Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Damn him!
A blaze of furious heat coursed through her. She slammed her palm against the wood, then pounded her fists against the aged timber, her outrage outpacing her exhaustion. All she achieved was a painful splinter of wood stabbing into her hand. The door remained resolutely closed.
Huffing with indignation, she retreated to her seat by the fire, and slowly extracted the splinter, ignoring the sting and the droplet of blood that appeared in its wake.
The door finally opened, scraping heavily against the flagstones and none other than the mighty laird stood there, filling the threshold. A dark silhouette carved from granite.
Selene got to her feet, shrugging the blanket tight around her as he strode into the room without so much as knocking or asking her permission.
These ill-mannered Scots are scarcely the same species as the polite Englishmen I am used to.
Scrambling to her feet, she rounded on him. “Why…” she demanded, fury crackling in her voice, “am I locked in this room like a criminal? I have done nothing wrong!”
Kenneth’s expression remained calm. Far too calm.
“That remains tae be seen,” he said evenly. He took one of the chairs from beside the table and placed it beside hers. He spread his legs astride the chair and leaned his elbows on the back of it, fixing his penetrating gaze intently on her.
“Now tell me why ye’re here. And give me every detail of yer journey until the moment I came on board the unmarked birlinn ye travelled in.”
Steeling herself, Selene, tossed her head defiantly.
“And if I tell you my story, will you believe me?”
A grin quirked at the corners of his mouth. “Mayhap. I have yet tae decide.”
She bristled at that. “I am not given to lying, Sir Kenneth.”
With that said, she launched herself into an explanation of travelling to join her sister on Raasay, of her brother-in-law’s message and the need for the two clans, the MacLeods of Raasay and the MacDonalds of Sleat to settle their differences.
Then she related the long story of her arduous journey north.
She sparred him no detail of the discomfort, the ambush, the storm, the deaths of her escort, the lost letter.
When she finished, Kenneth was silent for several long moments.
“And ye expect me tae believe ye carry peace when ye cannae produce a single scrap of proof?” he said at last.
“How can I have proof?” she snapped, rolling her eyes.
Oh, this brute is infuriating, despite his handsome face.
“You saw exactly what happened at sea. There was not one single soul left alive when you… you… rescued me from those murderers.”
He nodded, his gaze never faltering, his expression remaining stern.
“I expect you to judge fairly.” She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes without flinching.
His jaw flexed, but his eyes remained unreadable.
“I shall dispatch a message tae Laird Halvard. Me men will carry it to the Isle of Raasay – a day’s sail from here. Until I receive verification of yer tale from him, ye’ll remain at Duntulm. I’ll nae risk me people on naught but an Englishwoman’s word.”
She fumed silently at that. He said the word Englishwoman with such scorn.
He nodded toward the window, where the shutters rattled under the force of the storm.
“And wi’ this weather, nay message will leave Duntulm fer days. Mayhap longer. The storms have cut us off.”
At his words a coldness far deeper than her bath settled into Selene’s bones.
She was trapped.
Alone.
And entirely at the mercy of the Brute of Sleat.
There must be something she could do. It was clear that quarreling with him would not to be to her benefit, so she turned up her lips in what she hoped was a winning smile.
“I trust you will not object to me penning a letter to my brother-in-law?” she said sweetly.
“Ah. Of course. An educated lady. Ye are able tae read and write.”
“Of course, I am educated, and of course I am able to write.” She gave him a scathing look. “I am surprised that you are able to write.”
He did not take her bait. Instead of lashing out at her insulting remark, he chuckled.
“Aye lass. As I’m certain ye would have discovered during yer stay in Edinburgh, the Scots are educated and refined. Unlike most of the English who are without the wit to discern the difference between a quill and ink and a garden hoe and a pig’s manure.”
She huffed indignantly. “Ye are correct in saying there are educated Scots. I certainly met many of them during my stay in Edinburgh. But things are different in the Highlands, where the refinement of the city has yet to extend.”
“Dinnae take on so, lass. The learning ye so admired in Edinburgh spreads all over this land.” He grinned. “Even tae these far-flung isles.”
In response she lifted her chin, not deigning to answer.
“I shall send a maid tae ye wi’ paper, quill and ink and, if ye scribe yer missive, it will travel tae Raasay wi’ me own letter.”
He glanced around the spartan little chamber. “I ken this is nae the grandeur ye’re accustomed tae but I believe ye will be comfortable here.”
She gave a grudging nod as he turned to go.
“Ye will remain here until the morning. In the meantime, I’ll instruct me men tae deliver yer trunk so ye may clad yerself in something other than a rough blanket.” He eyed her boldly, a smile hovering on his lips.
Dear Lord, she had forgotten she was naked beneath the voluminous blanket wrapping her. Her heart gave a little jump. A rush of heat to her cheeks greeted the embarrassing realization.
“Dinnae fash, lass,” he said as if he could read her mind. “I’ll speak wi’ ye again come the morrow.” He gestured toward the table which was laden with bowls and dishes. “I trust ye have adequate nourishment fer yer supper.”
In response her belly grumbled loudly, causing him to chuckle and her cheeks to redden.
“Enjoy yer repast, Lady Selene. I shall greet ye on the morrow after me meeting wi’ the Council, when we will discuss yer future.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgement as he turned on his heel and strode to the door, opened it and. stepped outside. Before the door closed he looked up. “Good night,” he muttered.
That confounded grin was still spread across his cheeks.
Selene paused for a heartbeat, ears straining. But there was no sound of a key being turned in the lock.
He had remained true to his word. She was no longer being held as a prisoner.