Page 5 of Taken By the Ruthless Highlander
Cohen chuckled as he fell into step beside her. “Ye might be right about that last bit. But from what I’ve heard about him, he’s far crueler than his faither.”
“How can I believe that, when he just spared my life?” Morgana scoffed as the corridor opened into the foyer.
Cohen gave her a warning look as a soft, sad melody drifted through the castle.
Her chest tightened. The music consoled the weary soul, but she could not ignore the reason for such a melancholy.
“Listen to me,” Cohen hissed, drawing her attention. “Ye cannae trust him. What have I told ye from the moment ye stepped foot in this castle?”
“People always have a motive for doin’ what they do,” Morgana answered in a hushed tone.
Nodding his head, Cohen glanced around, checking for any prying eyes or ears.
“The new Laird must have a purpose for keepin’ ye alive. Nae that I’m nae grateful—I am. But ye have to assume that he’ll just as likely kill ye himself,” Cohen whispered as his eyes scanned the foyer. “Here.”
“What is this?” Morgana gasped as a sharp blade flashed before her eyes. Panic shot through her as she pushed away the weapon.
“For yer protection,” Cohen insisted. “I cannae in good conscience allow ye to be alone and unarmed with that man for even one minute.”
“Ye saw his size,” Morgana said. “What is that blade goin’ to do to him? Scratch him?”
“At least ye’ll have somethin’ to use against him, should he turn out less than a gentleman. Please, if for nay other reason than to amuse me.”
“And what of my family? They’re still in the dungeons. They dinnae ken what’s happened so far.”
“There’s nay reason to tell them, nae until after yer meetin’ with the Laird. Remember, he has the final say in whether ye live or die.” Cohen paused as he plucked a strand of her hair and studied it in the soft light of the foyer.
Morgana arched an eyebrow, keeping her eyes on him.
Cohen rolled his shoulders back and dropped the strand.
“Whatever transpires, please ken that I dinnae hold ye guilty. Ye did everythin’ ye could to keep me out of harm’s way, and I thank ye for it,” Morgana offered, flashing him a pitiful smile as she took the dirk from his hand.
The blade was heavier than she had expected, and although it was as cool as rocks in the river, it felt like a hot chunk of coal.
“Come,” Cohen urged as he led her to the hallway to the left of the grand staircase.
With each step, Morgana’s heart raced. She didn’t know what she was about to step into, and she found herself grateful for the small weapon tucked in her pocket.
What exactly she was going to do with it, she wasn’t sure. The blade was far too small to do any real damage. But she could use it to escape.
“Here,” Cohen said, stopping before a large ornate door. Morgana gasped at the intricate carvings of hounds and hills. “Dinnae touch anythin’. I’ll wait for ye under the steps.”
“And if I dinnae come out?” she asked as she stared at the swirling grooves in the dark wood. “Promise ye’ll take care of my sisters.”
“I’ll make sure that yer family is cared for,” Cohen promised as he reached for the knob and turned it.
As the door opened slowly, the old hinges let out a loud moan that reverberated ominously through Morgana’s body.
“Thank ye.”
“Dinnae thank me yet. Come out alive, and then ye can sing my praises. But this is where I must leave ye,” Cohen said, just as the sound of booted steps echoed through the hallway, alerting them of another’s presence.
Morgana swallowed thickly and stepped into the dimly lit study.
The air was musky as dust floated over the orange glow of the dying embers. Morgana wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the icy chill. Glancing at the pile of wood near the hearth, she threw a log over the embers and watched as the ashes swirled in a whirlwind.
She stepped back and watched as the embers kindled the bark of the log. Eventually, the flames rose in the grate, licking and devouring the wood, radiating heat that singed her face and eased the biting chill in the air.
