. If that weren’t enough, he had gifted her with a total of fifteen horses since her birth. What wasn’t there to love about this man?
“He won it, fair and square.” He held up the same arm again—and that’s when she noticed it. He was a broad man, with thick shoulders and buff arms...except one arm, the left one, was gone. Cut off right at the forearm, he was missing a good foot-l
ength of his arm.
A trembling hand covered her mouth, complete and utter horror washing over her. “He took that from you? Your own son?” She had to admit, it had been a long while since she’d seen him. Normally he sent his gifts to her, always too busy dealing with foolish Callahan’s to make it to her celebrations.
The McGregor shrugged his shoulders as if it made no difference to him. “Happened years ago, lass. Tis no difference to me now. Plus,” he said with a wink, “I get to laze around with my old age and missing hand as an excuse.”
She still couldn’t get over the fact that his own son had taken his father’s hand. Barbaric. Absolutely barbaric.
“Now,” The McGregor said, sobering. “I heard from a little bird that my son has captured a person of interest. Ye’ wouldn’t happen to be that person, would ye’?”
Her face turned red. So he had heard about the forest fire—but then, who hadn’t by now? She was sure, with the commotion she had caused last night that everyone in the clan had.
“How did ye’ ken?” she asked, miserable. Of course he knew—he was The McGregor. And The McGregor was not only smart, he was loyal. Which meant, without a doubt, her father would hear of this.
“Well,” he said with a draw, giving her a bland look, “I haven’t seen ye’ since before yer marriage to Hagen, so I can assume that I am right in saying yer no’ paying a courtesy visit. And, ye’ have yer father’s temper when yer riled. The two of ye’ are the only pair in the Highlands that would set a forest on fire out of rage.”
She blushed. “I don’t necessarily agree with that, but—”
“Tis no’ yer place to agree or no’ to agree, lass. Ye’ are yer father’s daughter. Tell me. How did ye’ end up in the predicament that ye’ were in? I have a hard time believing yer father would approve of ye’ being so far from home that late at night.”
She shifted uncomfortably. Honestly, how she had come to McGregor lands was not something she wanted to discuss. All she could think about was the embarrassment of being caught drunk, walking out of a blazing forest, and her own stupidity at not listening to her mother.
“Och. Were ye’ mother and ye’ fighting again? Ye’ ran away?”
He had obviously been keeping up with her father if he knew about the recent arguments. She winced, fingers starting to wring themselves together. She respected The McGregor more than any man in the Highlands, except her father. She couldn’t lie to him or avoid his questions like a maiden.
So…she nodded. Slowly, sadly, mournfully. Nodded until her head could have fallen off.
The McGregor used his one hand to grab her chin. “Mind telling me why ye’ ran off? I’m afraid I can’t read the nodding of yer head, lass.”
“My mother…she wants me to marry Brodrick’s son.” She looked at the ground. Squinted at it. Wished she could melt into it. She hated to look immature and spoiled in front of him, but it was useless. She had acted as such, so she would look as such.
“And so ye’ ran away? While setting a forest on fire, drunk off yer arse in the middle of the night? Lass,” he said, chuckling. “Yer ridiculous.”
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “Tis no’ my fault that I was in the forest. Aye, the fire and the drunkenness was my fault, but…no’ the other.”
The McGregor frowned. “What do ye’ mean by that, lass?”
This was getting better and better, Blay thought miserably. “Conner assisted me in escaping the castle to see a friend of mine. While on my way out, I was…accosted.” At his narrowed look, she conceded. “Attacked, really. A group of rogues attacked my horse and I, then took me captive.”
His face darkened, eyes swirling with so much rage that she knew why legions had feared him on the battle field. Though she knew he’d never hurt her, Blay was honestly frightened by the look upon his face.
“But not to worry,” she said hastily, rushing to soothe him. The danger was over, so there was no need for him to be so furious. “I set them ablaze while they slept and escaped—right into yer sons arms, actually.”
His brow raised at her rueful tone, but the darkness surrounding him didn’t leave. “These men—ye’ ken for sure that they are dead? No one escaped?”
Blay shook her head. “I poured ale on every single one of them.”
At that, he chuckled. “Ye’ are definitely yer father’s daughter. Do ye’ ken what they were after?”
“Aye. My father’s land. Basically said they would ransom me for everything he had power over.”
“And their plaid? Did ye’ catch what clan they’re from?”
Blay shook her head. Because of her father’s status in the highlands, he knew most every clan—and therefore, so did Blay. But she didn’t recognize the plaids of the men who had attacked her, and told The McGregor so.
“I couldn’t place them, I’m sorry…”
“Worry not, lass.” He gave her a smile, then waved a hand toward the festivities. “I’ll send a party out to search for remains. I’ll have answers for ye’ soon enough. I’ll also be sending a word to yer father—”
Blay grabbed his hand tightly, eyes widening. “No! Donna do that.”
He frowned. “Lass, ye’ ken I must. Why would ye’ have me no’? Yer family is likely going insane over yer absence.”
She paused. Why wouldn’t she want him to, is right. She had found an ally this night, one she knew would do anything to protect her. As well as that, there was no reason to stay here—not if she didn’t have to. Aye, she missed her family and wanted to apologize to her mother, but…not right now. Not when she was having so much fun messing with Laird McGregor. It was the most fun she had had in ages.
“I…am not ready to face my mother,” she said, not knowing if that was a lie or not. She wanted to apologize, aye. But at the same time, she wasn’t ready for her mother to force her hand in marriage to Leith. If staying here could help avoid that, then why not?
The McGregor frowned, obviously confused.
“It doesn’t feel right to lie to yer father. He’d kill me if he found out ye’ were here without me telling him, ye’ ken that, right?”
Blay shook her head. “I think he’d understand. Just…give me some time. A couple days, at least. I’ve had such a rough time, my lord. I was kidnapped and…and I’m not sure I’m…” She trailed off, pausing for effect. Being kidnapped hadn’t bothered her as much as it should have. If anything, she was glad she’d been kidnapped. That fire had been an amazing outlet for her anger.
The McGregor’s jaw ticked. “Fine. I’ll no’ say anything to yer father, but if he comes sniffing around my land, I won’t lie to the man. Yer his world, lass. Take the time you need to cope, but donna make yer family suffer for long.”
“I have one more request,” she said with a grimace.
The McGregor sighed, though it was with a fondness that warmed her. “They always come in twos. What is it, lass?”
“Yer son…if he were to ken who I was, he’d surely send me home before I’m ready. Mayhap we could…not tell him just yet?”
“Twill drive Alec insane if he kens we’re hiding something from him—which he surely will.”
“I ken,” she said with a frown. “He kens everything there is. It does no’ make sense!”
“My son is a smart man, very analytical, but he is a good man.” The McGregor gave her a musing look. “He’s not the reason yer staying are ye’?”
“What?” She scoffed. “Of course not! He’s insufferable, a brute, ridiculous, and—and much too insufferable!”
“I believe you called him that already, my dear.” He reached over to pat her shoulder, and she hmph’ed, annoyed.
Just thinking about the man made her fume! But why wouldn’t it? He was callous, uncaring, and just…just a complete and utter brute! “One time is not enough to get my point across. He does this…this thing, and it’s infuriating!”
He chuckled. “I ken this thing you speak of. Sadly, I can’t help that he is the way he is. He gets i
t from his mother, may she rest in peace.”
“Talking about me?” The cool, deep voice from behind her had Blay whirling around, a hand pressing to her throat. Her cheeks flushed at being caught red-handed.
“Who doesn’t speak of you, son?” The McGregor reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, drawing him close to Blay. Her lips pressed. She might be guilty for talking about him behind his back, but that didn’t mean she could tolerate his presence.
“Surely not my prisoner and my father,” he murmured. Alec turned a hard eye on her, and she flushed under his scrutiny. There wasn’t anything she could do about the calculative eye he ran over her figure, though she wanted more than anything to rip his eyes out and shove them down his throat. That would serve the barbarian right.
“Tis no matter that I’m getting acquainted with yer guest, boy. Now…how about some ale in celebration!” At The McGregor’s robust shout, the entire hall burst into a round of “ayes,” clearly liking his idea. The McGregor gave Blay a wink, then moved into the fray of people.
“I haven’t seen ye’ all night,” Blay commented stoutly. “Surprised ye’ haven’t been keeping better tabs on me, seeing as I’m yer prisoner.”
“Tis not hard to watch a woman. Yer no’ important enough to garner my full attention, either, lass. Make no mistake of that.”
Her hands clenched into fists, and she barely restrained from punching him in the face. Oh, but he would deserve that and more! Alas, her mother had raised a lady—so she would wait until he was least prepared to exact her revenge.
“I think,” she said slowly, careful to let any of her anger towards him show, “that I will retire for the night.”
“Retire? Ye’ couldn’t possibly be tired. The night is young, my lady.” He talked as if he actually cared about what she did with herself.
She almost laughed, but the fact that the disinterest in his eyes was so very real made her more furious than amused. This man really did not give a rat’s arse about her!
“Either way,” she bit out, gathering her skirts in her hands. She gave a short curtsy, then scurried out of the room. She was sure he’d have her watched if she dared to leave the castle to visit the stream, so she went to her chambers like a good girl.