Page 34 of Unchain the Highlander's Heart

“I… I daenae know why I kept that. I cannae wear it, though,” she said, knowing the feelings it would arouse if she did.

“Nonsense–we shall set that aside. Now, what about this one? The cerulean blue–from Edinburgh, nay less,” Freya said, continuing to rummage in the wardrobe and throwing out garments for the maids to catch.

This unexpected interruption continued for much of the morning, and it was not until long after the gong had gone for breakfast that Murdina finally emerged from her chambers. She had been persuaded by Freya to wear a dress that had belonged to their mother, whose slender figure and petite shoulders were a perfect match for her own. Freya had forced her to try it on, and she had gazed at herself in the mirror, trying hard not to think about the potential suitors she was meant to attract.

“I still believe this is all a terrible mistake,” she told her sister, but Freya was not listening, and now she had carried out the duty she believed was hers, she returned to her own self-preoccupations.

Downstairs, Murdina found her father in the great hall, sitting with the clan’s ruling council members. He ignored her, but as she ate a bowl of porridge, she listened as talk turned to the feast that evening.

“Will ye allow yer gilded prisoner to attend, laird–perhaps seein’ a few familiar faces might bring back his memories,” one of the clansmen said, and the others laughed.

“Aye, a few of them might have some memories of their own–be wary, laird. Ye might find yer guest on the end of a sword,” another replied, and a ripple of laughter went around the table.

Murdina’s father merely waved his hand dismissively and sat back in his chair with a smile on his face.

“Tis’ good sport. But aye, he will be at the feast. Ye are right, Robert, perhaps it will help his memory, or perhaps it will help others with theirs,” he said, glancing at Murdina, who lowered her gaze.

She thought back to the evening before, to the kiss she had shared with the prisoner–a man she did not think of as a prisoner at all. Try as she might, and knowing the danger he posed, she could not bring herself to entirely distrust him, even as it was clear the clan itself had little time for the laird’s decision to release him.

“Or perhaps the truth will be as he says,” she said, and all eyes turned to her in surprise.

“And what dae ye know of it, Murdina? Are ye now a warrior?” the one named Robert asked, and the others laughed.

“He will remember,” Murdina replied, thinking back to the symbol of the knot–another piece of the puzzle.

“We shall see,” her father said, rising to his feet, a signal for the others to do the same.

But Murdina remained at her place, her thoughts turned to Kin, and the possibility of what the feast might bring…

* * *

Kin awoke to the sound of a key turning in the lock. He rolled onto his side and sat up, bleary-eyed, for he had slept deeply–the bed far more comfortable than that in his prison cell. The door opened, and Cillian appeared, followed by a maid who carried a tray with porridge, bread, and a cup of milk.

“Ye will have yer breakfast here,” Cillian said, eyeing Kin suspiciously.

“Am I not trusted to eat in the great hall? Does the laird not think my company would please him?” Kin replied, taking the tray from the maid, and setting it down on the bed.

“On the contrary, the laird has sent me with a message for ye. Tonight, there is to be a grand feast–tis’ a surprise for the three sisters–and the laird has invited ye to dine with him on the high table. He thinks it may help ye in recalling yer memories,” Cillian replied.

Kin shook his head in astonishment–one moment he was a prisoner, locked in the dungeons with only the rats for company, and the next he was feted as an honored guest and asked to dine with the nobles of the Jacobite cause.

“What am I to wear?” he asked, and Cillian held out a bundle of clothes.

“The laird has sent ye these–they are from his own wardrobe, nay less. Ye are certainly a fortunate favorite, it would seem,” he replied, and Kin took the bundle of clothes with a puzzled expression on his face.

“And you say this feast is for the three sisters? What warrants it?” he asked.

“They are to be presented to the Jacobite leaders–clansmen who are searchin’ for wives,” Cillian replied, his demeanor suddenly changing.

“Murdina, too?” Kin asked.

“Aye, Murdina, too. Now. Finish yer breakfast and make ready. We shall make ourselves useful with the preparations,” Cillian said.

Kin smiled to himself. The thought of joining the feast pleased him–it might bring back memories still shrouded in mist, and it might, too, be a chance to further his relations with Murdina, for whether or not a woman waited for him at home, he could not help the feelings growing stronger in his heart, feelings which would not be easily ignored.

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