by D. K. Combs
She took the torch from outside her door and lit the one inside, along with the candles. When there was enough light in the room to make her way around it safely, she set the torch outside once again—then finally noticed it.
Or, the lack of it.
Her pond. It was…gone?
Was she in the wrong room? She frowned, staring around. She was in the same room. The window had a royal blue curtain, and the bedding was the same as before. How could her pond have disappeared?
Red started to creep in the corners of her vision.
Alec. He had done this. That’s why he had been gone all night—he had been clearing out her room! Red washed over her vision, and she whirled around, fully intent on going to the hall and causing the worst scene she could possibly imagine.
When she turned, though, the object of her fury was standing in the doorway, legs braced apart, and arms crossed over his chest. The sight of him there, the way his stark, lethal figure filled the doorway, was enough to make her pause.
“Ye’ took away my pond,” she accused quietly, dangerously. Too bad for him, he didn’t have a clue of the Shaw blood flowing through her veins, or he wouldn’t have dared to incur her wrath.
“Ye’ made a mess in my chambers,” he murmured. “Though I’m surprised yer standing there so calmly. It was reported to me that ye’d throw yerself over the pond in order to have it stay. Where is yer physical protest now?”
She clenched her hands. He was making it harder and harder not to beat into him with all the strength she could muster.
His eyes flickered to her hands, though, and she knew the pretense was useless.
A small smirk came over his mouth, and then he stepped into the room with a deliberate air of ownership. She stood there quietly, not making a sound, not making a single move, as he came so close to her that their arms nearly touched.
“I ken yer trying to infuriate me, lass.” His voice was soft and melodic, musing. “But ye’ should ken that I’m no’ a man to be messed with. Ye’ dare to deface my property again, and there will be more than a simple removal of the offense, I can promise ye’ that.”
“What?” she whispered, baiting him. She met his eyes, her own flashing with warning. “Ye’ plan to have me throttled? Punished? Ye’d dare lay a hand on me?”
He raised a brow. “Ye’ speak as if yer of anyone of importance. But I would no’ ken, since ye’ haven’t given me a name to call you by.”
“Have fun waiting for one.” She breezed passed him, out of the room, and out of the hall. He didn’t follow her—which was good. She would have killed him if he had.
The lass was a mystery. Alec had expected rebellion, insanity, chaos. Anything but the silence the woman has given him for the last two days.
Two days. Forty-two hours—and not a single disturbance from her. It was alarming, but pleasant. Besides his reports from the guards watching her, there was no indication that she was even in the castle. She stayed in her chambers, ate the food given to her, and made no move to leave.
A most willing captive, he would think. Yet he knew she was planning something—she must be! The woman was evil and conniving. Two days of complete silence had to bode ill for him.
Right?
He would have guessed as much, given her fiery nature and her need to mete out justice in wayward notions, but…there was nothing.
And that is what made him come to her door in the early hours of the third afternoon. There was no sound from within. Was she sleeping still? It was early, aye, but the household was up and moving. Surely one of the maids had come to wake and feed her.
Thinking that she was just silent, he knocked on the door.
Nothing.
“Woman.” Three days of her staying on his land, and he still had no clue of her name. Why that disturbed him, he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she were important to him. She could stay there for as long as she liked—it was pride that kept him from releasing her without any information.
A drunk woman, stumbling out of a burning forest? The reasons of why or how were not his concern anymore, and yet, he found himself inexplicably curious as to who she was, and why she was still there when he had clearly offered her a chance to leave.
Alec knocked again, and once again there was silence. He glanced to the guards on either side, and they shrugged; meaning, the woman hadn’t come out yet, and should still be inside her chambers.
With a scowl, Alec wrapped his hand around the handle and shoved.
The door gave away with no struggle, and he was greeted to a very empty room.
“Where is she?” he demanded of the guards.
They both frowned. “She should be in her room. Is she no’—” He didn’t listen to the last of his words. Alec stormed into the room, to the window, and looked down.
Of course the batty woman had jumped. Of. Course. The ground was soft and wet, easily impressionable, and even from his second story perch he could see the place where her body had landed. It wasn’t that high of a fall, either. The area below the room was nothing but a low-ceiling storage closet. To get into the room, you had to go down a small flight of stairs. It was the design his mother had wanted, something cozy and pleasant.
And too bad for Alec, because his little prisoner had realized this, and had decided to jump for it.
“Ye’ did not notice this at all?” he demanded of the guards, who had entered behind him. He saw the shake of their heads, and left them. It had been a foolish question to ask them—of course they hadn’t. They would have come to him instead. Their loyalty was to him, not some chit of a girl who had no brains.
Jaw ticking, he stormed out of the room and to the main doors. His father was there, a frown on his face. “What is all this commotion about?”
“That little dimwit has escaped.” He carried on past his father, hoping he could keep his tongue long enough to find the chit.
The McGregor raised a brow. “Has she now? I thought she hadn’t left her room for days.”
There was something about his fathers voice that made him pause—but only for a second. He didn’t have time to analyze it, though. His captive was on the loose, and he had to catch up to her. Callahans had been leaving threats for them of late. They were furious over the burning of their forest, and he wouldn’t put it passed them to take out their anger on a woman they suspected might be from the McGregor clan. She had been wearing their plaid the last time he’d seen her, he thought.
The urgency of the situation just became greater. Callahans were weak of mind, and wouldn’t think twice about harming a woman over a petty fire. They might not know it was her who had set it, but that made no difference to Callahans.
They were weak. Deranged. Pathetic.
And while his prisoner was just that—a prisoner—she was under his care. No harm would befall her, and on the off chance that it did, he would avenge her. It was only the right thing to do.
Alec directed all the men following him to return to the castle, even his father. He was furious with her—with himself! To be tricked by a dunce of a woman? It was shameful, infuriating. He would not have others witness his anger; it was an emotion he rarely showed.
He tracked her. She had gone north, back into the forest, yet she was keeping near the river. Her steps were…odd. The impressions in the earth were sporadic, as if she couldn’t keep her footing—which was ridiculous. The Highland’s might be hilly and thick with brush, but the trail she had taken was flat and serene.
Had she been chased?
His footsteps quickened. No, she wasn’t chased. The only prints there were hers.
A few minutes later, he started to hear more than the calming trickle of the river. He heard…mutters. Twigs snapping. Rocks tumbling against each other. It was her, he knew it. But she wasn’t moving. Instead, she was stationary.
What a foolish woman. No one should take a break after escaping so soon. He scowled as he came upon the small clearing in which she had taken refuge.
H
er back was turned to him, shoulders hunched. She was…humming. It was pleasant to his ears, soft. Her long black hair, which he’d only seen plaited in a braid, was left undone about her shoulders, creating a dark, sensual spread of hair.
Delicate fingers slid through the moving water, her lithe figure barely sitting on the edge of the creek. Her feet dipped into the water, trews bunched up around her calves. She was the epitome of grace, like a siren, entrancing him to come near.
He did so, silently. If he startled her while she was out of range, she could flee—and he’d rather not chase her down. He waited until he was close enough to throw her over his shoulder until he spoke.
“Woman,” he said, not knowing what else to say. Her back stiffened, and then she slowly turned. He frowned when he caught sight of her face. “Yer eyes are glazed. Cheeks flushed. Is everything okay?”
Was she about to faint?
“Ye’ do realize,” she slurred, “that yer voice is as loud as mountains.”
His frown turned into a scowl. “Mountains are not a measurement of sound.”
“Well—they are big. And so is your voice. So there! Now leave me, loud man. I am resting by the creek.” She turned around as if he were nothing and began to make a small pile of pebbles, giving each a name. As he stood there in complete shock, the woman even apologized to them for his “rude antics.”
The chit was drunk.
He heard it in her voice, and the way she spoke. Eye twitching, he bent and scooped his arms underneath her, dragging her against him. He righted himself with the woman in his arms, and started toward the castle.
“Ye’ better put me down,” she warned, her voice nothing but a drunken slur.
His jaw ticked at the strength it took not to respond. He wanted nothing more than to lash at her for being so foolish, so brash, but all he did was carry her back to the castle. He knew that at any moment, the Callahans could burst out of the forest—and if they did, they would be right to defend their land, since he’d crossed the damn border for her.
“Listen to me, ye’ damn brute,” she said sluggishly. “If ye’ donna put me down, I will…I will…”
His curiosity got the better of him. “Ye’ll what, lass?”
“Well,” she said stoutly, making a most…adorable pout. “I’ll toot. Right on ye’.”
That made him pause. “Ye’ll what?”
“Toot. On yer arm, right now, if ye’ donna put me down.”
“Toot? Woman, are ye’ that drunk?”
She scoffed. “Who on earth said I was drunk? Mayhap yer the drunk one, fer carryin’ me aboot like this—which, I might add, is quite ridiculous.” Her brogue was only getting worse, and he found it endearing, no matter that she was a crazy woman. That is, until he remembered her threat.
“Now, sir, if ye’ donna put me down this instant, I’ll be blowing some hot, stinky air all over yer arm and yer no’ gonna like it. No’ at all!” She waved a sluggish finger in his face in warning, and he heeded it, setting her down. Before he had a chance to take hold of her hand to keep her in place, though, she took off running.
And two seconds later, since she was too busy staring at him over her shoulder, she was falling face first into the creek.
Alec stared at the thrashing water, thinking she’d find her way out of the creek and then realize her mistake. But when a couple seconds had passed and she wasn’t making any progress to the shoreline, he started to worry.
When her head went under the water completely, instinct kicked in and he withdrew his sword, and plaid, throwing it on the ground as he ran to the creek and jumped in.
He realized within seconds that he’d made a mistake. His feet hit the floor of the creek—and his drunken wench came sputtering up, a triumphant smile on her face.
“Look at ye’!” She laughed, splashing water on him. “The creek loves ye’!”
“I’m going to throw ye’ in the dungeon and let ye’ rot when we get back to the castle,” he promised darkly. He hated to be misled, even by a bubbly, adorable woman such as this. Her black hair fell in straight locks down her back and around her face, tendrils of it cradling her jaw. She’d worn a white poet shirt, and since she was soaking wet, it clung to her body. If not for the camisole underneath it, he’d have seen a lot more of her than she’d probably want.
He couldn’t help but notice the trim line of her waist, though. The water bled through and completely soaked her clothing…and he wasn’t one to complain. Plus, he consoled himself, he doubted she would take well to his criticism in her current state of mind.
Alec frowned.
It was early morning, and from what he had heard, nothing had been wrong lately. So why was she running away, drunk off her arse, in the early hours of the morn?
His amusement gone, he knocked her splashing hands aside and hooked his arms around her waist, hoisting her over his shoulder. The damn woman was going to put herself in danger.
“Woah, there, pony!” She howled with laughter, slapping at his back. “Are ye’ going to take me to freedom now?”
“Freedom?” he asked drolly, barely containing his annoyance. How inept can one woman be? He would give anything to find her parents and beat them senseless for not raising a responsible, amiable daughter.
“Freeeeeedom,” she drawled out, waving her hands around—which just so happened to put them right in front of him. He effortlessly dragged them both out of the water, ignoring her antics. Yes, the woman was a bit batty. That much could not be denied.
He opened his mouth to speak, but her hand slapped over his face, effectively silencing him.
“Ye’ ken,” she started, “Father once had a traveler ride through our clan, and this man—oh, he had freedom like no other. He told me of a place far away from here, where it’s not very green, and full of beautiful animals. He showed me a drawing of a—of a…hmm. I can’t remember—oh! Of an antelope. Do ye’ ken what an antelope is, dear barbarian?”
He stopped walking. “Excuse me, lass, but I am no’ barbarian. Ye’ seem to be confusing yerself with what ye’ really are!”
“Oh, a lady such as myself? A barbarian?” She snorted, a very unlady-like sound. “Yer quite a dimwit, which makes me believe ye’ve no’ heard of an antelope. Now, an antelope is such a pretty creature and—I just realized something,” she slurred, patting him on his arse. “Antelope and cantaloupe rhyme! Ye’ ken what else rhymes?”
She nudged him, obviously waiting for him to continue this ridiculous game she was playing.
“No?” she pestered. “It rhymes with elope!”
He almost let her fall to the ground, a horrified look drawing over his face despite his best attempts at remaining stoic.
“Yer planning to elope with me, aren’t ye’? That…oh that is why ye’ donna want me to leave! Ye’ want me bairns!”
Alec did the only thing he could do to stop this conversation. He turned on his heel, went to the edge of the creek, and dumped her into it. She came up sputtering furiously, but he was already storming away, arms over his chest, a scowl on his face.
“Lad, I know I raised ye’ better,” his father said to him some time later. He hadn’t gone back to make sure the lass had been fine, nor had he asked after her to see if she had come back. He couldn't care less at this point. The daft woman was out for his loins!
“I have no’ a clue of what yer talking about, father.” He laid his claymore against the table, taking out a honing stone.
“Oh, but I think ye’ do. The poor lass came in here soaking wet and shaking all the way to her boots! What were ye’ thinking, leaving her there like that?”
“Donna ken what ye’ mean,” he said bluntly. He dragged the stone across his claymore, enjoying the sharp metallic sound that echoed in the hall. The only other sound was that of the cackling fire. He had arrived home hours before, and it was turning dark. He was too furious and disgruntled for festivities, so the hall was unusually quiet.
Not that he minded. Meeting with no women,
prostitutes or his captive alike, and no celebrations? Silence? It was perfect.
All he could ask for.
He ground the metal across his claymore more roughly, with more force.
“I want her gone. Send her back wherever she’s come from.”
“Yer the laird here. Tis yer job to take care of it,” his father said sagely. “She is nothing but a misguided girl, trapped here on your request, and—”
Alec slammed the metal onto the table, clenching his claymore tight in his hand. “I do no’ want her here any longer,” he roared. “She has kept my men from their duties. She has created ponds in my chambers. She has stolen my ale, disrespected me, and spoke of eloping, and—”
“Eloping?”
He growled. “Aye, father. Eloping.”
“Are ye’ positive?” The McGregor snorted, an amused sound. “That sounds nothing like the Blay I ken—” He stopped talking, eyes popping wide.
“What did ye’ just say?”
His fathers eyes widened. “Nothing, lad. Nothing at all.”
“Donna lie to me,” he murmured. His father remained silent. With a soft, tired sigh, Alec began to deduce. “Ye’ donna look truly horrified to have revealed something you obviously knew. Ye’ have a false sense of innocence about ye’, father. Ye’ called the woman Blay. Ye’ ken her. I ken ye’ ken her. I just want to ken how—and for how long.”
“Ye’ do that damn thing and sometimes it makes me want to wring yer throat, lad,” his father grunted. He knew he’d been caught, just as he had most likely planned.
Alec crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.
“Ye’ve naught heard of Blayne Shaw before?”
Alec frowned. The name did seem familiar, but… “Shaw? As in…Kane and his mad wife Saeran?” The Shaws and The McGregor were long-time friends. Though Alec had never been to their land personally, they had made several trips to McGregor territory before—though they had never brought anyone’s children with them.
“Is this Blayne his…sister? Aunt? Or even a relative of Lady Shaw’s?”