Chapter 3
Amara worked at the leather strips binding her hands together. If she could just get her hands free, she’d be able to work on the bits that tied her waist to the tree. They were really tight, though. She’d torn one fingernail already, trying to loosen the knot.
“It’s nay use, lass,” the one called William said. “The laird is kent for his knots. Ye willnae be able to escape them.”
“Doesnae mean I will just stand here, tied up like a pig, without tryin’,” she argued.
The other, called Myles, sat on a rock, whittling on a stick with his dagger. He didn’t bother to look up at her while he worked, taking sips from his flask every now and then. William paced in front of her, casting worried looks her way.
“Laird O’Donnell is ruthless, aye,” He said, his tone quiet and pleasant, as if he were discussing the weather. “But he’s honorable. And fair.”
Amara raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “Ye think tying a lady to a tree is honorable?” Her voice was low and even sounded pleasant, but the fire in her eyes told another story.
“If ye wouldnae have attacked us and had actually acted like a lady, ye wouldnae be tied up,” Myles snarled, still not bothering to look at her.
“And how is a lady supposed to act when she’s being attacked and kidnapped?” Amara snapped back. “Ye expect me to act like one of the English lassies and just meekly do as I’m told? I’m a highland lady, ye ken!”
“We are nae kidnappin’ ye,” William broke in, frustration thickening his voice. “Ye are just bein’… delayed while the laird has a talk with yer faither.”
Amara stiffened at that.
The last time the O’Donnell and Murdoch lairds had words, one of them ended up dead. Her face paled at the reminder and William must have noticed. His expression softened and he shook his head.
“It’s just an exchange,” he explained. “Ye for the laird’s cousin who yer faither is holdin’.”
No wonder Rhys was in such a foul mood. Nae only was one of his kinsmen bein’ held, but the man was his blood kin as well.
“Yer laird rode to meet me faither without escort or guards?” Amara asked after a few minutes. “Daenae ye think that was a bit mad?”
“What do ye call us then? Oi, Billy — she thinks ye and I arenae guards for the laird,” Myles said.
William scoffed and shook his head, “Aside from us. By comin’ here, essentially unarmed, he’s tellin’ yer faither that he isnae there to start a war. If yer faither were to attack, he knows ‘twould start a war and several other lairds would be on our side.”
“Would also show him for the coward he really is,” Myles added.
Amara stiffened and shot a glare at Myles. “Me faither is nae a coward!”
Even as determined as she was in her tone, she doubted her words but couldn’t put her finger on why.
Myles just shrugged and continued whittling at the stick with slow, unconcerned strokes of his dagger.
“Me faither didnae kill Laird O’Donnell,” she continued, working furiously at the knots binding her wrists now. “He is honorable and would never do such a thing.”
Neither man argued with her. Amara hissed as another fingernail split from her efforts to free herself, but she didn’t continue the conversation either.
The cold had crept into her boots and settled into her bones. Had she been able to walk around, she wouldn’t be so cold, but even though the sun filtered, albeit weakly, through the canopy above, it wasn’t enough to warm her.
She wasn’t sure how long it had been since Rhys had left, but it seemed like ages had passed by when she finally heard a horse approaching. Briefly, she hoped it was one of her clan, but when Rhys and his large black stallion broke through the trees, she gave up that small hope.
The look on his face as he dismounted sent chills of foreboding down her spine.
His jaw was tight, as if he was clenching his teeth.
Dark eyelashes snapped with anger as his eyes met her gaze briefly before jerking away.
Color rode high on his cheeks and Amara knew it wasn’t just from the cold weather and brisk ride.
So… Faither hasnae agreed to the exchange after all.
It hurt more than she expected. A rock seemed to drop down into her belly and sat there, painfully heavy.
Her throat closed up, and her eyes burned.
True, her father had been different toward her since the massacre, cold even, but to allow her to remain in the hands of their enemy seemed cruel.
She would have never guessed that. But she needed to know for sure.
“Well?” she hissed, glaring up at him.
Rhys ignored her and simply looked at his men, who wordlessly stood to join him.
Faither must have a plan. He wouldnae let the O’Donnells take me.
Amara felt hope bloom in her chest. He hadn’t forsaken her. Wouldn’t. He just had another plan. A plan that would see her freed, but also made sure they kept the O’Donnell as prisoner.
Rhys had to be sour about not getting his way, good! She thought, and pride for her father’s judgment coursed through her veins.
If this is what I need to do for the clan, then so be it.
Her eyes flashed up skyward and focused on the small sliver of blue that pierced through the canopy.
For ye, Faither. I will trust this plan.
One more deep and prideful inhale that she exhaled loudly, and stood taller than she had been before. Ignoring the kernel of doubt that planted itself in her soul and stayed there.
I trust me faither.
I trust me faither.
“Kill her for all I care.”
That had been Laird Murdoch’s answer when Rhys had suggested the trade. There had been no hesitation. No concern for his only child. Nothing.
Just cold disregard and adamant refusal. Rhys had not been expecting that. He figured the laird would try to negotiate. Argue a bit to save his pride. But outright refusal had not been one of the scenarios he had ever imagined.
“Rhys?” William asked quietly, shooting a glance at the lass to make sure she couldn’t hear them.
She was still tied to the tree several feet away and Rhys barely refrained from wincing when he saw the pride and loyalty shining in her eyes.
There was pain there, in the corners of her eyes, a deep and secret pain there that she carried.
Rhys shook his head. “The bastard refused to trade,” he answered in just as quiet a tone. “Told me he didnae care.”
Myles dropped the stick he’d been whittling away at. Unlike William, who looked concerned for the lass, Myles looked irritated and put out.
“So, the exchange?” Myles asked.
“Nay,” Rhys answered and ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “Ye daenae understand, man, he told me to kill her, he didnae care, and he’s nay goin’ to give Finn back to us.”
“What?” William asked incredulously. “Surely he didnae mean —”
“It’s what he said… shouted it, even,” Rhys explained with disgust. “From the bloody wall, nay less, so that all of his clan could hear. He said she was nay use to him, and we could put a blade in her gut if we liked.”
William cursed under his breath, shooting a sympathetic look toward Amara. Rhys noted several of the leathers were looser than when he had left her, and she was still moving those devious fingers.
“Mayhap she’s brained him one too many times with a stray branch,” Myles grumbled.
Rhys shot him an irritated glare. Myles just shrugged and rubbed the side of his head where Amara had whacked him earlier.
“I kent Laird Murdoch was cold, but It’s soulless to nae even fight for his daughter.”
Rhys agreed, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The older laird had been adamant. He’d been very clear that he couldn’t care less whether he saw his daughter again.
Whether she lived or died. He didn’t understand it, could not fathom a father who wouldn’t do whatever possible to protect his child.
He thought of his own daughter, Daisy. She was just six years old, and Rhys knew he would move Heaven and Earth to get her back in the safety of his arms. He missed her even now, when he had gone just a matter of hours.
The thought of never seeing her again… Rhys stopped the thought before it could fully form as a shudder ran the length of his body.
“What do we do now?” William asked.
Rhys’s gaze swept over Amara. She was watching them, probably trying to hear their conversation. She met his eyes squarely, barely blinking. She was strong and courageous.
Was O’Donnell intimidated by that?
Rhys mentally shook his head. He found the traits fascinating and intriguing. He admired strength, even though those very same qualities were going to cause him trouble; he was sure.
“We ride,” he announced, loud enough for the lass to hear him. Her eyes widened, and she looked in the direction of the castle, even though she couldn’t see it through the trees.
“And?” Myles asked, tossing a hand in Amara’s direction.
He felt the bitter taste sitting heavily on his tongue with the disgust he felt for Laird O’Donnell. Not able to mold his thoughts, Rhys simply sucked his teeth.
“What about Finn?” William asked. “Are we just goin’ to leave him with the Murdoch?”
Rhys' mouth tightened into a grim line. “For now. We must.”
He strode over to Amara, drawing his dirk as he walked. Her eyes dropped to the blade and widened slightly before she tightened her lips and jutted her chin up defiantly.
“Do ye really think I would be so cowardly so as to stab a lass bound to a tree? Any lass for that matter, bound or nay?”
“I’ve only kent ye to mow down innocent Murdochs… and kidnap them. What else am I supposed to think?”
He continued to close the distance to her, adjusting his hold of the sharp end of the dagger into his palm. The innocent confusion that played across her face made his core tighten.
“Oh aye, of course. Considerin’ the man ye have for a faither.”
“Leave me faither out of this. He has a plan, and ye are just sorry that ye didnae think about it before goin’ to him. Did he make ye feel like a daft fool? I hope he did,” Amara said quickly, and the pride in her voice cut him deeper than he had ever thought possible.
It’s sad. He thought as he stopped and straightened. Should I tell her?
Then, an image of Amara’s pale, perfect skin being marred by a large red, angry handprint formed in Rhys’s mind. It was the most likely outcome of a simple conversation between father and daughter, but the father is a monster and the daughter is porcelain.
Why do I even care? He thought and scowled as he moved behind the tree.
After slicing the leather bindings on her wrists and around her waist, he gathered the ends and moved back around the tree to face her. Her eyes found and watched him the entire time.
“Lass,” he quietly warned, noting the defiance in her eyes as she made to step away from the tree and undoubtedly take off sprinting again. “Change of plans. I have a better use for ye.”
Rhys grabbed her arm purposefully as he made to help her to her feet, but she immediately tried to jerk out of his hold. “I’ll make yer life hell, Rhys Adams.” His grip tightened until a gasp escaped her lips, but he was having none of it and practically dragged her to his horse.
“Bonny promises, lass. I wonder if ye even ken how to make good on them. I do love a challenge.”
Without another word from either of them, he hefted her atop his stallion and then mounted quickly in front of her, not giving her a chance to jump off and escape.
Amara sat stiff and straight behind him, and he shook his head as he reached behind him and gripped her wrists, wrapping them around his waist. With a click of his tongue, his horse took off at a light jog, and she instinctively tightened her grip around him to keep from losing her seat.
The new position had her breasts pressed against his back, and Rhys swore he could feel her nipples poking through her gown, his tartan, and his tunic, all the way to his skin.
He glanced down to his waist, where her hands were wrapped tightly around him. Such small hands, but his wrapped around hers, locking them in place.
“Well, I suppose we’ll need to get a wee bit creative if we’re goin’ to get Finn back,” Myles said sarcastically, distracting Rhys, but her breasts leaped up and down his back as his horse jogged on.
“How do ye suppose we do that, Myles?” William asked playfully.
Rhys heard Amara mocking him quietly, “Howdoyesupposewedothat? Dobber,” she hissed under her breath, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“We could disguise ourselves as monks,” Myles said, and William snorted. Rhys rolled his eyes but said nothing. “Get inside the castle with robes and righteous purpose.”
“And do what? Bless the guards into submission?” William quipped.
“We could seduce the cook then. Aye, Billy?” Myles continued, undaunted. “I’ve always said I’ve got a monk’s face and a harlot’s charm.”
He laughed humorlessly, the sound echoing through the forest as they rode. “William. And the last time ye tried to flirt with a kitchen maid, she near set ye on fire.”
“’Twas one time, William,” Myles grumbled. “And she misunderstood me compliment about her buns.”
William gestured his hands lewdly behind Myles’s back, and Amara snickered softly behind him. Rhys’s lips twitched.
His clansmen were trying to distract him from Finn’s capture and failed release, and it was starting to work. At least a little.
“Aye,” William chuckled. “She misunderstood right after ye touched her buns.”
Myles lowered his voice as if in a conspiratorial whisper. “We could sneak in as minstrels. I’ll play the lute and ye pretend to have a tragic past and sad eyes.”
Rhys couldn’t help himself. He glanced backward at Myles to see his mournful expression. He did chuckle then and shook his head at their playful antics.
“Do I look like a bleeding poet to ye?” William demanded.
“Nay, but smell like one,” Rhys heard Amara say under her breath, and he nearly snorted with laughter.
“Nay, but ye right smell like one, Billy. Unwashed and full of self-pity.” Myles echoed, and Rhys couldn’t help his laughter then.
A low growl came from William. “I swear, I’ll knock ye both from yer saddles and beat ye with yer own arms.”
Myles cackled then, throwing his head back, and Rhys too joined him in laughter. Myles finally caught his breath and wheezed, “Then I’ll have to play the love song of yer bruised arse and me broken pride.”
Suddenly, he felt a shift behind him and a rush of cool air. The thud was loud and clumsy, and on the ground, he saw Amara. Who was already in a dead sprint straight for the trees.
And he couldn’t help but smile.