Page 10 of Kidnapped By her Highland Enemy
Narrowing his eyes, Lucas asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Naythin’,” Oliver shrugged. “We’re just talking about news from home.”
“About that,” Eilidh said. “Laird Dunn took a small army of men with him to see yer faither, and the two were in a heated standoff, almost coming to blows until they found that they were both given a similar letter but instead of tryin’ to figure out who is behind it, they both ken the other is lying.”
Lucas’s mouth dropped, “Wait?What? What letter?”
“Laird Gunn got a letter that someone from Clan Barclay was going to kill him, and that was after ye had taken the lass,” Eilidh explained patiently. “Oliver was telling me that ye got one yerself.”
Lucas felt his mind begin to spin. What was going on? “And what happened?”
“Fortunately, nay one came to blows and nay blood was shed, but tension is high between the two,” Eilidh said. “One does have to wonder, though, where the letters came from.”
“And what is the sender tryin’ to do,” Lucas added grimly. “Or if this is real.”
“It’s nay that odd for two clans to attempt to assassinate rival lairds,” Oliver inserted. “Even at the same time. This could be happenstance.”
Privately, Lucas doubted it. For the two clans’ lairds to get the same letter about the other’s pending death, it stuck of twisted manipulation and high treason. For a moment, he wondered if this was coming from the King. It was widely known that Balliol, was under English King Edward I’s thumb and most of the lairds had him as little more than Edward’s puppet, willing to dance the jig at the Englishman’s request.
Could this be a ploy from the crown to undermine two of the strongest clans so he can have a foothold in the midst of his tyrannical rule? He must be aware that he is losing favor with us nobles.
As much as he tried to find a reason to this double duplicity, Lucas could not find one. He decided to give it more thought in the morning.
“Well,” he said, “That’s a problem for another day. Oliver, ye do have a room set up for Eilidh, aye?”
Oliver nodded, “Aye, I have.”
“Good,” Lucas said. “I’ll leave ye to yer privacy while I take first watch.”
With a round of good nights, Lucas went back to his room that overlooked the front of the house and perched himself at the window with his claymore in reach.
His vigilant gaze swept over the forestland and the bushes and shadows that lingered at the front line. The subtle surge of the sea behind him was soft noise to his ears and as soothing as it was, verily lulling him to sleep, he could not let his watchfulness down.
Being in sentry form was second nature to him. With the many nights he had been on hunting parties and attack missions, he knew how to be a lookout and spot signs of ambush and attack. He glanced at the bow and quiver of arrows, primed and ready to shoot down any advancing enemy.
He kept watch until Oliver came to relieve him an hour before midnight. He retreated to his bed, with his weapons at the ready, and kept his boots on. Years ago, at a request from Laird Mackenzie, he’d been forced to fight their enemies barefoot on sharp stony ground, a lesson he had never forgotten.
Lucas’s eyes popped open the moment dawn began to light the sky. The deep purple fingers of dawn gradually gave way to brighter skies. The warming rays of the morning sunshine pushed the chill of the night away, lifting the salty sea smell, reawakening Lucas senses.
Instead of sitting up, Lucas allowed himself to prop an arm under his head, lay back and think about how he would approach Maisie that morning.
Will the lass be unfriendly or will she be a bit more amiable?
Lucas realized he could not finish that thought. What was he going to expect from Maisie? She could not be comfortable, no, and neither would she understand, as he had not given her any reason to do so. If she was still upset, he would understand. No one would be enthusiastic at being kidnapped from their home and whisked away into the middle of a forest.
Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, Lucas stood and went to a nook where a bucket of washing water stood and cleansed his person before dressing in trews, his boots, and a loose shirt.
He headed to the cooking nook where, to his unsurprise, Eilidh was stirring something on the stove, and it smelled divine. That was when he spotted rounds of pies cooling on a ledge and his jaw dropped. “Ye cooked those, so early?”
She looked over and smiled, “Good morning to ye, me laird.”
Abashed, Lucas dipped his head and kissed her cheek. “Good morning. Forgive me for losing me manners. But I am stunned.”
“Dinnae be,” she laughed. “I baked them from yesterday before I came, they only needed some heat.”
“A scoundrel like Oliver doesnae deserve ye,” Lucas teased. “Yer too pure for the likes of him.”
She swatted at him, “Get away with ye, ye charmer.”
