Chapter 3
Amara worked at the leather strips binding her hands together. If she could just get her hands free, she’d be able to work on the bits that tied her waist to the tree. They were really tight, though. She’d torn one fingernail already trying to loosen the knot.
“’Tis nay use, lass,” the one called William said. “The laird is kent for his knots. Ye willnae be able to escape them.”
“Doesnae mean I will just stand here, tied up like a pig, without tryin’,” she argued.
The other, called Myles, sat on a rock, whittling on a stick with his dagger. He didn’t bother to look up at her while he worked, taking sips from his flask every now and then. William paced in front of her, casting worried looks her way.
“Laird O’Donnell is ruthless, aye,” He said, his tone quiet and pleasant, as if he were discussing the weather. “But he’s honorable. And fair.”
Amara raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “Ye think tying a lady to a tree is honorable?” Her voice was low and even sounded pleasant, but the fire in her eyes told another story.
“If ye wouldnae have attacked us and had actually acted like a lady, ye wouldnae be tied up,” Myles snarled, still not bothering to look at her.
“And how is a lady supposed to act when she’s being attacked and kidnapped?” Amara snapped back. “Ye expect me to act like one of the English lassies and just meekly do as I’m told? I’m a highland lady, ye ken!”
“We are nae kidnappin’ ye,” William broke in, frustration thickening his voice. “Ye are just bein’… delayed while the laird has a talk with yer faither.”
Amara stiffened at that.
The last time the O’Donnell and Murdoch lairds had words, one of them ended up dead. Her face paled at the reminder and William must have noticed. His expression softened and he shook his head.
“’Tis just an exchange,” he explained. “Ye for the laird’s cousin who yer faither is holdin’.”
No wonder Rhys was in such a foul mood. Nae only was one of his kinsmen bein’ held, but the man was his blood kin as well.
“Yer laird rode to meet me faither without escort or guards?” Amara asked after a few minutes. “Daenae ye think that was a bit mad?”
“What do ye call us then? Oi, Billy — she thinks ye and I arenae guards for the laird,” Myles said.
William scoffed and shook his head, “Aside from us. By comin’ here, essentially unarmed, he’s tellin’ yer faither that he isnae there to start a war. If yer faither were to attack, he knows ‘twould start a war and several other lairds would be on our side.”
“Would also show him for the coward he really is,” Myles added.
Amara stiffened and shot a glare at Myles. “Me faither is nae a coward!”
Even as determined as she was in her tone, she doubted her words but couldn’t put her finger on why.
Myles just shrugged and continued whittling at the stick with slow, unconcerned strokes of his dagger.
“Me faither dinnae kill Laird O’Donnell,” she continued, working furiously at the knots binding her wrists now. “He is honorable and would never do such a thing.”
Neither man argued with her. Amara hissed as another fingernail split from her efforts to free herself, but she didn’t continue the conversation either.
The cold had crept into her boots and settled into her bones. Had she been able to walk around, she wouldn’t be so cold, but even though the sun filtered, albeit weakly, through the canopy above, it wasn’t enough to warm her.
She wasn’t sure how long it had been since Rhys had left, but it seemed like ages had passed by when she finally heard a horse approaching. Briefly, she hoped it was one of her clan, but when Rhys and his large black stallion broke through the trees, she gave up that small hope.
The look on his face as he dismounted sent chills of foreboding down her spine.
His jaw was tight, as if he was clenching his teeth.
Dark eyelashes snapped with anger as his eyes met her gaze briefly before jerking away.
Color rode high on his cheeks and Amara knew it wasn’t just from the cold weather and brisk ride.
So… Faither hasnae agreed to the exchange after all.
It hurt more than she expected. A rock seemed to drop down into her belly and sat there, painfully heavy.
Her throat closed up and her eyes burned.
True, her father had been different toward her since the massacre, cold even, but to allow her to remain in the hands of their enemy seemed cruel.
She would have never guessed that. But she needed to know for sure.
“Well?” she hissed, glaring up at him.
Rhys simply looked at his men, and they wordlessly stood to join him.
He must have a plan. He wouldnae let the O’Donnells take me.
Amara felt hope bloom in her chest. He hadn’t forsaken her. He just had another plan that would see her free but also made sure they kept the O’Donnell prisoner. Rhys had to be sour about not getting his way, and pride for her father coursed through her veins.
If this is what I need to do for me clan, then so be it.
Her eyes flashed up skyward and focused on the small sliver of blue that pierced through the canopy.
For ye, Faither. I will trust this plan.
One deep breath, and she exhaled somehow standing taller than she had been before.
Still, she couldn’t help the kernel of doubt that planted itself in her soul and stayed there.
Rhys couldn’t meet Amara’s questioning gaze.
“Kill her for all I care.”
That had been Laird Murdoch’s answer when Rhys had suggested the trade. There had been no hesitation. No concern for his only child. Nothing.
Just cold disregard and adamant refusal. Rhys had not been expecting that. He figured the laird would try to negotiate. Argue a bit to save his pride. But outright refusal had not been one of the scenarios he had ever imagined.
“Rhys?” William asked quietly, shooting a glance at the lass to make sure she couldn’t hear them.
She was still tied to the tree several feet away and Rhys barely refrained from wincing when he saw the pride and loyalty shining in her eyes.
There was pain there, in the corners of her eyes, a deep and secret pain there that she carried.
Rhys shook his head. “The bastard refused to trade,” he answered in just as quiet of a tone. “Told me he dinnae care.”
Myles dropped the stick he’d been whittling away at. Unlike William, who looked concerned for the lass, Myles looked irritated and put out.
“So, the exchange?” Myles asked.
“Nay,” Rhys answered and ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “Ye daenae understand, man, he told me to kill her, he dinnae care, and he’s nay goin’ to give Finn back to us.”
“What?” William asked incredulously. “Surely he dinnae mean —”
“’Tis what he said… shouted it, even,” Rhys explained with disgust. “From the bloody wall, nay less, so that all of his clan could hear. He said she was nay use to him, and we could put a blade in her gut if we liked.”
William cursed under his breath, shooting a sympathetic look toward Amara. Rhys noted several of the leathers were looser than when he had left her, and she was still moving those devious fingers.
“Mayhap she’s brained him one too many times with a stray branch,” Myles grumbled.
Rhys shot him an irritated glare. Myles just shrugged and rubbed the side of his head where Amara had whacked him earlier.
“I kent Laird Murdoch was cold, but ‘tis soulless to nae even fight for his daughter.”
Rhys agreed, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The older laird had been adamant. He’d been very clear that he couldn't care less whether he saw his daughter again. Whether she lived or died. He didn’t understand it, could not fathom a father who wouldn’t do whatever possible to protect his child.
He thought of his own daughter, Daisy. She was just six years old, and Rhys knew he would move Heaven and Earth to get her back in the safety of his arms. He missed her even now when he had gone just a matter of hours.
The thought of never seeing her again… Rhys stopped the thought before it could fully form as a shudder ran the length of his body.
“What do we do now?” William asked.
Rhys’s gaze swept over Amara. She was watching them, probably trying to hear their conversation. She met his eyes squarely, barely blinking. She was strong and courageous.
Was O’Donnell intimated by that?
Rhys mentally shook his head. He found the traits fascinating and intriguing. He admired strength, even though those very same qualities were going to cause him trouble, he was sure.
“We ride,” he announced, loud enough for the lass to hear him. Her eyes widened and she looked in the direction of the castle, even though she couldn’t see it through the trees.
“And?” Myles asked, tossing a hand in Amara’s direction.
He felt the bitter taste sitting heavily on his tongue with the disgust he felt for Laird O’Donnell. Not able to mold his thoughts, Rhys simply sucked his teeth.
“What about Finn?” William asked. “Are we just goin’ to leave him with the Murdoch?”
Rhys mouth tightened into a grim line. “For now. We must.”
He strode over to Amara, drawing his dirk as he walked. Her eyes dropped to the blade and widened slightly before she tightened her lips and jutted her chin up defiantly.
Does she really think I would be so cowardly as to stab a lass bound to a tree? Any lass for that matter, bound or nay?
He continued to close the distance to her, adjust his hold of the sharp end of the dagger into his palm. The innocent confusion that played across her face made his core tighten.
Aye, she probably did, considerin’ the man she has for a faither. I wouldnae be surprised if the man had put his hands on her a few times.
An image of Amara’s pale, perfect skin being marred by a large red handprint formed in Rhys’s mind and he scowled and moved behind the tree.
After slicing the leather bindings on her wrists and around her waist he gathered the ends and moved back around the tree to face her. Her eyes found and watched him the entire time.
“Lass,” he quietly warned, noting the defiance in her eyes as she made to step away from the tree and undoubtedly take off sprinting again.
Rhys grabbed her arm purposefully as he made to help her to her feet, but she immediately tried to jerk out of his hold. His grip tightened until a gasp escaped her lips, but he was having none of it and practically drug her to his horse.
Without a word, he hefted her atop his stallion then mounted quickly in front of her, not giving her a chance to jump off and escape. Amara sat stiff and straight behind him, until his horse took off at a light jog and she instinctively wrapped her arms around him to keep from losing her seat.
The new position had her breasts pressed against his back and Rhys swore he could feel her nipples poking through her gown, his tartan, and his shirt, all the way to his skin.
He glanced down to his waist, where her hands were wrapped tightly around him. Such small hands, but so strong. God above, the grip she had on him almost hurt. In more ways than one, he thought ruefully as he felt lust stir at her touch.
“Well, I suppose we’ll need to get a wee bit creative if we’re goin’ to get Finn back,” Myles said sarcastically, distracting Rhys from Amara’s touch.
“How do ye suppose we do that, Myles?” William asked playfully.
“We could disguise ourselves as monks,” Myles said, and William snorted. Rhys rolled his eyes but said nothing. “Get inside the castle with robes and righteous purpose.”
“And do what? Bless the guards into submission?” William quipped.
“We could seduce the cook then. Aye, Billy?” Myles continued, undaunted. “I’ve always said I’ve got a monk’s face and a harlot’s charm.”
He laughed humorlessly, the sound echoing through the forest as they rode. “William. And the last time ye tried to flirt with a kitchen maid, she near set ye on fire.”
“’Twas one time, William,” Myles grumbled. “And she misunderstood me compliment about her buns.”
William gestured his hands lewdly behind Myles’s back, and Rhys’s lips twitched. His clansmen were trying to distract him from Finn’s capture and failed release, and it was starting to work. At least a little.
“Aye,” William chuckled. “She misunderstood right after ye touched her buns.”
Myles lowered his voice as if in a conspiratorial whisper. “We could sneak in as minstrels. I’ll play the lute and ye pretend to have a tragic past and sad eyes.”
Rhys couldn’t help himself. He glanced backward at Myles to see his mournful expression. He did chuckle then and shook his head at their playful antics.
“Do I look like a bleeding poet to ye?” William demanded.
“Nay, but ye right smell like one, Billy. Unwashed and full of self-pity.”
A low growl came from William. “I swear, I’ll knock ye from that saddle and beat ye with yer own arm.”
Myles laughed. “Then I’ll have to play the love song of yer bruised arse and me broken pride.”
Rhys realized their distraction had worked too well when he felt a shift behind him. Next, he heard a thud on the ground and saw Amara had slid from his horse and was sprinting straight for the trees.