Page 14 of Seductive Scot
“My sister!” the woman, Deirdre, gasped, breaking through Reikart’s astonishment and drawing his attention back to her. “Is she here?”
“She’s here.” The hostility in Rhys’s voice did not surprise Reikart, assuming this was the same Deirdre his mom had written about in her notes. “But I doubt she’ll want to see you given you betrayed her,” Rhys snapped.
Reikart shoved Rhys’s arm off his shoulder and stepped into the woman’s path. “What the hell have you done with my mother?”
Deirdre scuttled back a step at the anger the tall, imposing, likely dangerous, stranger, who spoke with an odd accent blasted her with, and she ran straight into someone who grabbed her by the arms. She glanced behind her to find Alastair MacKinnish grimacing at her.
“Reik,” said Rhys McCaim, the man Maggie had wed despite the fact that he was known as a cohort of the Devil. He shook his head at his brother. “Ellen—Mom—is fine. We can talk about her when we have some privacy.” He tilted his head toward Deirdre, not at all being discreet.
As much as it bothered her that the stranger seemed to hate her, and his brother thought she’d done something to their mother, in that moment she didn’t care. She had to see Maggie, explain things, and beg for her forgiveness. “Release me,” she demanded.
“I think nae, traitor,” Alastair said, to which the men around her grunted agreement—all except Reikart, who stared at her with a narrowed gaze.
“I’m nae a traitor,” she said through clenched teeth, though she knew very well Yearger’s actions made her appear to be one. “Please”—she looked around at the men—“take me to my sister.”
“You’ll have to wait to see Maggie—ifshe wants to see you at all. Where is Maggie?” Rhys McCaim suddenly demanded.
Dermot waved a negligent hand. “She’s tending to the men who were injured in the siege.”
“You left her alone?” Rhys roared.
His accent was as odd as she remembered from when the baron—God’s blood, the baron! She had to discover if he had been captured. “Baron Bellecote—”
“Worried for yer betrothed?” Alastair cut in with a snarl.
“Nay, I—”
“Enough!” Dermot barked, his voice so loud she jerked. “We’ve much to discuss and decide, but we also have men waiting to pledge their fealty to ye, Rhys, and that can nae wait. Come.” He turned toward the castle, his tone brooking no argument.
Alastair tugged her along as he proceeded toward the castle behind Dermot, the other men falling into step after them. He pulled her past so many MacKinnish men that it was no wonder they’d seized her home so easily. Couple their enormous numbers with the fact that many of her clansmen had only pledged loyalty to Algien because he’d threatened them, and it was no wonder the Irvines had not fought harder. They’d probably wanted the MacKinnishes to take control. Alastair pushed open the castle door and tugged her over the threshold, nodding to two of his men and two of her clansmen, who gave her pitying looks that made her cringe. It seemed even her own people believed her a traitor.
“Alastair, please listen to me,” she pleaded.
“Nay,” Alastair said, being every bit as stubborn as she remembered him to be from times she’d encountered him at Court. “In fact, if ye speak again, I’ll—”
“Are you threatening a lady?” one of the oddly accented McCaims demanded from behind her.
Alastair stopped and turned, swiveling her around with him as he faced who’d spoken. The torches at the entrance to her home washed the man Reikart in light, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes widened, but she was helpless to stop the reaction. He was a tall, imposing figure in clothing unlike anything she’d ever seen, but that was not what took her breath. He had an air about him with his hard stare and clenched jaw, as if he could be very dangerous when provoked. And his powerful-looking body—broad shoulders, large hands, long, muscular legs—enhanced her initial impression that he could be threatening to a soul. Though he hadn’t shown much skill with a sword, she would wager he could take down a man easily if they fought in hand-to-hand combat.
“Ye dare to question me?” Alastair demanded of Reikart.
She resumed her study of the man’s face, waiting for him to answer. His gaze, which narrowed, was absorbing, arresting, focused in a way that made it impossible to look away. “If you intend to harm this woman—” he motioned to her, and she found herself following his easy, graceful movements “—then, yeah, we’re going to have a problem.”
“Yeah?” Alastair asked, a tinge of confusion in his voice, and Deirdre leaned toward them to hear what the odd word meant.
“Yes,” Reikart snapped.
“Aye,” Rhys added.
“Yeah, yes, aye,” Alastair grumbled. “I do nae know how things are done where ye come from—”
“Reik,” Rhys interrupted and stepped forward, looking between the two men. “Alastair won’t harm Maggie’s sister, will you…”
Deirdre bit her lip. She couldn’t be certain if Maggie’s husband was asking Alastair or ordering him, but Rhys’s brother Reik—or was it Reikart?—seemed satisfied. His shoulders had relaxed the minute his brother had made the statement. The brothers had to be close for one brother to take the other’s word so easily and completely. She found herself jealous and immediately ashamed of the feeling.
“I’ll nae hurt her,” Alastair said, giving her a disgusted look, to which she scowled back. She may deserve their doubt, but she refused to stand around being treated like an intolerable hound. Alastair pursed his lips. “We’ll be taking her to my da to see what’s to be done, but since ye are so verra concerned for her… Here.”
She stumbled forward with a push from Alastair. Reikart caught her in one muscled arm while sending a quick, extremely accurate punch into his uncle’s nose. She gasped at his agility, and then again as his arm tightened on her shoulder and he drew her behind him.
