Page 8 of Kilted Hate

When the laird had brought their party to a halt earlier, she had been bitterly cold and very weary from all the travelling. She had assumed the men to be peasants by the way they were dressed. Interfering peasants, at that. A part of her was also frightened, for she had imagined they were about to be robbed. Her brother had warned her about bandits on the road, and how she and her guards needed to be careful.

At no point, in her anger and terror, had she made any effort to connect the men to each other. She had no reason to do so. But now, knowing that they were not peasants at all, Katherine was able to look at the circumstance with far more clarity, and indeed, it was evident that the three were brothers. Not all exactly alike, of course, but the family resemblance could not be denied.

Domhnall, as his brother had called him, did not reply, but seemed to continue to battle to control himself more than an ordinary man might.

Great! My future husband has a fiery temper. Just what I need.

Without any warning, the laird was suddenly by her side, and gasping, for her feet hardly touched the floor, she was carried from the courtyard, through a large wooden door, down stone steps, and through another corridor.

Finally arriving at the cells of the dungeon, Katherine breathlessly stared up at him. “What the devil was that? How did you do that?”

The laird only scowled down at her before nodding to the guard, who, on his laird’s rather sudden arrival, had jumped up from his chair in a panic.

“Open this gate,” he growled.

“Aye, me laird,” the prison guard replied hurriedly, floundering to release the large bunch of jingling keys from his belt.

Once unlocked, the gate to the cell creaked open, and the laird jerked his head at her to enter. She could protest, even try to fight, but there was no point. He had already displayed his great strength. Besides, she didn’t relish the idea of being thrown over his shoulder a second time.

Angrily, Katherine stormed into the cell, before turning to scowl back at him. He then grabbed the gate and slammed it closed. Still wincing a little he readjusted his manhood, causing Katherine’s face to flush with heat. Clearly, he had no qualms at doing such a vulgar thing in front of her, but it was certainly not something she was used to seeing.

“Ye’re only getting what ye deserve. I am the laird o’ Clan MacLeod and I willnae be humiliated in front o’ me own people.” He then frowned. “What did ye mean earlier when ye said I am the man who murdered yer faither?”

For a long moment, Katherine only snarled at him. He may well pretend that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but he didn’t fool her.

Or perhaps, he doesn’t know who your father is? One hardly goes around asking names at these battles.

It was a fair point, but one that did little for her anger or the feeling of animosity she had towards him.

“You battled with my father, and you slaughtered him where he stood,” she spat.

The laird shook his head. “I cannae remember such a time. I ken yer people, and though I will admit, I have battled many an Englishman, I would remember if I’d killed a man o’ nobility.”

“Oh, what do you care? To you, one Englishman is no different to the next,” she snarled. She then turned away and sighed heavily. “I was very close to my father, and I miss him every day.” She spun around to glare at him. “No thanks to you.”

“What proof dae ye have that it was I who killed him?” the laird asked, looking far calmer than her.

“What do you mean, proof? I have been told by my brother and I trust him with my life. He has no reason to lie to me. You, on the other hand…” she said, trailing off and not feeling it necessary to finish the sentence.

The laird seemed to look at her for a long moment, and then his reflective expression faded as he said, “I will keep ye locked up here unless ye begin acting like the lady ye are supposed tae be, and stop embarrassing us both.”

But after thinking of her poor father once more, her anger rose with her loss, and stepping towards the bars, she spat in his face. “Is that ladylike enough for you?”

The laird did not flinch. In fact, after wiping his cheek, he smiled condescendingly down at her, which only made her fume even more.

“I’d prefer to rot down here for all eternity than spend a second at your side.”

“As ye wish,” he replied, still smirking.

And without another word, he turned on his heels and walked away.

The guard had returned to his position, and Katherine stood there for a long moment, considering her circumstances. Perhaps, if she wasn’t so angry, she would lament at the mess she had managed to get herself into, but she was, and so she didn’t. Instead, she paced around the cell in agitation.

It took some time for her anger to subside, but when it did, she eventually threw herself down onto the bed that hung from the wall by thick chains. Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, she rested her face in her hands.

Looking about her, Katherine took in her new residence. Not once in her life had she ever been close to a dungeon, and thus, she had nothing to compare it to. That being said, she did feel surprised at her surroundings. The room was clean. Cold and bare, but clean. From the stories she had heard, she imagined she might be surrounded by cobwebs, or skeletons. And rats. People always talked about rats in dark, wet places such as theone she found herself in, but she could see none. Not yet, at any rate.

“Well, this is just wonderful,” she huffed. “Not only am I being forced to marry the man who killed my father, it appears he’s a complete ogre to go along with it.”