Page 56 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

Smiling, Bairre gave a visible shake of his head. “Why, of course. Dae sit down cousin and allow me tae pour ye a wee dram.” He lifted the decanter, poured a splash of the amber liquid and passed it to Arran.

Arran was impressed. The man’s hands were steady and if he had not known the truth, it would have been possible to believethat Bairre had not been involved in a plot to end Arran’s life only a matter of a few days ago.

“I’ve nay seen ye fer a day or two, lad. Were ye nae appointed as the special guard tae watch over the Lady Dahlia MacLeod?”

“Aye. That I was. However, I’ve been indisposed. Unfortunately,someone– I dinnae ken who the evildoer was – made an effort tae snuff out my life. I was taken from me bed, punched most cruelly and left trapped within a burning building with me hands and feet tied to ensure I couldnae escape.”

He watched Bairre’s face carefully as he delivered these words but Bairre merely shrugged, his expression one of well feigned concern.

Bairre clicked his tongue. “I’m sorry to hear that such a thing happened tae ye. There is wickedness tae be found in many places.”

“Even within Castle Mackinnon it seems.”

Despite the laird’s expression of concern and his conciliatory tone, Arran was only too aware that Bairre was watching him like a hawk. Did the man realize Arran knew it was he who had attempted to murder him? That he recognized his voice? It suited him to have Bairre believe he had no idea who it was who had attempted to murder him. If Bairre thought he had got away with his attack then Arran could keep a closer watch on him and guard himself against the possibility of another attempt on his life. And Arran was certain that would not be far off.

He took a nonchalant sip of his whisky. “Nevertheless, I’m nae afeared of any would-be murderers under the castle roof.”

Bairre looked up sharply. “And why is that Arran? I’d have thought ye’d be well fearful of another attempt on yer life.”

Gazing into the fire, Arran responded with slow deliberation. “I’ve nay fear me laird, because I have alerted those members of the guard who are still loyal tae me that there is danger lurking fer me.”

Bairre said nothing in response to this remark but Arran’s steely gaze picked up the flicker of fear in the laird’s eyes. Clearly, it had never occurred to him that members of his own guard might still owe allegiance to Arran.

“…and,” Arran continued, “nae only will these faithful men watch out for anything untoward, but they will ensure that nay one bent on doing me harm will ever get close enough tae carry out their wicked plan.”

Bairre poured another dram and, to Arran’s amusement, swilled the liquor down his throat in one mouthful. He seemed rattled by Arran’s revelation.

“Well,” he finally muttered, “’tis good news that ye’ll be kept safe after all.” He rose to his feet, ending their conversation. “If ye’re quite recovered, I wish tae see ye back at yer post, guarding the Lady Dahlia and nae letting her out of yer sight as I had ordered ye some time ago.”

Arran’s heart skipped a beat. He swallowed the last of the whisky and stood. This was exactly what he was hoping would happen. A chance to be close to Dahlia and, at the same time, ensure she was safe.

“There is still one pressing matter I’d like tae discuss with ye, me laird.”

“And that is?”

“’Tis the matter of me maither’s whereabouts. I would like tae see her and reassure mesel’ of her good health.”

Bairre chuckled. “Indeed, ye would. But until ye have discharged all yer duties tae me I’m afraid that will nae be possible.”

Arran’s insides twisted. How he would love to reach out and clasp his hands around Bairre’s throat and tighten them until the man’s face turned blue.

He schooled his features to remain bland, refusing to reveal the deep anguish Bairre’s words caused him.

“Goodnight, Bairre.” Arran bowed to the devil and moved toward the door. “I will continue with me duties and sleep tonight outside the lady’s bedchamber.”

Bairre gave him a dismissive wave without looking up. When Arran glanced back from the doorway his attention was again focused on his book.

He made a mental note to ensure he did not turn his back on Bairre Mackinnon at any time. The man was never to be trusted.

Feeling well enough pleased with himself and relieved that he’d finally bade farewell to the labyrinth of passages in the depth of the castle Arran made his way to Dahlia’s bedchamber. While he well understood the challenge his ongoing presence was to the laird, he was ready to face Bairre.

He was sorely tempted to wake her with his news but, on second thought, it occurred to him that Bairre would have most likely posted one of his spies to keep a close watch on whether he made contact with her or not.

With his cloak pulled tightly around himself he scrunched himself down outside her door. Despite the hard stone floor, it was only a brief time before he slept, comfortable in the knowledge that he was on guard by his precious Dahlia’s door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Good morning, melady.”

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