Chapter 8
Ailis lay in the dark, the heavy drapes pulled across the windows to block out the view of the glittering sea. She couldn’t even bear the light, her mind and body somehow sensing the sea in the sun’s glow, like it carried a hazy warning of how close the treacherous water really was.
Paisley must think I’m so rude. She wanted to help, though I doubt I deserve it, and I just… wandered off.
She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. For the better part of half an hour, she had been willing sleep to come so she wouldn’t have to think about the sea anymore. For the better part of half an hour, it had refused to put her out of her misery. If anything, she felt more awake.
A knock at the door propelled her upward, her mouth forming a plea that she wasn’t to be disturbed. But the door was already opening, the maid—Rachel—entering without waiting for permission.
“Mercy, it’s so dark in here!” she remarked.
“I was… resting,” Ailis said shyly.
Rachel bustled over to the round table by the window, finding her way despite the gloom, and set down a tray. Before Ailis could stop her, she yanked back the drapes, the golden afternoon sunlight streaming back into the room.
“Aye, well, ye can rest after ye’ve had luncheon,” Rachel said as two more maids entered the now-bright room with trays of their own.
Ailis stared at the mountain of food they had brought with them: a tureen of soup or stew, a pyramid of fresh bread rolls, a selection of cheeses, plates of roasted meats, small bowls of buttery vegetables, and no fewer than eight tarts for dessert, alongside cut apples, glossy blackberries, and some sort of fruity preserve.
“Even on a good day, I couldnae possibly eat all of that!” she protested, uncertain whether this was some kind of mockery. “And today isnae a good day. Indeed, I daenae have an appetite at all.”
Rachel set out two empty plates, while another maid put out a jug of something to drink, and the third maid swept in to place two pewter goblets.
“It’s nae just for ye,” Rachel explained, adding two folded napkins. “The Laird will join ye.”
An almost envious look passed between the other maids, both of them casting less-than-friendly glances at Ailis. Meanwhile, Rachel seemed entirely unbothered, sprinkling dried flowers on the table as a final touch.
“But… I’m nae hungry,” Ailis protested feebly.
If Killian wanted to have luncheon with her, she couldn’t exactly refuse. As he had said, it wasn’t a good idea to be discourteous to the man she considered her captor. A generous captor, undoubtedly, but she was still there under his control.
Rachel shrugged. “Then ye daenae have to eat anythin’. Ye can just sit with the Laird while he eats. Although the cook will be disappointed to hear that ye havenae enjoyed the meal she’s prepared.”
With that, she ushered the other maids out and, offering an encouraging smile, stepped out of the room.
Thus, Ailis was left alone with the delicious-smelling feast, waiting for her unexpected guest.
“Why did he nae summon me downstairs?” she grumbled, tossing back the coverlets.
After Killian’s visit last night, she didn’t know why she was surprised that he was invading her privacy again.
Still, uncertain of how much time she had before he arrived, she quickly pulled on the dress she had discarded.
It still didn’t fit—Paisley had done her best, but one couldn’t create more fabric where there wasn’t any—but at least it didn’t look so ridiculous.
She had just finished tying a ribbon around her waist, though she wasn’t sure why she was bothering, when Killian entered the room.
Tall and silent and intimidating and unrelentingly handsome, he went directly to the table. Oddly, he moved one of the chairs so that it was facing away from the window before lowering himself into the chair opposite.
But the sun will be in his eyes…
Ailis couldn’t understand why he had gone to the trouble of moving the chair if he wasn’t going to sit in it.
“Join me,” he commanded.
With a hand on her stomach to suppress the nausea, Ailis approached the window. She focused her attention on the array of food instead of the sea as she lowered herself into the chair.
The moment she had her back to that wretched spread of glinting water, it was like the first breath after danger had passed. Her body relaxed immediately, though unease lingered in her stomach as she glanced at Killian.
“Eat,” he said by way of greeting, then began to serve himself.
Ailis politely picked at some sharp white cheese and a handful of blackberries, while he sawed through a glistening chunk of venison and crispy roasted potatoes. He ate quietly, no look of pleasure or enjoyment on his face, as if he were merely eating for sustenance instead of the flavor.
“Is there a reason for this meetin’?” she wanted to ask, for his demeanor was stiffer and more distant than it had been earlier. As if he had something on his mind that was taking up all of his concentration.
“Why did ye move me chair?” she asked, choosing what she deemed to be safer territory.
Killian looked up from his plate. “So ye wouldnae be in the sun.”
“Do ye usually have luncheon in the bedchambers of yer… guests?” she added, her courage growing.
He popped a piece of meat into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Nay, nae usually.”
“So why have ye decided to do so with me?”
“To make sure ye’re eatin’ properly,” he replied.
A white lie. She was almost certain of it. That might have been part of the reason, but there was something else.
“I cannae have ye starvin’. As I told ye, I willnae be accused of bein’ like yer family.”
Her face reddened at the memory of saying he was worse than them, a little ashamed of the cutting remark. If her father had suddenly decided to spoil a prisoner with a feast and insisted on joining them, there would have been poison in every dish—a grim spectacle for him to watch and delight in.
Reaching for the ceramic jug, she was about to pour the unknown liquid when Killian leaned across the table and took it from her. He poured the bright red beverage into her cup without spilling a drop.
“Thank ye,” she mumbled shyly as she brought the cup to her nose and sniffed.
The drink smelled fruity and lightly spiced. Blackberry wine, if her nose wasn’t mistaken.
She sipped to wet her dry throat. “How did ye end up in me bedchamber on the night ye came to Castle Ainsley?” She paused to sip again. “Ye seemed to ken yer way out, as if ye’d committed the route to memory. But if ye were lookin’ for yer braither, ye were in the wrong place.”
The question had been niggling at her since she had been taken from her family home. Namely, because Killian had been only a few doors away from Skye’s bedchamber, and the thought of him kidnapping the child instead of her made her blood run cold.
I’m glad he reached me door first.
“I’d been in the castle for hours before I came to yer room,” he replied. “When I couldnae find hide nor hair of me braither, I turned me attention to killin’ yer faither instead.”
Ailis nodded. “He sleeps in the north tower. The entrance is hard to find; ye have to ken where it is, or else ye’ll get lost.”
“Interesting,” Killian said, his blue eyes flashing with intrigue.
Ailis shook her head, wondering if there was a truth serum in the wine to make her say so much.
“It’s nae yer fault ye couldnae find yer braither either,” she continued, regardless.
“The dungeons are part of a labyrinth that one of me ancestors had built beneath the castle. The entrance to ‘em is as hard to find as the door to me faither’s tower. And me faither had yer braither moved every mornin’, to make it all the more difficult to find him. ”
“Are twisted minds common in yer family?” Killian asked, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
A hollow laugh escaped her. “Ye probably have a more accurate history of me family written somewhere than I do.”
“Perhaps.” He poured some wine into his cup and drank. “So, ye’re sayin’ that I shouldnae try to find him again?”
“I mean, I could try to draw ye a map of where he was last, but me faither and braither would probably be expectin’ ye now,” she replied.
Immediately, realization dawned on her. She was saying so much because Killian cared without being indiscriminately vengeful. He wanted his brother back, but not at any cost.
Ailis had to wonder what her father would have done if it were Murdock who had been taken. He wouldn’t have cared who he hurt, no torture or torment too awful, so long as he retrieved his heir.
“Nae even the guards can find their way around,” she added, shyly stabbing a potato to nibble on. “They use string, though they’re nae supposed to.”
Killian sat back in his chair and raked a hand through his loose hair. Ailis hadn’t noticed before, too anxious to look at him for long. His hair was glossy and wavy, falling past his broad shoulders.
Her cheeks warmed as she imagined what it would feel like to run her hands through the beautiful, dark hair that framed his handsome face so well.
“Yet,” he said, “ye were somehow able to sneak food to Fraser?”
She concentrated on chewing the buttery, crispy potato, the delicious flavor increasing her appetite a little. “Well, aye, but that’s only because I spent so much time there as a bairn. There’s nay corner of that labyrinth that I havenae spent hours explorin’.”
Killian sat up straighter, his eyes pinched at the corners, his lips slightly parted in disbelief. “Ye spent time in the dungeons as a bairn?”
“Och, it wasnae like that!” she hastened to say, laughing nervously. “Nay one forced me to be there. I doubt anyone other than me sister ever kent I was down there, to be honest. It just… felt safe in that maze. I cannae explain why.”
She could, but she didn’t want him to think she was pathetic, feeling safe in a place with so many dark corners to hide in. A place far enough from her father’s wrath, where she didn’t have to worry about him suddenly appearing with a random punishment.