Page 75 of Highlander's Sinless Nymph
“He rode out lookin’ fer ye,” the Laird said. “Once he found that ye were gone he saddled his horse and galloped off without a backward glance.”
Charlotte put her head in her hands.
“And now, here ye are,” the Laird said again. “And, if ye are to be believed, me only son is now ridin’ out into a storm, right into the jaws of an English army!”
He smacked his hand down hard onto the arm of his chair.
“Ye say that ye love me son, lass,” he said, in voice of aggrieved, trembling rage, “and I’ll tell ye that I love him too––he’s all that matters to me in the world! Now, he’s gone off chasin’ some sassenach who has, I think, tricked him into fallin’ fer her!”
“What! Why would I do such a thing?” Charlotte exclaimed.
“So that ye, the spawn of that bastard Bolton, could come into me castle under the guise of the injured maiden, snoop about it fer days, and then run off to tell yer faither about it and doom us all!” the Laird hissed, his eyes flashing in the firelight.
“What? No, I––”
“And now, ye come back tryin’ to say that ye love me son. Why? So that ye can let a party of English raiders through the castle itself perhaps?”
“No!” Charlotte said, her eyes wide. “I really do love––”
The Laird threw up his hands. “Ach, ye’re a Bolton and yer words are worth less than the dust beneath me boots! Guards!”
The door swung open once more. Four armed Highlanders walked briskly into the room and stood in a menacing formation around the chair that Charlotte sat in.
“Wait! Your Lairdship, we have to find Edward! If my father captures him––” Charlotte stammered.
“Aye,” the Laird said, and there was a devastated resignation in his eyes, “if yer faither finds him, he will kill him. Cruelly.” His face hardened. “And so it will be all the worst fer ye, I am fraid, lass.”
Charlotte mouthed soundlessly at him.
“Get this traitor out o’ me sight,” the Laird said to the guardsmen. “Put her in the dungeons––but make sure she has food and water and beddin’. Unlike her kin, I am nay monster.”
With that, he turned away.
Charlotte was pulled firmly to her feet.
“I do nae trust ye, lass,” the Laird said, his voice soft and bitter. “I shall give ye time to think on things and then I expect ye to tell me where me son is, or what yer father had done wi’ him.
Charlotte was hauled from the room, her heels sliding across the hides that covered the floor.
“Wait, no, there’s been a mistake! Your Lairdship, please! Wait, plea––”
The door thudded shut behind her, cutting her words off as effectively as any axe and Charlotte was dragged away.
25
The sassenach’s wails were muted somewhat by the heavy oaken door shutting behind her, but not entirely smothered. For a good few heartbeats, Tormod MacAlpein could hear the sound of her being forcibly dragged away by his men, down into the bowels of MacQarrie Castle. Then there was silence.
The Laird of the MacQuarries sat in brooding silence, staring with sightless eyes into the crackling fire in the great hearth.
What a bloody mess.
His blood was up. He could feel it surging through his veins, pumped by his angry, strong, warrior’s heart. The fact was, he was hurting. He was hurting very badly indeed.
Edward, my God, I’d give anythin’ to have ye back here, lad. I want to believe this girl, but…
He rubbed his eyes with a thick thumb and sighed heavily. He really did wish to believe the young woman, but he was struggling to get past the fact that she was the daughter of a man he knew to be the vilest and most dishonest of scoundrels.
A black-hearted bastard that would beat a man senseless and then swear to God himself that he’d been thrown from his horse.
