Chapter 5
Rhys wasn’t sure what woke him, but he sat up suddenly, his eyes scanning the camp. His dirk was already in his hand, practically before he’d sat up. And then he knew.
Amara.
Rhys cast a disgruntled look in Myles’ direction. He was supposed to be on watch. The bastard was sound asleep, his jaw unhinged as he leaned against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest.
He didn’t panic. He doubted she could have gone too far in the dark. The wood here was thick and dense and she’d likely get lost before she made it more than a few steps.
If anything happened to the lass…
Rhys cut the thought off before he could get himself too worked up. Swinging the blanket off his body, he got to his feet and went in search of Amara. It didn’t take long to find her. As he’d figured, she hadn’t tried to escape. She was too smart for that.
She sat on a patch of moss beneath a leaning pine.
She was far enough from the stream that she wasn’t in danger of falling into it, but close enough to hear the rhythm of the water as it gurgled by.
She sat very still, her head bowed and resting on her knees.
His gut clenched with a twinge of guilt.
The plan to exchange Amara for Finn had been a solid one had it been any other laird apparently, Rhys thought sourly.
He had not planned on keeping her prisoner for more than a few hours. She should be at home, safely tucked into her own bed right now, dreaming of new gowns or whatever lasses dreamed of.
Instead, she was sitting in the dark with three strangers, enemies of her clan, her life uncertain and frightening.
“A bear would be quieter than ye.”
Rhys blinked and stared at her back. She hadn’t moved when she’d made that comment. Her voice had been a little muffled since her face was buried in her knees, but he’d heard her clear enough. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I wasnae tryin’ to be quiet,” he responded.
She looked up then, turning her head to face him. “’Tis a good thing then.” She sighed and pulled her skirts tighter around her bent legs. “Why are ye here? I told ye I dinnae need to be bound, which meant I wouldnae try to escape.” She paused. “At least for tonight.”
“I wanted to make sure ye were alright,” Rhys admitted.
She stared at him for a moment, then looked away toward the small stream. “Well, ye’ve checked, and I’m just fine.”
Rhys walked over to her and sat down on the moss beside her.
For a long time, they sat there quietly, seemingly comfortable with the silence.
A slight breeze drifted by, cold enough for him to wrap his tartan closer around his body.
It shifted through her hair, some of the tresses catching the light of the moon and turning them golden.
His fingers itched to reach out and tuck the loose strands behind her ears. Instead, he balled his fists in his lap and turned his attention to the darkened stream in front of them.
Why am I so attracted to her? The enemy.
Rhys glanced from his side vision at Amara. True, she was beautiful. A wee bit short, but she was curvy with full breasts and a narrow waist. Her blonde hair was thick and wavy.
Was it as silky soft as it looked?
For a moment, he allowed the image that popped into his mind, of her straddling him in bed, her long hair curtaining them. He blocked the image when his body took notice and started to stir in anticipation.
She was a Murdoch. Daughter of his father’s murderer. Her father held Finn prisoner, doing only God knew what to him. She was supposed to be just a pawn, just a means to get his cousin free. And now, he didn’t know what to do with her.
“Ye're calm, lass, considerin’ everythin’ ye’ve been through today,” Rhys said just to distract his mind from lustful thoughts.
She turned her head and looked at him for a long minute, then sighed. “I guess I’m startin’ to accept me fate.”
He didn’t like the sound of her voice. It wasn’t defeated exactly, but there was a hint of sadness to it that bothered him.
“’Twas nae me original plan to keep ye,” he said.
“Our plans very seldom come to fruition, daenae ye think?” she said, wiser beyond her years.
“Aye, indeed…” he said and let the silence engulf them once more.
She nodded, frowning slightly. “What do ye think really happened six years ago?”
The question surprised Rhys and he raised an eyebrow. “We both ken what happened, lass.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Nay, I dinnae think we do. Me faither dinnae murder yers. I ken this with everythin’ in me. But someone did.”
“They were the only two in the room, havin’ a private discussion to make sure a truce between our two clans would stick. There was nay one else there.”
“That we ken of,” Amara argued softly. “It makes nay sense that he would take such a risk. Why murder yer faither in our home, when half yer warriors were there too? Why risk me and me maither’s lives like that?”
Rhys’s eyebrows drew down in thought. What she said made sense, but it didn’t explain what had happened. Finn had found Laird O’Donnell dead on the floor and the only person who had been around had been Laird Murdoch.
“I dinnae just lose me maither and clan members that night, I lost me faither, too,” Amara said.
Her voice was so low Rhys wondered if she’d meant to speak the words aloud, but then she looked up at him, sadness highlighted by the glow of the moonlight in her eyes.
“Me faither was never the same after that night.”
Rhys didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. A lot of lives had changed that night, his own included.
“Ye lost yer wife, too, aye?” she asked as if she was reading his thoughts.
He nodded briskly and looked away. He’d never forget finding her, blood pouring out of her body. Rhys had ordered some of his men to take her to safety, but they were attacked on the way, and a sword had lodged inside his wife’s chest.
When Rhys had found her, she’d still been alive. Barely. She’d smiled sadly at him while he desperately tried to stop the bleeding, then told him to take care of Daisy, their newborn daughter. Those were her last words.
“I’m sorry,” Amara said softly.
“We all lost a lot that night,” Rhys said tightly.
They were quiet for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts, but then Amara spoke again.
“You have a daughter, aye?” When he looked questioningly at her, Amara smiled. “I heard yer men talkin' about her earlier. How old is she?”
“Daisy,” Rhys answered. “Her name is Daisy, and she is six years old.”
He saw the moment realization struck Amara, that Daisy had been just an infant when her mother was killed. She winced, then shook her head.
“But you dinnae turn sour on yer daughter, did ye?” she asked, her tone full of sorrow and confusion. “Ye dinnae blame her for yer wife’s death?”
“Of course nae,” Rhys said, insulted she would ask such a thing. He would do anything for his daughter, happily give his life if it saved hers.
“I dinnae think ye did,” Amara said. “I think me faither blames me, though. For me maither’s death, I mean.”
“Nay, surely he—”
“I left her,” Amara said suddenly, her voice high and wobbly.
“We were tryin’ to escape, and we ran past some warriors fightin’.
Blood was,” she stopped to take a deep breath.
“Blood from one of them splashed in me face, me eyes, and I let go of me maither’s hand to wipe it away.
When I could open me eyes again, I couldnae find her.
That was the last time I’d seen her. If I had just stayed strong… ”
“Daenae, lass,” Rhys said softly. “Even me own stomach turns when blood gets into me mouth. There was nothin’ ye could do. It wasnae yer fault.”
She stared at him, her eyes casting an almost desperate look as if she wanted to believe him but dared not.
“Tell me the truth, Laird O’Donnell. Laird to Lady,” she said after a few seconds. His eyebrows rose at the formal tone, but nodded. “Did me faither… did he abandon me to ye?”
Rhys winced, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown. His throat tightened. He didn’t want to tell her how horrible her father had been. He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her spirit crushed, of tears forming in those big brown eyes.
He turned away without answer.
“Rhys, please. I just want to ken the truth. If I should hope that me faither still has a shred of love for me, or if he truly doesnae.”
Her pleading only made it worse. He gritted his teeth and got to his feet. Pushing a hand through his hair, he started pacing, agitation showing in every step.
“Leave it be, lass,” he grumbled.
Amara got up and stood to face him. “I cannae,” she said simply. She didn’t sound angry or frustrated, just resigned. “I have to ken. Please tell me the truth.”
Rhys swung around to face her. “Why? Why is this so important to ye?”
She didn’t back down. “What were his exact words?”
“Why does that matter, lass?” he tried again. He knew he was fighting a losing battle. She was acting like a dog with a juicy bone, and he doubted she’d give up on her quest to be hurt by her father even more. “They were naught but words.”
She frowned and tilted her chin up, a sign he was beginning to recognize as stubbornness. “Ye think I daenae ken he has forsaken me?” she demanded, her voice rising with anger and hurt. “Ye think I dinnae figure that out the instant ye rode back to the camp, lookin’ all sour and gloomy?”
Her hands, balled into fists, went to her hips as she met him squarely. “Aye, I ken me faither had left me for the wolves. I had hoped he’d had another plan, but even as I thought it, I ken ‘twas nae true.”
She took a step closer to him, then another, until they were facing each other with barely an inch between them.
“Now, Laird, please give me the respect of honoring me wishes,” she demanded. “I have a right to ken.”
Rhys wanted nothing more than to get her to stop talking, to stop asking about her father and his horrible words. She continued to look up at him with those large brown eyes, waiting impatiently for him to repeat the words and hurt her more.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and his lips actually tingled. He could almost feel the softness of her lips on his, taste her sweetness, feel her lush body pressed against his as he devoured her mouth in the hottest kiss either of them had ever had.
Rhys sucked his breath in through clenched teeth. His entire body was on fire, demanding he just lean down those few little inches separating them and claim her mouth with his.
Her breath stilled then sped up. His gaze moved to her chest, watching it rise more rapidly as she breathed more quickly. She must sense his desire and was responding to it, driving him even more mad.
Before he knew what he was doing, Rhys found himself leaning down. He watched her eyes widen, and inwardly smiled when she didn’t move away. He leaned closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, Rhys was going to kiss her.
“There ye are!”
Rhys jerked his head back at the sound of Myles’ voice.
“I’ve been lookin’ all over for the two of ye,” he continued. His eyes shot between Rhys and Amara, a disapproving frown forming.
“Ye wouldnae have had to look had ye been keepin’ watch like ye were supposed to,” Rhys snapped. He turned to Amara. “Let’s get back to camp and get some sleep. We ride at first light.”