Page 9 of Highlander's Caged Rose
“Tell me the name of your betrothed, lass,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “Is he following you? Trying to get you to go back to him?”
Although Moira had expected the question, she could still not think of an answer. She had thought of making up a name, but then realised that he might be asking so that he could capture him, and that would set him off on a wild goose chase. As well as that, he might imprison her and send her back to Brody McDonnell.
Men were all the same, in her experience. She must not let him lull her into a false sense of security. After all, he had only just met her, so why would he try to save her? She meant nothing to him.
“Why do you want to know?” Moira asked. “I do not wish to talk about him, My Laird. I told your councillor the same thing. I want to forget that he ever existed.”
Niall had been looking closely at her while she was speaking. She felt he could detect her hesitation; something about what Moira was saying that did not ring true.
“I do not tolerate liars,” he said, an edge of menace in his deep voice. “I can see that you are dressed well, and the jewellery you are wearing is not cheap. Are you a noblewoman or a thief?”
“No, I am neither,” she replied at once, trying to keep her voice steady. “I told you the truth. I am running away, and I cannot bear to think of the beast who calls himself my betrothed. I will be gone as soon as I can, then you will be rid of me, and it will be as if this never happened.”
“Not quite,” Niall replied. “You see, I sent my men out to look for the bandits who attacked you. There are a dozen of them, andthey have been in the dungeon for three days with no contact from any of us but the guards who deliver their food. I think they should have softened up enough to be interrogated by now.
What I would like to know is: are these your fiancé’s men? If they are, I want to speak to him, and twenty of my best men will join in the conversation. They will never set foot on my land again.”
He waited for a moment, watching Moira closely.
“I would rather end this conversation here, My Laird. Don’t make it any harder for me,” she said, then forced tears into her eyes.
Moira had simply not been able to stand any more of Niall McPhee’s persistent interrogation. He was only confirming what she already knew—he was just like all the rest. She knew that there must be good men out there somewhere, but she had never been fortunate enough to meet one.
Niall said nothing more, but watched silently as she rose and rushed out of the room.
She decided to put Laird McPhee’s suspicions out of her mind, for she had other more important matters to think about, such as where she was going to go next, and what would she do to earn a living? Her coin would not last forever, and she had no wish to be a homeless beggar, or worse still, a woman of the streets. As well as that, she knew Brody McDonnell, her brother-in-law, would already have sent men out to look for her.
If he caught her, her life would be a living hell.
Niall felt wretched. Was he a heartless beast who had just made a suffering woman’s predicament even worse? He decided to leave things as they were for the moment and give her a couple of daysto finish healing, then leave. The last thing he wanted to do was stir up trouble with the other landowners around him if she was in a relationship with any of them.
Yet, Niall could not wrench Moira Jamieson out of his thoughts. Every time he looked at her, his body stirred, and he became aroused in a way that he could not remember experiencing before. He was not innocent; he knew he was attractive to women, and had taken advantage of that many times—in fact, he was a very experienced lover.
However, this woman baffled him. She was beautiful, yes, and what man would not find her appealing? Yet, there was something else, something he could not put his finger on, and he knew it was going to torment him till he found the answer because she had lit a fire in him that could not be quenched.
4
Glennie sat down at the long dining room table and poured herself a glass of wine, then began to gaze at her brother intently. There was something different about him today; he seemed thoughtful, unlike his usual lively talkative self around her. He normally had stories of his mock battles on the training fields to tell her, and he would usually show off his latest cuts and bruises, laughing as he did so.
Glennie would always laugh with him, saying that it was his own fault if he persisted in putting himself in harm’s way. But then, he had always been a fighter. She remembered one particular time when he was about thirteen years old when he had been watching the men training with swords, and his face had taken on a determined expression.
“I want a sword,” he growled.
His voice was beginning to deepen into that of a man, and already Glennie could see bristles on his face, but his muscles were not yet fully developed, unlike the men of the garrison, who looked absolutely huge to her.
“No!” she shouted, terrified. “They will kill you!”
“The swords are all blunt, silly,” he answered with a dismissive wave.
Glennie had tried to hold on to his tunic, but she was not strong enough to stop him; Niall’s stubbornness was the stuff of legend. He walked up to one of the guards, who was standing waiting for his turn to practise, and asked for his sword. The man hesitated and shook his head, but Niall reminded him that he would be the future master of the castle, and the guard reluctantly gave up his weapon.
Returning her focus to the present, Glennie turned to look at her brother and held her glass up in a toast. “Slàinte Mhath,” she said.
Niall looked puzzled as he held his glass up. “What is the occasion?” he asked.
“We have a guest,” Glennie replied. “Her name is Moira Jamieson. I think you already know her.”
To Glennie’s surprise, Niall frowned. “Stay away from her,” he growled. “She is trouble, and I want her to leave the castle as soon as possible.”
