Chapter 12
Why is he like this? Willow’s mind churned with the question even as she fought against it, trying to look for clues as to his true motives as she dined with Keegan.
The back and forth of his actions was beginning to drive her mad. He fought with her one moment, and yes, she returned that in kind, but then the next he was kissing her. And now he had requested to eat with her after standing up in her defense—against his own brother of all people.
Not that the treatment from Damon was either unexpected or impossible to understand. Willow knew why the laird’s brother was behaving as such. She was the enemy, and it sounded more and more with each word he said that Damon loved his sister immensely and was furious at her loss.
Had the ire not been directed at her, Willow would have even found it endearing. Which she knew was the result of having such a poor relationship with her own brother. Magnus would never have lost his mind that way, and she was quite certain that he remained in the castle unmoved by her absence.
Lilith was likely not faring as well.
“So, what are the lass’s opinions of Brahanne food? Have we impressed the sister of Laird MacCallum?”
She was snapped out of her thoughts. Willow turned toward Keegan, looking down at her empty plate and then back up at him with a slight smile.
“It was quite good. Though I must admit that I was indeed so hungry that I might say the same thing about eating an old boot.”
Keegan laughed, and the sound thrummed through her body in a way that she did not expect. It was deep and rumbling, but it was also quite honest and unhidden behind some notion of social airs. He just…laughed.
What a strange thing to be so impressed with? You are clearly out of your head, Willow.
“Did ye nae eat before? I cannae remember.” Keegan scrubbed a hand over the stubble that grew along his jaw, getting thicker for his want of a proper shave.
She tried not to study it too intensely, pushing the thoughts of how it felt against her skin as far from her mind as she could—and failing miserably.
“I dinnae eat a bit, Laird Brahanne. I had been pulled from the Great Hall for some reason. What could that have been?”
Willow teased Keegan about interrupting her plan to eat with his need for answers, but what it really did was remind both of them of the time they’d spent alone in the study.
It was unintentional and far too late to do anything about it.
The mood at the table changed, and Willow was suddenly all too aware of her pulse in her neck—and the heat growing within her cheeks.
“I have been known to be a bit on the stubborn side.”
“A bit?” Willow barked out, unable to stop herself. “You give me brother a run for his money, and that man is possibly more rooted in his ways than a tree.”
Keegan laughed again, and damn her to hell and back, but the sound still lit up something inside her that Willow did not understand.
“Though, I will admit to having more success with these recent information-gatherin' tactics than with those I have tried in the past.”
Willow’s internal temperature shot up all the more, and she forced herself to swallow, breaking the eye contact she maintained with the laird before she combusted.
As she reached for her cup, trusting in the wine to settle her, Willow felt that odd need to prod at Keegan rise up once more.
“Am I to believe then that this is the first ye’ve taken up kissin' a lass who doesnae answer yer questions?”
The laird coughed abruptly as he sipped at his ale, a bit of the liquid splashing over the rim of his mug and landing on his shirt. Willow fought the desire to smile and instead reached for the cloth set near her plate and offered it to Keegan.
“Apologies, Laird Brahanne. I dinnae mean to startle ye with a simple question.”
Keegan took the offered napkin and dabbed it at his mouth. “Nay trouble at all, me lady. I merely inhaled when I should have been focused on me drinkin'.”
Now, as Keegan glanced over at her with a look of heated fury, Willow dared to smile sweetly.
They held each other’s stares for a moment, which stretched on and on until a clansman at the table in front of them hollered out against his mates.
He had likely lost a bet or had his pride challenged, but it all looked in good fun.
Chuckling, Keegan completed a drink of his ale uninterrupted this time. Willow cocked her head at him as he did before turning her gaze to the table of men well into their cups. They were raucous and jovial, with an air of relaxed familiarity among them.
It was a rare sight to see a group of warriors so at ease, readily enjoying themselves at dinner. The mood at all times in MacCallum Castle, whether in the Great Hall for a meal, during the hearings, or simply walking down the corridors, was always that of somber, dismal banality.
Clansmen were not wild at the tables back at her home.
They did not bet or jest with each other outside of their private rooms where Magnus’s reach could not find them.
In every way and for every person therein, MacCallum Castle was a prison—and for the first time, she feared not only for her own sister but for Keegan’s.
“Now, what has caused that?” the laird asked, and Willow turned to face him.
“Hmm? Caused what?” She shook her head, raising her brows at him.
“Ye look as if someone has stolen yer blanket, and it’s cold. Trust me, I have seen the face ye make.”
Willow scoffed out a laugh. “Och, have nay concern over me face. It runs away without me at times.”
Cocking a brow, Keegan leaned onto his elbow, resting it on the table as he faced toward her with his mug dangling from his hand. Willow silently cursed how the man was able to make even the simplest of things look alluring.
“Ye do wear yer emotions all over it most of the time. It would be an easy thing to play cards with ye.”
That sent Willow reeling backward, her mouth dropping as she gaped at the laird. “How dare ye assume that I am terrible at a game. Ye couldnae be farther from the truth.”
However, as she played at her offense, Willow was concerned for a moment.
She had always been an expert at hiding her sadness and anger behind a mask of kindness, even as it approached malicious compliance at times.
She could not deny, after all, that she had carried out many an order of Magnus’s if only by the letter and not the spirit of his law.
Ready herself for presentation to be married?
Why, of course, Laird MacCallum. But it would be done in no haste and with no great effort to look her best. In her way, Willow knew that the behavior might have been seen as childish or unruly.
Still, she had so few ways of creating a space of independence for herself.
It was the only means she had to exert some control over her life.
“Well,” the laird pulled her from her thoughts again, “I will admit to being verra keen on seein' that.”
Tension grew between them, and Willow could tell that something lingered on Keegan’s tongue. He wished to say something, but he was holding it back so firmly.
“Perhaps another time.” Keegan nodded at her, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Willow smirked. “Ye are the laird. I am at yer command.”
“Och!” He exclaimed, his face lighting up with a mixture of indignance and humor. “If only that were the case, lass. Ye would have given me the answers I sought. Isnae it so?”
Swallowing down whatever was trying to take over her, Willow nodded. “Hmm, perhaps so. However, there is still time before the exchange, I imagine. Ye could be so bold as to try again. I have nay issue picturin' ye as the kind to nae give up so easily.”
Keegan’s stare darkened, and Willow chewed on her lip.
Her mouth had run away with her again, and it was going to get her into so much trouble.
But it was as if she had been bespelled or was far more pished up the river than she was in reality.
She could not keep herself from spilling the teasing words across the table.
Tipping his head down, Keegan held his mug to his lips, and she could not keep herself from staring directly at them. His mouth tilted in a subtle smile, and in a voice that was nearly too low to perceive, the laird whispered across the air to her.
“Ye would be correct about that, lass. Still, ye should be careful, or I might have a mind to think that was precisely what ye wanted.”
A shiver ran down her spine, and Willow abruptly stood from the table. Curtseying to Keegan, she sucked in a breath through her nose and took care to let it out slowly.
“Thank ye for the dinner, Laird Brahanne. I believe it is best if I return to me chamber now. Good evening.”
She did not wait for his response, an unwise thing to do in most circumstances.
But she could not be bothered to care. It was enough to have allowed herself to act in such a manner.
The fact that the laird was aware of it and had drawn attention to her own potential want for the situation was more than Willow could handle.
Marching to the doors of the Great Hall, Willow met Rodrick there and asked him to escort her back to her room. He gaped at her for a moment, having clearly been watching her exchange with the laird. The man-at-arms glanced over her shoulder at him, and Willow would not look back.
She would not look back.
“Of course, me lady. Right this way.”
When Rodrick gestured forward, Willow followed him right at his heels, chomping at the bit to get into a private space.
As much as she should have studied the halls more for her potential escape, Willow was far too distracted by the whirling thoughts in her head.
She needed to get behind those closed doors—now.
Closed up in her room, borrowed though it may be, Willow felt a touch more at ease. She was aware that Rodrick stood guard outside, but at least she had this small space to be on her own. And the first order of business was doing something about her overheated skin.
A flush still claimed Willow’s cheeks, and she walked to the wash basin to splash her face. The water remaining in the bowl was frigid, and Willow hoped that it would be enough to relieve her of this persistent warmth.
It was not.
Despite the many times she coated her skin in cold water, Amelia was still ready to set her very clothes ablaze. Perhaps it would behoove her to take them off? It was likely one of the only remaining things left that could help.
“So be it then,” Willow mumbled to herself.
Starting first with the boots she still wore, chosen for her day of riding to the MacCallister fortress, Willow pulled the items free and set them to the side.
The floor was cold beneath her feet, so she climbed up into the bed.
She didn’t slip beneath the covers but was still surprised by their softness.
It appeared that the laird spared no expense even in guest chambers, which was still quite a shock that she was using. Damon had a point when he had assumed she would be staying in the dungeon.
The thought made Willow’s chest ache, and she felt a terrible regret for the position Damon found himself in. He was so distraught after his sister’s capture, and it could not be good for him to remain so wound up—like a clock spring that might snap.
God, how must Keegan be feeling? I can understand why he felt compelled to take me.
The thoughts of the laird did nothing to dissuade the heat from racking through her, so Willow went for the ties at the front of her dress and began to steadily unfasten them.
The loosed stays allowed her to breathe better, and Willow worked on ridding herself of them entirely before moving on to the tie at the back of her skirt.
It did not take long for her to strip down to her shift, and Willow at last sucked in a gulp of fresh air. The cool air sat on her skin, coating her like a blanket, and she sighed.
Och, that is much better.
Willow looked down at the bed where she sat. It was comfortable, and the covers were embroidered with gold thread over a burgundy backdrop. It was not quite the hour that she would usually sleep, but to say that she had had an eventful few days was putting it mildly.
Standing, Willow made sure that the fire would still last her a little while into the evening and took the candle on the small table provided to bed. Setting it on the nightstand, she climbed back into the bed and let out a long exhale, tiredness washing over her.
She crawled up toward the pillows, blowing out the candle and lifting up the blankets to settle herself beneath them. They were freezing at first, but over time, they began to warm with the heat of her body.
Sleep. Sleep is the best thing for ye, Willow. Get yer rest and deal with the laird in the morning.
She closed her eyes, rolling onto her side in the large bed.
It was a bit grander than hers at home, and Willow reminded herself that she ought not to compare the two places so much.
There was much to be found in Castle Brahanne that put her usual residence to shame, particularly the atmosphere and company.
It was quiet in the unfamiliar room, the fire crackling the only sound. Within moments, her thoughts began to spiral once more, ever downward, to a place that they absolutely should not be.
Keegan.
The feeling of his lips on hers haunted Willow like a persistent apparition, and she absently drew her fingers up toward them. Dusting the pads over her skin, Willow could not stop herself from picturing the way the laird had looked when he’d regarded her just before she left.
That darkness in his stare was the same as every time he was about to kiss her. She could see that want in his eyes. Why had she let him get that far and done nothing? She should have been moved to strike him, not melt into his touch like she was bewitched.
But I was. It was so…
Willow lacked the words to describe how it had felt, only settling on right. It had felt right to be claimed by him like that, and a spark went off in the back of her mind that told her it was why she had fought against him so. It had been the outcome she desired.
She shook herself, her eyes opening in the dark. “Nay. Nay, absolutely nae. I wasnae looking for the laird to kiss me or anythin' else for that matter.”
Still, it was only herself that she spoke to and only herself that she sought to convince.
Dammit.