Page 1 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
1
MURDOCH CASTLE
Shouting voices pulled Amara from the haze of her thoughts. She had been sitting in the sunroom, a half-sewn tapestry in her lap. She hadn’t really been thinking about anything in particular, just her thoughts gathering wool, when the commotion roused her.
Next, there was the sound of pounding boots in the corridor just outside the chamber. Amara sighed with boredom, set her sewing aside, and stood. She took just a moment to check her appearance in the faded looking glass that sat on the ground in the corner of the sunroom, making sure her long blonde hair was secured tightly in a thick plait, before leaving the chamber to find out what all the uproar was about.
She nearly got run over by one of the Murdoch guards when she stepped into the hallway. He skidded to a stop, his hands reflexively going to her shoulders to steady himself and to make sure she didn’t fall.
“Pardon, me lady!” he gasped breathlessly.
Patrick. His name was Patrick, she remembered. He was newly appointed to the guards, and from what little she knew of him, he was a nice enough man.
“What goes here?” she asked, swinging her arm out for emphasis.
“We captured an intruder,” he gasped. “One of the O’Donnell men.”
Amara’s eyes widened in surprise. Instantly, Rhys’s visage swam before her eyes and her heart started to pound. “What?” she asked, then, “Who?”
Patrick shrugged his thin shoulders. “I’m nae sure. He was caught just before dawn tryin’ to cross the northern boundary.” He took a deep breath, then started talking again, his words coming faster and faster. “Said he was alone, but I heard he was well armed. Wouldnae speak a word, though. He’s bein’ held in the old cellar.”
Amara had barely thanked the lad before she’d spun on her slippered heel and rushed down the corridor toward the old cellar. Cook stared at her aghast as she burst into the kitchen, then out the back entrance door. She made it outside just in time to see guards taking the prisoner down the stairs.
The man was broad, but not in the same way that she remembered the O’Donnell heir to be. And then, he looked up. His sharp gaze meeting Amara’s and she instantly recognized him. It wasn’t Rhys. It was the man who had burst into the greathall during the feast six years ago. The one that called her father a murderer.
She faced her father’s accuser with a frown, and didn’t dare look away. She even let her chin tilt upward slightly so that she could look down her nose at him. He too had not torn his eyes from hers either, and she watched as the man’s face creased. Only when the top of his head had disappeared from the doorway did she leave.
Amara knew her father had not murdered Laird O’Donnell, but that was what the other clan believed. That night had been the worst of her life. So many of her clan members were slaughtered. Her mother had died. And for some reason, she lost her father, too.
He didn’t die like her mother, but he’d become distant enough. It was as if he couldn’t even bear to look at her. At first, she’d thought it was just his grief, that it would get better in time. But all these years later, his withdrawal of her seemed even worse.
Now, he looks through me, as if I’m nae even here.
She went in search of him to ask about their prisoner, but it took quite a while to find him. Her father wasn’t in his study, his bed chamber, the library, or even the dining hall. She finally found him in the south wing talking to some of his men. They looked up when they heard Amara approach. The laird did not.
“Faither, I just —” she began, but he cut her off.
“Nae now.”
The two men looked at her with compassion and understanding. All of Murdoch castle had seen how the laird had been treating his only child. Shame heated her cheeks and burned her throat, but she didn’t turn away. Not this time. She was tired of being ignored by the only family she had left.
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Faither,” she said again. “I wanted to talk to ye about the prisoner.”
His head snapped in her direction, and he pinned Amara with angry emerald eyes.
“He isnoneof yer concern,” the laird barked. “Daenae go near him. Do ye understand?”
She nodded but her lips tightened into a stubborn frown. “What are ye goin’ to do with him?”
Laird Murdoch waved an impatient hand, and the two guards nodded and left father and daughter alone.
“’Tis none of yer concern, Amara.”
That was another difference. He always called her by her name now. He used to call her daughter or lass or some nonsense love name, but now he only referred to her as Amara.
“Is he…” she paused, clasping her hands together in front of her body. “Is he the one who killed Maither?”
The laird’s eyes hardened. “I doubt we’ll ever ken who ended yer maither’s life,” he said sourly. “Best nae to dwell on it.”
