Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
“I have no plans to—” he started.
In the dimly lit corridor, his voice seemed to echo throughout the halls like a war cry. Keith stood face-to-face with his grandmother, taking in her weathered face and noticing the fine lines that had seemed to only become deeper with each passing morning. Yet, there was a hint of mischief behind her eyes, a sure sign that she remained sharp as ever.
“It doesnae matter what ye have plans for, Keith.”
He looked down at her, his mouth a tight line. “I am the Laird—”
“Ye are… for now.” Katherine frowned.
It had been days since the last council meeting, and Katherine had been pestering him constantly, mentioning ladies and their fathers, gatherings, and letters. Keith did not care for it and wanted no part of it. He had told her over and over again that he had no intention of finding a wife.
“Laird Clyde will be arriving soon with his daughters,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Ye will discuss the usual business, but above all else, we will encourage discussions of weddin’ his oldest daughter.”
Keith frowned. He knew of Laird Clyde’s daughters, and the oldest, Ailis, was said to be bonny. It was a strategic move, one that could only strengthen his clan and, in turn, protect his people. Yet, the very idea left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He took a deep breath, in an attempt to mask his annoyance and anger. “Does she even ken what she is gettin’ into?” he asked, his voice rising.
Keith knew he was not someone that was easy on the eyes.
Katherine cocked her head to the side, her gaze narrowing as her mind worked on a clever retort, but he would have no part of it.
Keith, his fists clenched and his muscles tight, let out a bitter little laugh. “Aye, no doubt she will ken me as a monster. Isnae that what all lassies dream of? Weddin’ a beast.”
The air between them was heavy. Katherine’s relentless gaze bored into him, digging deep and taking hold of his nerves. She swallowed back whatever she had planned to say and offered him a slight bow, dismissing them both from the conversation, but it was Keith who walked away first.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, mostly curses. The Laird of MacDean moved along the stony hallways, hearing his own breath echoing in the air. His entire body was tense, caving inward on itself. He felt sweat dripping from his forehead, slipping underneath the leather mask.
The stone walls of the corridor were quiet witnesses to his anger. He barely seemed to notice the servants scurrying past with their heads bowed. Most seemed to fear him, and he had come to find peace in that. The further he kept them at bay, the better.
None of the servants made to acknowledge him but one. The maid had stopped dead in her tracks as she approached him, her eyes wide as they fell onto his partially covered face before her gaze swooped to his feet. He gave her nothing more than a sideways glance as they passed each other wordlessly.
He did not know her. Perhaps she was new. Truly, he did not care.
Keith continued to walk on, his mind spinning.
On either side of the walls were portraits of the Lairds and Ladies who had come before him. He knew them all, each brush stroke, each name, and their history. Someday, his face, or part of it, would be there as well.
He looked away as he came across the final portraits on the wall. Their eyes seemed to follow him as he moved even quicker still. His parents’ faces were proud and kind, but their memories did nothing but make him upset.
Dinnae look at them .
As he reached the heavy wooden door leading up to the tower, he yanked it open with a forceful jolt. The hinges cried out in protest, and the sound echoed through the corridor. He wasted no time and stormed up the spiral flight of stairs that wound their way up to the heavens.
With each step, the narrow windows set in thick stone let in more and more light. At the top, the glow from outside revealed the room. Unfinished paintings leaned against the curved walls, their canvases speckled with vibrant shades of red.
There was no other color on his palette, only various shades of blood and fire.
An easel stood in the middle of the room, the canvas blank.
Keith’s brushstrokes were bold and unrelenting, the red paint dripped like blood on the stark white canvas. Each stroke drove him deeper and deeper as swirls of crimson soon took shape and formed into warriors.
As he painted, the sun dipped lower into the sky, casting long shadows over the room. The dying light only seemed to clash against his work, deepening the shadows. Like it often did, time slipped through his fingers like sand, and the world beyond his tower became forgotten.
He did not like the idea of his life being dictated by his council and grandmother.
If Faither were alive… No.
He shook his head, locking that thought into the back of his mind. It would not do him any good to think of his parents now.
He thought about Ailis—he had met her years prior—but the only image that came to his mind was the way she had reacted to him before. Would she recoil when she came face-to-face with him again? He would not blame her if she did, of course. He knew how he appeared.
By the time he finally stepped back from the easel, the room was dark, and the painting before him was almost black. He stood there, his heart racing as his mind settled. All the stress he had felt was painted red, forced onto the canvas before him. He sighed, wiping his brow with the back of his hand before turning to the door.
His hand rested on the wooden surface, his fist clenched, his jaw tight, as he tried to settle himself once more. Part of him knew that he did not have much of a choice, especially if he planned to keep his position, and that there were vultures circling him in the skies and within his own walls.
I willnae wed the Clyde lass.
Oh, Maisie, what have ye gotten yerself into?
Her heart raced as she rushed through the dimly lit library of Castle MacDean. She was almost certain that everyone could hear it thundering. The ill-fitted skirts rustled around her as she walked, keeping a steadfast pace but not going fast enough to draw any attention to herself. Her disguise as a scullery maid seemed to hold up, but she could not afford to let her guard down for even a moment.
With the stolen book pressed against her apron, she tried desperately to keep the smile off her face. The Beastly Laird had an incredible collection, which thankfully had been sorted by the name of the titles. Finding the novel, the Laird’s Mistress , had been so very easy. It took all of her will not to open the pages there and then, but she was not about to risk it all.
As her trembling hand clutched the handle of the door, she could hardly believe her luck. Everything had gone so smoothly at this point, but she knew she was still on borrowed time. She pushed the door open, using her shoulder to brace it, and then slipped into the hallway.
Leona and Isobel arenae likely to believe it.
She could already hear Leona’s chastisement paired with Isobel’s lecture about the danger she had put herself in. Maisie smiled to herself, celebrating prematurely her small victory.
As she walked, her head low, she felt a sudden chill.
“Ye there, stop!”
Maisie froze, her heart skipping a beat. She turned slowly, her eyes meeting those of a man who seemed to emerge from the shadows. He was tall, lean, with golden hair that framed his square jawline. He took a step towards her, his head cocked to the side as his eyes took her in. The man was not eying her the way that most men did. This was something more—he was scrutinizing her.
Doubt washed over her, and she swallowed hard. She had two options: stay and come up with a convincing lie, or run.
Maisie turned on her heel and bolted, ignoring the commands being shouted from behind. The man was catching up with ease, and she knew he would catch her if she didn’t act fast.
She cursed under her breath as she continued to run, swearing mostly at the clothing that was restricting her movement. Her eyes moved frantically along the many doors that lined the corridor.
How many rooms does this damn castle have?
When she had arrived in the early hours of the morning, she had made an effort to plan an escape route in case something like this had happened, but any memory of where that was had been washed away. Panic was setting into her bones, and she knew she was lost within the halls.
The hallway was only lit by the moonlight filtering in through the windows of the castle. Shadows seemed to grow and move on their own as she continued.
Maisie glanced over her shoulder. She did not see the man, but she sure could hear him; the sound of his steps drowned out all other noise.
I need to hide, now.
The door to her side creaked open, and she slipped inside, shutting it carefully and soundlessly. Her trembling hands grasped the heavy bar, securing the door as firmly as she could. She sighed and turned, leaning against the wood as she caught her breath.
Inside, the room was gently illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of a crackling fire. Her chest heaved as she fought to steady her breathing, each inhale a struggle against the beating of her heart. Maisie strained her ears, listening for any tell-tale sign of the man who had been pursuing her.
I will wait a wee bit and then leave.
Her eyes wandered across the bedchamber, past the large bed, the mirror on the other side, and the tapestries that lined the walls. Eventually, her gaze settled on the window.
How high is it?
She stepped forward, wondering if she had caught a glimpse of her potential escape route. She approached carefully, contemplating the risks and rewards.
A heavy sigh escaped her. Too high.
Suddenly, she was pulled back with startling force. The scream in her throat was muffled by a hand covering her mouth. She pushed back against the man behind her, driving her elbow into his chest. He grunted. The sound seemed a mix of annoyance and amusement.
Then, she felt it, something cool and sharp against her throat. Her entire body turned to ice, and her feet rooted to the spot as her muscles tensed. It was a blade—cold, hard steel.
The man behind her was large, built of pure muscle, with an unwavering grip. His voice was deep, sultry, and enough to send shivers through her entire being.
“Well, what have we here?”