Chapter 3 #2
“For all the good it did me,” Skye said bitterly. “Laird MacArthur seems to be a persistent hunter. Despite all, he found me.”
“And yer maither?” asked the second washer woman.
Skye felt her skin goosepimple despite the warm bath water and the fire on the hearth. “Dead,” she stated, running the cleaning cloth down her arm. “Dead, and beyond his reach. He’ll harm her nay more.”
The two women murmured words of respect for the dead, and no doubt made signs against ghosts behind their backs. But they helped Skye into her fresh chemise and gown handily enough.
Then they escorted her back to the dining hall, leaving no opportunity for escape.
“There she is,” Grayson drawled as he lifted a mug of ale to his lips.
Skye took her usual place at his right, and Arran sat directly across from her. Her eyes were downcast.
“Brown hair suits ye, Daughter, but I prefer red. Ye’ll nae dye it again.”
Skye shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and she bit her lower lip to keep from blurting out a retort.
A kitchen maid placed a large tray of baked fish surrounded by carrots, parsnips, and potatoes on the table, and another placed a bowl of rabbit stew in front of each one of them. Round loaves of brown bread lay in baskets at the center of the table.
Skye smiled when Mary walked in with a tray of mugs and a pitcher of water. The maid didn’t dare glance her way, but when she placed her mug on the table, Skye was able to look her in the eye and wink at her in reassurance.
Mary nodded back at her to show that she understood.
“Do ye nae think she is a bonnie lass, Arran? She’d warm a man’s bed just fine, would she nae?”
Skye noticed Arran shifting in his chair, and anger flashed in his eyes.
“Aye, she is a bonny one, she is. But that’s nae me concern. Do ye have the deeds drawn up?”
Deeds? What deeds?
“What’s yer hurry, lad? Dinner has just been served. We will eat, and then I’ll have an explanation as to why there is just one woman sitting at me table instead of two.”
Arran started to reply, but a maid picked up his mug and refilled it. While he waited for the maid to leave, Skye looked at him, frozen in her chair, and wondered what he was going to tell Laird MacKeith.
Now free to speak, Arran explained, “Me men and I found Skye living alone in a small cottage just past Dunefall.”
“Dunefall?” Grayson exclaimed. “That’s more than a day’s ride! What was Helena doing? Did she find another man? There’s nay way she could have survived on her own. Quite the sheep, that woman!”
“I dinnae ken. Skye served the surrounding farmers and the village as a healer. She was alone.”
“Where was her maither?” MacKeith asked.
“I asked, of course. I searched, too. Skye said her maither died.”
Skye detected the slightest change in the tone of Arran’s voice and was surprised he’d been able to answer so quickly. He sounded very convincing, and she made a mental note to add lying to her list of his talents along with kidnapping.
She let out a breath she’d been holding. Arran could have told MacKeith where her mother was, but he kept his word.
“And ye believed her?”
“Nay, I didnae. But as I said, we searched. And I sent me men to ask the villagers. No one had ever seen her maither, ever.”
“What does that even mean? Nae one person ever saw Helena?”
“Skye kept her hidden away when she was alive. The scar on her forehead was too noticeable. Someone might have recognized her.”
“Ye always were a smart one, ye were, Daughter. But that’s quite unfortunate,” Grayson replied quietly.
Skye knew this tone. He didn’t believe everything Arran was saying.
“Aye, it is. But as ye see, I wasnae able to bring yer wife back, but ye have Skye. I’d like to get the deeds and be on me way.”
“Very unfortunate, indeed,” Grayson murmured as if he didn’t hear him. He paused, and then he turned and looked at Skye, but this time in a different way. “So, ye’re sure Helena’s dead and I’m a widower, huh?” he asked without looking away from her.
Arran nodded. “Aye, I am.”
Grayson lifted his hand and stroked his beard. “Aye, it is most unfortunate. But nay matter. I have the real prize sitting here before me.”
“What do ye mean?” Skye asked.
“Yer beauty is renowned across the Highlands, ye ken that. I’ve received several offers for yer hand in marriage. I only need to find which suitor will pay the most for ye.”
Skye gasped.
Grayson’s lips curled into an evil smile. “I mean the best offer,” he corrected himself.
“I willnae be sold to the highest bidder! Do ye hear me?! Ye dinnae care about yer clan. Ye never cared about me or me maither! Yer greed and selfishness cloud every decision ye make.”
Skye rose from the table and turned to leave, but Grayson reached up and grabbed her arm hard. She winced.
“Ye dinnae have a say now, do ye, lassie?” His rancid breath fanned her ear, and he roughly pushed her down to her knees.
Suddenly, there was a crashing of mugs and plates as Arran flew across the table and landed a solid punch to Laird MacKeith’s face. He drew his fist back, ready to pummel him again.
“Guards!” Blackwell screeched, shrinking in his chair, not even trying to defend himself.
Arran snarled at him, but then two burly guards quickly grabbed him from behind and pulled him down and away from their Laird. Arran turned, wrenching his arms from their grasp, and punching the one on his left in the face, while stamping his bootheel into the one on the right.
More guards ran to the fighting men. One pulled back his laird’s chair, getting him out of danger, while four more waded into the conflict.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Skye ran toward the doors, only to be blocked by her erstwhile serving maids. They held her fast, not allowing her to leave the room. They turned her about so she saw Arran try brought down by a blow to the head.
Grayson Blackwell screamed at Arran,“Ye dare strike me, lad? And while we’re sharing a meal, too?
” Now that his guards were holding Arran down, he continued.
“Listen to me well. Ye willnae get yer deeds until I am satisfied that Helena is truly dead. And I’m only making that concession because the Highland Council witnessed our agreement. ”
Arran shook his head trying to clear it. “How? Who? What?”
“Nay questions!” Grayson interrupted and held up a still-shaking hand. “Ye’ve committed a terrible deed, assaulting me the way ye did. Wars have started for less. When the council hears about this, ye’ll pay for what ye’ve done.”
“Ye’ll get nothing from me, Laird MacKeith. Ye are the one that owes me… and owes me clan.”
Grayson Blackwell ignored him and continued. “While I look for proof of Helena’s death, ye can cool yer temper in one of me cells.”
“Ye cannae keep me here! Me clan will come looking for me.”
“And if they do, ye will have to explain yer crime. I’m within me rights to detain ye.”
Grayson signaled to one of the servants. “Send for the master of the guard. I’ll need him in the morning.” And with that, he motioned for his men to haul Arran away.
Looking past him and over to Skye, he said, “Take her back to her rooms. Keep close watch on her, and daenae let her out.”
Skye glared at Arran. This was all his fault. If he’d not pursued her, if he’d let her go as well as her mother, none of this would have happened.
“Skye, forgive me,” he croaked, struggling against his captors.
Skye wrestled with her conflicting emotions.
He kidnapped her, and she hated him for that.
He brought her back to Castle MacKeith, where her mother suffered under Grayson’s abuse.
He handed her over to her stepfather, but he had kept her safe on their journey here and had tried to come to her aid when Blackwell pushed her down.
She took a step toward him, but her washer woman guards held her fast between them, even trapping her feet and legs so she could not lash out against them. Skye knew where they would take Arran, and for the first time, her heart ached for Laird MacArthur.