Chapter 6
Apparently forgetting how fervently they had argued with their Laird, the councilmen shot to their feet with a sharp scrape of chairs. Heads bowed, they made a swift exit, refusing to meet Ailis’s eye as they skirted past her.
Ye expect me to follow yer advice, yet ye cannae even repeat yer cruel comments to the lass’s face.
Killian returned to the now-empty table and leaned against the edge, his arms folded across his chest, waiting for her to speak.
For a moment, Ailis held his curious gaze, before lowering her beautiful eyes again. “I probably should’ve held me tongue, but it’s nae one of me strengths.” She paused. “Did I interrupt somethin’ important?”
“If ye consider war and yer fate important,” he replied.
Her head snapped up, and she bit her lip.
Ye’re goin’ to have to stop doin’ that.
Killian nearly mirrored the gesture, his gaze drawn to her full lips. Only, this time, he wasn’t concerned about her bruising her lip. He wondered what sound she would make, what expression might grace her face, if he were to scrape his teeth over that lip.
“How much did ye hear?” he asked to distract himself.
Her chin dropped back down to her chest. “More than I care to admit.”
“So, ye ken they’re nae happy about yer presence here.” It wasn’t a question.
She shifted awkwardly, picking at the folds of her skirts in agitation. The dress didn’t flatter her figure at all; it was clearly made for someone less voluptuous, less shapely, less sublime.
It’s nae as if ye let her pack her belongings.
Still, clothing could be easily remedied.
“Perhaps ye should just throw me in the dungeons, then,” she mumbled.
“I willnae deny that I favor a feather bed and me comforts, but I suspect I’d feel less…
uneasy if I was actually treated like a captive.
It’d only be fair, too, if I’m put in yer braither’s situation.
And it’d undoubtedly make yer people feel more comfortable if they kent I was thrown in the dungeons. ”
Killian pushed off the table and walked back toward her, stopping a half-step away. He reached over her shoulder, noting how she flinched, her breath caught, and her eyes closed, and gave the open door a shove.
Who hurt ye?
He had received no answer last night, but it was right there in that flinch.
“Stop sayin’ that,” he said as the door swung back into the jamb with a light thud that made her flinch again.
He wished he had stepped around her and closed the door more gently, but he couldn’t change that now.
“Sayin’ what?” she gasped, gingerly cracking one eye open.
“That ye’re me captive. Me prisoner.”
Her other eye opened, a frown creasing her smooth brow. “Am I nae? Is there a different word ye prefer?”
“Aye, ‘guest.’ And guests daenae sleep in the dungeons.” Killian relaxed as her body did. “Ye’re welcome to stay here until me braither is returned to me, in yer feather bed, with all yer comforts.”
Ailis let out a dry laugh. “Ye must have to prepare very thoroughly for a gathering here if ye steal all of yer guests from their bedchambers. It must take ye days.”
Killian was not prone to laughter, had never had the opportunity to develop the habit, but she had almost coaxed a laugh from him.
He moved closer, drawn to the warmth of her, until barely an inch remained. He towered over her, though she wasn’t what he would have considered short, the top of her head level with his collarbone.
“Careful, lass,” he warned in a throaty voice. “I might think ye’re tryin’ to provoke me.”
She peered up at him. “Do ye nae ken the difference between humor and an insult here?”
“A talented jester can do both at once,” he replied, keenly regretting his choice of words as her face contorted with outrage.
“Ah, so I’m here for yer amusement, is that it? I‘m here to entertain ye? A jester, indeed,” she muttered, her pink cheeks turning a shade darker. “Ye’re the one jestin’ if ye think me presence here will help anythin’.”
He held her gaze, testing her mettle. “I have faith that it will.”
“Then ye daenae ken me faither or understand what ye’ve kidnapped,” she shot back. “What do ye think will happen if ye return me after me bein’ yer ‘guest’ here, hmm?”
Killian shrugged. “They’ll lock ye up, makin’ ye a captive in yer own home?”
That seemed a pretty good reason to stay at Castle MacNairn without guilt or worry. He would rather be the guest of an enemy, free to do as he pleased, than imprisoned in his own room, unable to get out.
Ailis’s mouth fell open for an instant, her expression blank with shock. She shook off her surprise and looked down with a quiet gulp.
“Nay matter how much ye believe I’m yer enemy,” he continued, resisting the urge to tilt her chin up, “I’ll never be like them, lass.”
Keeping her head down, her hands clenched into fists, she muttered under her breath, “Nay, ye’re worse.”
She turned to leave, her hand reaching for the door handle.
Killian should have let her go, for it had not even been a full day since her capture. She had no reason to believe anything he said. He should have let her go and given her time to realize she truly was safe here.
Instead, he closed the gap between them and pressed his palm to the door, keeping it shut while she fumbled with the handle. She stiffened as his front brushed against her back, not pinning her there—his other arm wasn’t blocking her at all—but close enough to let her know that he wasn’t done yet.
“It’s nae a good idea to be discourteous to the man ye consider as yer captor,” he said quietly, close to her ear.
To his pleasant surprise, she turned around to face him, her back pressed against the door. She lifted her dainty chin in defiance, her green eyes bright with challenge.
“Why? What worse could ye do to me?” she asked.
He frowned down at her, misunderstanding her initially.
As far as he knew, he hadn’t done anything to her, other than taking her from a cruel place. Yes, perhaps he had caused some bruising to her stomach when he had carried her, but he hadn’t deliberately harmed her.
But then, he understood her meaning. What worse could he do to her that she hadn’t already experienced in her life? What worse things could he do that her father or brother wouldn’t do when she returned, because he had kidnapped her?
He leaned in. “I havenae done anythin’ to ye.”
“Yet,” she replied, her throat bobbing.
“What punishment are ye expectin’ exactly?” he asked, bringing his other hand up to press against the door.
She could have ducked under his arm if she wanted to escape him, and he wouldn’t have stopped her. But she didn’t move, still holding his gaze.
“What is it ye think I’ll do to ye?” he pressed. “What is it ye want me to do, to make ye feel better about yer situation?”
Ailis’s breathing quickened, each shaky inhale pushing up her ample bosom. Breasts that would barely fit in his palm, though his hands were large. At present, her ill-fitting dress was trying to flatten her generous bosom, the seams straining.
“Well?” he prompted. “I would like to ken what kind of villain ye think I am.”
His gaze flitted to her slightly parted lips. If he bent his head just a little more, he could kiss her.
Would that make me more of a villain to ye?
He grazed his teeth across his lower lip, powerful temptation pulling him nearer.
Temptation unlike anything he had ever experienced.
Just as he had never had much opportunity to learn how to express his amusement, he had never had much chance to allow himself to be distracted by women.
Even so, no woman had ever drawn him in the way Ailis was doing.
The instant before he threw all caution and reason to the wind, he managed to regain control of his discipline. That habit was as ingrained in him as the bluish web of his veins, though he had never expected it to be useful in such a situation.
Before he could say a word to dismiss her or reassure her, a loud knock sounded at the door.
Ailis jumped in fright. “I swear ye all mean to scare me into an early grave,” she hissed, her hand flying to her chest.
“Me Laird?” Peter called from the hallway.
Not a moment too soon, Killian wrapped his arm around Ailis’s waist and pulled her forward, out of the way of the swinging door.
She stumbled against him, her hands gripping his shirt in alarm. But that desperate hold didn’t last, as she let go immediately and hurried off to the side so that Peter wouldn’t jump to unsavory conclusions.
She needn’t have worried; Killian’s man-at-arms entered with a grim expression on his usually cheery face, paying no attention to her whatsoever.
“Ye’ve received a missive, me Laird,” Peter said grimly, handing over a sealed letter.
Killian took it and stared at the crest imprinted on the seal.
“It’s from me family, is it nae?” Ailis asked, edging closer.
Killian glanced at her. “Get out, lass. One interruption is enough.”
She hesitated, her eyebrows rising, her mouth opening slightly as if she wanted to say something. Then, her mouth closed and her eyebrows lowered, and, with a dip of her head, she hurried out without another word.
It seemed that she wanted to hear what her family had to say as much as Killian did.
He waited until he was certain that she wasn’t loitering outside to eavesdrop before he opened the missive and began to read. The message was short and blunt, and not at all what he had anticipated.
Laird MacNairn, whether ye kill her or nae, it makes little difference to us. It’s nae the lass we want; it’s land.
Laird Ainsley hadn’t even bothered to add his signature. The short, cruel note was signed by Ailis’s brother, Murdock Lyall.
“Bastards,” Killian hissed before he could stop himself. “Those bastards.”
It was no wonder the lass was terrified. No wonder she hadn’t put up much of a fight when he had stolen her from her chambers. No wonder Murdock had tried to chase them down with archers who hadn’t hesitated to shoot. No wonder the pursuit hadn’t lasted long.
Killian had known Laird Ainsley was a monster, but now he knew that the man’s heir was just as monstrous.
How unfeeling did a person have to be not to care what befell their sibling? How twisted did someone have to be to want land instead of one’s flesh and blood safely brought back to where they belonged?
Indeed, Killian had already risked his life—and would have done it again—to try and get his brother back. He couldn’t understand a family that wouldn’t do the same.
Then ye willnae have her back. But mark me words, ye’ll pay for yer wickedness.
A wave of possessiveness washed over him, pulsing through his veins with the same potency as the rush before a battle. At that moment, he longed to pull Ailis into his arms again, as if that might shield her from such a despicable letter.
Then again, hadn’t she tried to warn him of how worthless she was to her family? It stood to reason that she could already guess what the note said.
“What does it say?” Peter asked, frowning.
Killian looked at his man-at-arms and crumpled the wretched letter into a ball. “If it’s nae her life they care about, maybe they’ll care about their honor.”
He marched out of the room with a dark cloud hanging over his head, not yet ready to explain to Peter what that meant.