Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Set her there,” he said coolly, nodding toward the open space before him, his voice carrying easily through the hall.
Bound at the wrists and hooded, she was guided forward between two guards, her steps unsteady but not weak. James stood near the hearth, one hand resting lightly upon the pommel of his sword as he watched her approach.
The guards obeyed, forcing her to her knees before stepping back at a gesture from him.
“Remove it,” James ordered, his gaze fixed upon her as the hood was pulled away. And in that instant, whatever expectation he had held shifted, for this was no common wanderer dragged from the wilds.
Her hair fell free in a long cascade of brown, tangled from travel yet unmistakably fine, catching the firelight with a muted sheen. Her face, though marked by fatigue and faint scrapes, held a refinement that could not be hidden, her features delicate yet set with quiet strength.
When her eyes lifted, green and sharp as glass, they met his without flinching, and something in that steady defiance stirred his interest at once.
His gaze moved over her without haste, taking in the remnants of a well-made gown now torn and dirt-streaked, the posture that spoke of upbringing rather than chance.
“Ye’re nay peasant,” he said at last, his tone measured.
She did not answer immediately, her chin lifting just slightly as if to meet the weight of his scrutiny.
“And ye’re nay fool, I take it,” she replied.
A faint smirk touched his lips, though it did not soften the sharpness in his eyes.
“Careful, lass,” he said, stepping closer, “ye’ve yet to earn the right to speak so freely in me own hall.”
She held his gaze, unyielding, and answered, “And ye’ve yet to prove I should earn it at all. Vile to take a woman and bind her so.”
The guards shifted uneasily at her tone, but James only studied her more intently, intrigue flickering beneath his controlled expression.
“Bold words for a woman found skulkin’ near me stables,” he said, circling her slowly, each step deliberate. “Who are ye?”
“I am nay one,” she said.
“Aye, ye are someone that tried to steal a horse from me stables,” he said.
She gasped. “I am nae a thief!”
“Then what?” he asked as he circled her.
She turned her head slightly to follow him, refusing to cower even as she knelt bound before him. “Why do ye circle me like an animal? Would ye have me tremble, then?” she asked, a trace of challenge in her voice.
He stopped before her, the faintest narrowing of his eyes betraying his reaction.
“Respect is earned, nae given,” he said coolly.
She gave a slight tilt of her head and replied, “Then perhaps ye’ve yet to earn mine, Laird.”
The title did not go unnoticed, and he leaned closer, his voice lowering as he said, “So ye ken who I am, yet ye’ll nae say who ye are.”
She held her silence for a moment, then said, “I ken enough to see that a man givin' orders in a castle is the Laird, I am nay fool.”
“Nay, nae a fool. So what are ye?” he asked, his tone probing now, calculated and precise.
He watched as she looked down at the floor.
“Leave us. Wait outside the door,” he said to the guards, who obeyed and left the room.
James drew his sword with a smooth motion. He lowered the tip beneath her chin. With a slight lift, he forced her to raise her face fully to his, her gaze locked with his despite the precarious position.
“Ye will look at me when I speak,” he said, his voice calm but edged with command.
She did not flinch, though her breath caught briefly as she replied, “I’ve been lookin’ at ye all this time.”
“Then ye’ll see I’m nae a patient man,” he said quietly, the blade steady beneath her chin. “And I’ve little tolerance for lies or half-truths.”
“Then ye’d best stop askin’ questions ye’ve nay right to and let me go,” she shot back.
“Nay right to ask?” he repeated, a hint of amusement threading through his tone. “Ye stand in me hall, on me land, attemptin' to steal me livestock, and ye think I’ve nay right to demand answers?”
She met his gaze with equal intensity and said, “Aye, I do, for I’ve given ye nay cause to claim otherwise as I was nae stealin' a horse, merely looking for a warm place to rest.”
“I am nay bampot, lass. A lone woman, dressed like a lady, wanderin’ near me grounds, and ye call that nay cause? Are ye a spy?” he pressed.
Her lips tightened, though her voice did not falter as she answered, “I was passin’ through, and sought shelter, does that make me a spy in yer eyes?”
James tilted his head slightly, studying her as if weighing each word. “It might, if the timin' suits it,” he said. “The Campbells have been restless, and they’ve used subtler means than open war before.”
At that, something flickered in her eyes, quick and fleeting, but it did not escape him. “I’ve nay ties to that clan,” she said firmly, though she offered nothing more.
“Nay ties ye’ll admit to,” James countered, lowering the blade just slightly though it remained close enough to remind her of its presence.
She drew in a slow breath and said, “Ye’ll get nay spy confession from me, for there’s none to give.”
He watched her closely, noting the steadiness in her voice, the absence of fear where he might have expected it.
“Stubborn,” he muttered, almost to himself, though there was a trace of something else beneath it.
“Proud,” she corrected quietly, lifting her chin despite the sword’s lingering presence.
Their gazes held, neither yielding, the tension between them taught like a drawn bow.
At last, James straightened, lowering his sword fully though he did not sheathe it. His gaze lingered on her, drawn by something he could neither name nor dismiss. And though he told himself she was no more than a potential threat, he was mesmerized by her defiance.
Who is she? I must ken.
“We’ll see how long that pride holds,” he said, his voice returning to its colder edge. He stepped to door and addressed the guards to return.
“Keep her under watch, and see that she’s fed, but she goes nowhere without me say. She will be taken to the dungeon.”
The guards nodded, stepping forward.
“Dungeon? Nay!” she said loudly.
James turned his back to her and smirked. He knew that she would fall into his trap.
“If ye wish to avoid the dungeon, ye will give me the truth,” he said.
James stood rigid before her, the weight of his authority settling coldly into place as he considered her silence.
“I… I cannae say,” she whispered.
“If ye’ve naught to say, then ye’ll find the dungeon a fitting place to think on it,” he said at last, his voice edged with quiet finality.
The guards shifted again at his words, already prepared to carry out the order.
James watched as the woman's composure faltered for the first time, her breath catching as she leaned forward despite the bonds at her wrists. “Fine, then,” she said quickly, her voice tight with urgency, “I’ll tell ye… I cannae bear the dungeon.”
James' gaze narrowed as he studied the crack in her resolve. “Speak then, lass,” he demanded, his tone commanding.
She drew in a steadying breath, her chin lifting once more though her eyes betrayed the strain beneath.
“I’m fleein’ a marriage,” she said.
James did not interrupt, though his expression hardened slightly as she continued.
“A forced one, to a man thrice me age, cruel by all accounts, and wantin’ naught but an heir to his name.”
A faint murmur stirred among the guards, but James silenced it with a glance, his attention fixed wholly upon her.
“And ye expect me to believe ye simply ran, alone, through the Highlands to flee a marriage?” he asked, skepticism threading his tone.
She met his gaze without flinching and replied, “I’d rather face the wilds than be bound to him, so aye…I ran.”
He studied her closely, searching for deceit, yet found only a fierce, stubborn truth in her expression.
“And what is it ye want now?” he asked, his voice quieter now, though no less guarded.
She swallowed, her hands shifting against their bindings as she said, “Shelter… only for a short while, till I can gather me strength.”
James said nothing, and she pressed on, urgency rising in her voice.
“I’ll accept any terms ye set, any at all, so long as ye daenae send me back home.”
There was no pride in the plea now, only raw determination edged with desperation. “I’ll work as a servant if need be,” she added quickly, “I ask for nay comfort, only safety.”
Something shifted in him at that, though he gave no outward sign beyond a slight narrowing of his eyes.
Her words rang with a kind of honesty he had not expected, and her courage, even in desperation, stirred a reluctant respect.
Yet even as he considered her, another thought pressed in, cold and practical as ever.
I should return her. I’ll nae take another man’s betrothed and risk war for the sake of a stranger, nay matter how bold she may be.
The memory of past choices weighed heavily in that moment, a quiet warning he could not ignore. Still, he did not turn away from her, nor dismiss her outright.
“What is yer name?” he asked at last, his voice measured once more.
She hesitated only briefly before answering, “Eloise Whitmore, daughter to Alastair Whitmore.”
James’s gaze sharpened as recognition flickered faintly. “Whitmore,” he repeated, more to himself than to her, as he considered the implications. “A wealthy landowner, if I recall, though nae one of these lands.”
Eloise nodded slightly and said, “Aye, that’s so, or at least, it was. It’s his debts that have brought me to this betrothal.” There was bitterness in her tone now, though she held herself steady beneath it.
James exhaled slowly, the decision forming even as conflict lingered beneath it.
“Ye’ll have shelter here,” he said at last, his tone firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
“Ye’ll be fed, seen to, and given proper clothing,” he continued, his gaze unwavering.
“But make nay mistake, lass, this is nae a permanent refuge. In a few days’ time, when ye’ve regained yer strength, I’ll return ye to yer father, where ye belong. ”
James turned to leave, the matter settled in his mind, though not without its unrest, when her voice cut through the air behind him.
“Nay,” she said, firmly, “ye daenae return me to me father, ye return me to Laird Drummond.”