Page 27 of The Outlaw's Bride
Adaira, who stood at Lachlann’s side, watched him fold his arms across his chest and favor his father with an arrogant smile. “Of course not … it’s a great relief to see ye are alive.”
Morgan Fraser huffed, before wincing.
Adaira had heard of the wound her own father had inflicted upon him. Malcolm MacLeod had bragged that he’d slit the Fraser chieftain open down one side. She couldn’t see his wounds, for he wore a loose léine over his bandages, but she knew her father would be disappointed to know his enemy lived.
They stood in the chieftain’s bed-chamber, which sat halfway up the fortress’s new tower. The window was open, letting in a brisk sea-breeze.
Lachlann’s three younger brothers—Lucas, Niall, and Tearlach—stood to the right of their father’s bed. Big, red-haired, and intimidating, all three of them resembled their sire. Watching them, Adaira wondered what their mother had looked like. Una had been Morgan’s second wife, and she had not borne him any children.
Morgan Fraser’s attention shifted from his first-born then, to Adaira. She’d been waiting for this, yet the force of his stare nearly made her wilt. Even pale-faced and in pain, the Fraser chief’s gaze was frightening.
“Lady Adaira MacLeod,” he said her name softly. “What an unexpected delight.”
He didn’t smile as he spoke, so the word ‘delight’ sounded more of a threat than a welcome. Adaira glanced at Lachlann. She didn’t know why she looked his way, for the sight of him made her feel ill, yet he was the only one in this chamber who knew how much she wanted to flee Skye. As much as it galled her, he was the closest thing she had to an ally here.
But Lachlann didn’t look her way. He merely watched his father, his expression impassive.
Adaira swallowed and glanced back at the chieftain. Morgan Fraser was still observing her, a speculative look in his green eyes. He was around her father’s age, yet whereas her father was corpulent and gouty, Morgan was lean and craggy. She could see that he’d been very handsome in his youth, but something—bitterness perhaps—had given his features a hard edge.
Out of all four sons, Lachlann resembled him physically the most. He had his father’s lean ranginess, his watchfulness.
“I’d say I was grateful to ye for saving my son’s life,” Morgan Fraser continued, his tone still soft, “yet I hear ye didn’t do it out of love for the Frasers, but rather a desire to escape yer betrothed.”
“Aye, Aonghus Budge,” Lucas spoke up, his mouth curving. “Can’t say I blame her either.”
Morgan ignored his son, instead continuing to observe Adaira.
Swallowing, Adaira dropped her gaze to the floor. His stare was making her sweat; she didn’t like the calculating look in his eyes.
“Ye are a bonny wee thing,” Morgan continued, “although I’ve heard yer sisters are true beauties: one as hot as flame, the other as cold as ice.” He paused here. “I wonder what that makes ye, Lady Adaira?”
She went still, wishing she was anywhere but here. This man made her feel like she was a cornered deer.
“The earth.” Lachlann’s answer made Adaira glance up in surprise. “Natural … and honest.”
Morgan grunted in response. “Sounds like ye are half in love with the lass.”
Lachlann’s brothers sniggered.
“No … just observant,” Lachlann answered coldly.
A smile stretched Morgan Fraser’s mouth, but no warmth reached his eyes.
Adaira cleared her throat. This conversation was giving her belly cramps. She longed to be far from all five of these men, but needed their help to get away. “Chieftain Fraser,” she began softly. “Will ye provide passage for me to travel to the mainland? I still wish to reach my kin in Argyle as planned.”
Morgan Fraser’s mouth compressed. “Why would I help a MacLeod?”
Adaira glanced at Lachlann, panic rising within her. “But ye said I could—”
“I rule here, lass,” Morgan Fraser cut her off. “I don’t care what my son told ye.”
Adaira went ice-cold at these words. “Please,” she whispered. “I have to leave this isle … I must—”
“Quiet, girl,” Morgan snapped, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “Spare me yer pitiful bleating.”
Adaira stared back at him, heat rising to her cheeks. Anger, although not the wild fury of earlier, rose within her. She decided then that she hated Morgan Fraser even more than she did his son.
“What does it matter?” Lachlann spoke up, his voice a drawl. “Surely, if ye help the lass escape, ye are hurting MacLeod.”
