Chapter 3
After being led across spongy heath and through dense woodland, a spiraling upward road delivered Ailis to the heart of Clan MacNairn. The castle perched on a hill that, to her dismay, overlooked the glinting sea.
The salt wind whipped through her hair as they came to the main gates.
At least me ancestors had the sense to build their castle inland.
She shuddered and kept her head down, so she wouldn’t have to look at the sea or her new prison.
With a squeal of chains, the portcullis rolled up, and Laird MacNairn guided them into a large courtyard.
Given the hour, there was no one around other than guards in MacNairn colors, watching with narrowed eyes.
But the empty tables and small, shuttered huts spoke of the hustle and bustle during the day.
“Down ye get,” Laird MacNairn instructed.
Killian. His name is Killian.
The memory came to her like a bolt through her skull.
Killian Lennox, the older brother of Fraser Lennox and the eldest son of Barron Lennox. Now the Laird of Clan MacNairn.
Ailis swallowed. “I… cannae.”
All the riding had locked her legs, and the height of the horse didn’t help either. Plus, she had never been permitted to learn how to ride, so getting down was as new to her as getting up—which, of course, she hadn’t had to do alone.
Killian frowned for a moment, but seemed to understand that it wasn’t just stubbornness keeping her on the horse.
With a grunt, he stepped forward, his hands coming to rest on her waist. “Throw yer leg back over,” he said, “and put yer hands on me shoulders.”
Terrified that she would somehow fall off the other side of the horse, Ailis carefully lifted her leg until she sat facing him. He gripped her tighter, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh, holding her steady.
For a moment, she gazed down into his frosty blue eyes, wondering if there was any chance that this was all a dream.
“I daenae have all night,” he remarked coolly.
Chastened and hating that she had no choice but to obey, she leaned forward and let her hands settle on his broad shoulders. Her fingers curled, her nails digging into his back as she began to tip toward him.
If it hurt, he didn’t show it, merely staring back at her as he pulled her into him.
In a sudden panic, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms looped tight around his neck, hugging him as if he were her savior and not her captor.
He stepped back with her still clinging to him and cleared his throat. “Ye can put yer feet down,” he said, his hands still on her waist. “I daenae need ye stranglin’ me like ye nearly strangled me horse.”
So mortified that she considered just staying wrapped around him, hiding her face in his shoulder until the embarrassment faded from her cheeks, she slid down his front. The friction of his body against hers sparked a fresh rush of heat that had surely turned her face purple.
With her feet planted firmly on solid ground, and her head bowed to conceal whatever color pulsed in her cheeks, she realized that she was wearing her slippers.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, her head snapping up.
“Eh?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated in earnest. “I’m sorry for what me family did to Fraser.”
And to yer faither.
“But… ye daenae have to do the same,” she continued. “It willnae serve the purpose that ye think it will.”
His hand closed around her wrist, pulling her toward the heavy oak doors of the castle. There was anger in his grip, and a muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Please, me Laird,” she begged. “I ken ye both think ye have to do the very worst to each other, usin’ whatever means ye can, but—”
“Ye think I’m anythin’ like them?” Killian growled, shooting her a fierce glare as he yanked her into the entrance hall.
In the welcoming glow of lanterns, flickering torches, and guttering candles that dripped from a chandelier of antlers, she saw him in a way she hadn’t been able to before.
He wasn’t just handsome; he was extraordinary. The most beautiful man she had ever seen, every strong feature sculpted by divine hands, every small scar somehow adding to the rugged splendor of him.
Whenever she told tales to Skye about dashing princes and valiant heroes, this was the man she pictured in her head. A man who could kiss a princess and slay a dragon and save a village in the same breath.
And, right now, he was glaring at her with such fury that she feared she might be the dragon rather than the princess.
She backed away from the heat of his anger, his hand releasing her wrist as she did. He closed his eyes.
“I just meant that…” she began to protest.
His eyes opened again, so blue that she forgot what she was trying to say.
“Take her to a guest room,” he said to a maid who had appeared out of nowhere. “The lady will be stayin’ with us for a while. See to it that she has whatever she needs.”
He walked off before Ailis could finish explaining herself, leaving her with the maid. A woman of perhaps thirty who looked like she had woken up from a nap and didn’t seem at all pleased to be the one left in charge of the captive.
“This way,” she said brusquely as she, too, began to walk away.
With miles of unfamiliar terrain and a river between her and Castle Ainsley, Ailis had no choice but to follow. She was here now, whether she liked it or not.
In an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar castle filled with her family’s sworn enemy, Ailis dreamed she was drowning.
Fighting the current of a crystalline blue cove, the color of Killian’s eyes, she scrambled toward the shore.
She forced her arms through the water, kicked her legs like a frog, strained to keep her head above the surface, but the saltwater filled her mouth and nose regardless. The shore too far to reach.
She woke with a gasp. Her hand flew to her chest to feel the comforting rise and fall, while her eyes flicked up to the gauzy canopy of her bed. Though it made no sense, she could taste salt on her tongue. She lifted her fingertips to find that tears had rolled down her cheeks.
“Stupid bloody dream,” she muttered, for it wasn’t the first time it had plagued her, and likely wouldn’t be the last.
Heart pounding with the rush of fear that came with the nightmare, she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position.
I should’ve kent it wouldnae be so easy to sleep tonight.
She turned to find the cup of cold barley tea on the bedside table, left untouched after the maid had brought it. Ailis had requested it, but something about the maid’s icy attitude had made her think twice about drinking the brew.
But with her throat so dry, she decided to take the risk of being poisoned over being parched.
Her hand had just reached for the handle of the teacup when a loud yelp tore from her throat, her fingertips knocking the cup instead.
Quick as a flash, the shadowed figure in the chair beside the bed lunged forward and caught the cup before more than a few drops could spill.
As far as Ailis knew, there hadn’t even been a chair beside the bed when she had fallen asleep.
“Clumsy,” Killian’s low voice rumbled as he picked up the cup and handed it to her.
She blinked at him. “Clumsy?” Anger triumphed over her fright. “Ye try keepin’ yer wits about ye when a strange man is sittin’ in yer room! Ye scared me half to death!”
Nothing could have compelled her to admit that she had been curious to know if he would visit her in her new chambers. Although, in her defense, she had assumed he would visit her in a dream, not be right there, apparently watching her sleep.
Since her arrival at Castle MacNairn and Killian’s abrupt departure, she had struggled to keep him out of her thoughts: the awe-inspiring sight of him heaving ropes, the memory of his strong arm around her waist, the gentle caress of his fingertips, the insistent pull whenever she had tried to put some distance between them.
How could any woman not dwell on such things when Laird MacNairn looked like he did? It hardly mattered that he was as intimidating as he was handsome, for it was the handsome part that had its wicked way with her mind.
Still, that didn’t mean he could just slip into her room and do as he pleased.
“With respect, ye can leave now,” she said tartly. “And daenae come back either. I might be a prisoner, but even a prisoner is permitted the sanctity of their cell.”
Killian leaned forward and put the teacup in her hand, his fingers—the skin roughened by battle and, presumably, pulling ropes—curling around hers to make them close around the cup.
He settled back into his chair, with no indication whatsoever that he planned to leave.
It was at that moment, as she brought the teacup to her lips with some trepidation, that Ailis realized she wasn’t wearing anything but a nightdress. A flimsy shift that the maid had procured for her.
Almost spilling the tea for a second time, she hastened to pull the blankets up to her chest. She held them there with one hand, blushing furiously, as she took a sip of tea with the other. Bitter and earthy, the barley brew had the odd effect of making her throat even drier.
“Who hurt ye?” Killian asked abruptly.
“What?” she choked out, not sure if the tea was actually poison or just made differently here. “What do ye mean?”
Killian quirked an eyebrow, as if she were stupid. “Who hurt ye?” he asked again, still in the same tone.
She frowned at him until he rolled his eyes and added, “What were ye dreamin’ about? Who was hurtin’ ye?”
“Oh! That!” She wished she could pull the blankets all the way over her head. “Nay one was hurtin’ me. I was hurtin’ meself.”
His eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”
“Nae intentionally, of course,” she mumbled, her face growing hotter by the second. “It was… Well, it was just a nightmare, me Laird. I daenae ken what else to say about it. Maybe ye daenae have nightmares, so ye daenae understand. It was nothin’.”
He leaned forward in his chair, his hand coming to rest almost possessively on the edge of the bed. He made a quiet hum of disbelief at the back of his throat, his blue eyes—black in the dim light of the room—seemingly searching her face for a better explanation.
“It didnae sound like nothin’,” he insisted.
She shrugged. “I daenae ken what else to tell ye. It was just a nightmare; they usually daenae make much sense. But nay one was hurtin’ me.
” She paused. “Although it’s rather ironic that ye’d ask me that when ye’re the one who snatched me away from me home.
Now that ye mention it, me stomach is still a little bruised from bein’ carried over yer shoulder. ”
“I gave ye the choice,” he replied simply, rising from his chair.
She didn’t know how to stop him as he sank onto the edge of the bed and reached over, pressing his callused palm against her abdomen. The heat of his skin through the blankets and the thin fabric of her nightdress burned hotter than the fire in the grate.
“Here?” he asked.
She gulped. Both of her hands were occupied, so she couldn’t swat his hand away.
“Please, daenae do that,” she rasped, while a tiny voice in her head whispered wickedly for him to continue.
He pulled his hand back. “I’ll send the healer in the mornin’.”
“That willnae be necessary,” she insisted, downing half of the barley tea just to distract herself from the lingering feel of his palm on her stomach. “I daenae need yer help.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Apparently, ye didnae need yer faither’s help either. Or yer braither’s.” His fingers splayed across the blankets. “Ye had ample chance to escape, lass, but ye didnae.”
She stared at him, aghast. “I… I was afraid ye’d hurt me!”
“Or ye hoped I would save ye,” he countered. “After all, one of the first things I said was that I wouldnae harm ye.”
Bewilderment didn’t even begin to encompass the turmoil in her mind, half of her brain admitting to a morsel of truth, the other half in utter outrage at the suggestion.
There was no way she wanted to be kidnapped by this handsome stranger. That was madness.
“I daenae understand what ye mean,” she huffed, fixing him with what she hoped was a baleful glare. “The only person I need savin’ from is ye.”
He shrugged and got to his feet. “Rest well, lass. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss this further.”
“I have nothin’ more to say!” she insisted. “Indeed, unless it’s about the terms of me release, ye have nay more reason to speak to me either.”
“Rest well, lass,” he repeated, a flicker of something passing behind his eyes. “Daenae work yerself into a frenzy, or ye’ll never sleep. We’ll talk another time.”
He made for the door, unaware that she wasn’t yet done with him. Forgetting about the blankets, she grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his retreating back. It missed, but the thud of it on the floor made him turn.
“Ye’re never goin’ to let me go, are ye?” she asked, her blood roaring in her ears as if she were back on that cliff, the prospect almost as perilous. “Even if yer braither is released, ye’re still goin’ to keep me here, to use me to get revenge on me family.”
The ghost of a smirk lifted the corner of his full lips. “Are ye suggestin’ what I should do with ye?”
“What? Nay!” she gasped.
“That is a good idea,” he said. “Keepin’ ye indefinitely so yer family cannae make any alliances by marryin’ ye off. It has merit.”
She blinked at him, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. “That isnae what I meant.”
“Still, it’s somethin’ to think about.” He stared at her, his gaze wandering lower for a moment, reminding her of her state of undress. “Aye, plenty to think about.”
In a fluster, she pulled the blankets back up to her neck.
“Nay matter the reason why I brought ye here, lass, ye’re mine now,” he continued, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “And ye’ll stay mine for as long as I please.”
With an almost sarcastic dip of his head, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.
He didn’t need to lock it; she had nowhere else to go, and if she tried to run, she did not doubt that he would catch her… and that she might pray he would.
After all, other than Skye, she had nothing to go back for.
And, somehow, Killian knew it.