Page 13 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
“Aye, my laird.”
Beiste left the bailey, intent on speaking to the lass in his antechamber. But upon reaching the fourth level, he had changed his mind. He didn’t mind intimidating his enemies. But for some reason, he thought he might get more out of her if he were to treat her with a touch more kindness—starting with presenting himself clean of all blood, muck and stink. He cleaned himself up and called for a decent meal to be brought up. He’d offer her sustenance, a glass of wine, and he himself would smell of spices instead of battle.
As soon as the tray was brought up, he knocked softly on the antechamber door. He didn’t expect her to answer and she didn’t disappoint. Silence reigned.
Beiste opened the door to see her huddled in the corner on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Eyes wide with fear, though the thinness of her lips showed a ferocity she kept at bay. Still, he hated seeing her cornered like an animal.
Trying for a gentle tone, Beiste said, “I’ve brought ye some supper.”
“I am not hungry,” she said, using the same haughty tone she’d spoken to him with earlier. The lass’ eyes slid toward the tray he held of cold roasted chicken, fresh baked brown bread and honeyed pears. The hunger that made her eyes widen belied her denial.
“I will set it here.” Beiste nodded toward the table, setting the tray down. “If ye decide to eat it, Cook will be pleased that ye tried her fare.”
The lass licked her lips, then looked the other way. “I’d rather starve.”
Beiste chuckled, recognizing her bluff for what it was. “I’ve said similar words myself afore.”
A frustrated groan left her lips as she whipped her gaze back toward him. “What do ye want? Did ye simply come to torment me?”
“Nay.” Beiste locked his hands behind him, taking a relaxed stance and hoping it would help ease her worry. “I came to ask ye a few questions.”
“Then be done with it and leave me in peace.”
“Would ye truly be in peace?” Beiste shrugged. “Simply an observation, but as a prisoner, I could never be at peace.”
A flash of anger sparked across her face. “Is that what I am? Your prisoner?”
Beiste stopped his pacing and met her gaze, letting honesty shine through where normally he’d keep himself locked up. “Would ye rather I lie and say ye’re my guest?”
The lass swallowed visibly, her lips pursed as she studied him. “Nay,” she said quietly.
“Then I will be honest with ye and I hope ye’ll return the favor. Until I figure out a few things, ye are my prisoner.”
The ferocity that had pinched her lips lessened. She watched him keenly as he resumed his pacing. “What needs figuring?”
“The sword.” Beiste again stopped, wanting to take in her appearance, to see if she was lying or being honest. He had a certain knack for detecting such.
“What sword?”Lying.
Beiste let out a half-laugh. “Och, my lady. Do ye truly take me for an imbecile? Well, in case ye do, then I will explain. The one that was on your horse. The one that belonged to my father and went missing some years back.”
She sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest, closing herself off from him. “’Tis mine.” Confusingly enough, that sounded to be the truth.
“Nay,” he drawled out. “It was my father’s.”
The lass shrugged, no longer meeting his eyes. “Perhaps he only had one that looked like mine.”More lies.
Beiste scooted out the chair beside the table and sat down. “I can wait for the truth, lass. I have an infinite amount of patience.” In truth, he was pressed for time. If this took much longer, he was actually quite concerned about hispatience…
“I doubt it,” she said with a wry smile. “Ye strike me as more the pummeling type.”
Beiste chuckled and stroked his thumb and forefinger over the stubble on his chin. “I have been known to be that way.”
The lass turned to face him more. “What’s the big deal about the sword?”
“It was my father’s. I want to know how ye came to be in possession of it.”
“And what will ye give me in return?”
