Page 35 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

She raised his old hands and kissed his fingers one by one. “So, I have yer blessing tae flee?”

He gave her a gentle smile. “If ye dinnae flee and escape that cruel knave’s torture, me life willnae be worth living.”

With a final kiss on his wrinkled brow, she stood and walked to the door. Her last glimpse of him he was turning his face to the fire, his white hair standing out in the light like a halo. She slipped out the door and made her way along the passage and down the staircase to the laird’s solar, her spirits plunging lower with every step she took.

At the entrance to the room, her strength almost failed her. The door was ajar and inside she glimpsed Sutherland seated by thefire in his imposing leather chair. Beside him, in a smaller chair, was Maxwell. Hesitating by the door, she took a deep steadying breath.

Sutherland’s games had begun. By positioning Maxwell in the smaller chair, Andrew was already establishing his dominance. She exhaled slowly. She was under no illusion that this pleasant scene boded well for Maxwell. All too often she’d watched noblemen reduced to a quivering and fearful version of their once proud self at Sutherland’s hands.

Pasting on a smile, she pushed open the door and entered the room.

I can dae this.

Sutherland and Maxwell rose to their feet as she walked in and swept her a courteous bow. “Welcome home, me dear.”

He took her hand and pressed it to her lips in a show of affection. His touch was cold, his lips colder still. Sutherland was making it clear she was his.

Suddenly thrusting her hand away from him, he looked up scowling, an expression of disgust marring his handsome features.

“Aileen, ye’re nae wearing yer gloves. Why, pray tell me is this?” He gave her a cold smile. “Surely, ye’ve forgotten. D’ye wish tae retreat tae yer chamber tae collect them?”

She shivered, glancing at Maxwell, who was glowering at this display. Willing him to conceal his emotions, she took the seat beside Andrew near the fire.

“Nay, me laird, I didnae forget them. With such long sleeves,” she held up her arm, “I saw nay need of them.” With an effort, she maintained the smile on her face. It was clear to her that Andrew was playing his game of humiliation with her, doing his best to shame her in front of MacNeil.

“But ye are hideous without them, even with yer sleeves.” He looked pointedly at her, seizing her hand again. This time there was no pretense of affection. Instead, he examined her wrist where the wound from the blade was still fresh.

“I see ye’ve yet another wound tae add tae yer ugliness. Go, now tae yer chamber and bring back another pair of gloves. I insist.”

There was a gasp from Maxwell as she turned to go.

“Wait, lass.” Sutherland’s commanding tone sounded through the solar like a whiplash.

She froze as he turned his attention to Maxwell who had risen to his feet and was glaring at Andrew.

“D’ye wish tae comment, MacNeil?”

Aileen held her breath. This was the moment of confrontation between these two powerful men she’d been praying wouldnever occur. Yet, she well knew that Sutherland would never accept so much as a raised eyebrow that smacked of disapproval. Maxwell’s gasp was enough to rile him.

Maxwell shook his head. She breathed again, although she could see from the fury in his eyes that giving way to Sutherland had cost him dearly. But this was not the moment to faceoff with the laird. They were both in his power and he would not hesitate to use it against them.

She watched in horror as Sutherland’s fingers curled into fists by his side and braced herself for a blow. But it was Maxwell who had earned his wrath and, in a flash, Sutherland turned, drew back his fist and, fueled by his own personal demons, lashed out with a savagery that surprised even her.

His fist cracked against Maxwell’s jaw, the force of it causing Maxwell to stagger. It was only the chair behind him that broke his fall. Grabbing the arm of the chair he regained his balance.

Blood dripping from his cut lip he sneered at Sutherland.

“What kind of man strikes a guest at his table?” His voice was little more than a furious growl. “Ye’re nae a man of honor, Andrew Sutherland. I could see that written plainly on yer face, even if ye hadnae brought me here by force.”

Aileen moaned quietly. It would not do to infuriate Sutherland further if they were to have any hope of escape. She flicked a cautionary glance at Maxwell.

Sutherland stood still for a moment, his face distorted in rage. But he calmed, forcing his features into a semblance of a smile and shaking his head.

“Come now lad, dinnae take it so. ‘Tis me playfulness ye’ve mistaken fer something else.”

Maxwell huffed at that, and she could see the effort he was making to pull himself into line. He surely realized this was a moment of great danger.

He smiled. “Of course. I jest.”

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