Chapter 2
Oscar drew the stone along his blade and listened to the festival beyond the canvas walls of his tent.
The wave of music rose from the central grounds, broken by laughter whenever someone passed the guarded entrance. The celebrations would end before morning, and Angus MacWatt was expected to leave with a new bride. Oscar intended for him to leave with questions instead.
He turned the blade toward the lamp and inspected the edge.
He had sent two men to bring Lady Daphne Tulloch to this tent unharmed.
Once she was secured, Angus would receive a message demanding the truth about Muriel.
The abduction gave Oscar leverage while avoiding an open challenge during the festival’s safe-conduct week.
Lennan stood near the entrance with his arms folded. “There will be questions once Clan Morrag discovers their lady is missin’.”
“That is the purpose.”
“The rules may keep Angus from drawin’ a sword here, but it willnae keep his faither from callin’ this an insult.”
Oscar set the stone beside its leather wrap. “Then Bryce MacWatt may add his outrage to the growin’ pile of things I daenae care about.”
He had already chosen the guards who would watch Daphne and the route his men would use when they left the festival grounds.
The woman would remain comfortable and protected while Angus decided how much Muriel’s safety was worth.
Oscar expected frightened protests from a noblewoman who had been taken hours before her betrothal. He had planned for those as well.
Soon enough, the sound of hurried footsteps approached outside. A woman’s muffled cry rose above them, followed by the hard impact of a shoulder or foot against one of the tent supports. The canvas shook.
Oscar stood with the blade still in his hand.
The flap opened, and his men dragged a masked woman inside. One held her by the upper arm while the other pulled the sack from her head. She twisted between them and struck at the scarred man’s chest. He shoved her forward hard enough that she fell on one knee and caught herself with her palm.
Oscar crossed the tent before either man could touch her again. Mud darkened the hem of her green gown, and one sleeve had torn near the wrist. Red marks circled the arm the guard had released.
“I should try this on ye for hurtin’ her,” Oscar grunted, lifting the sharpened blade. “Me order was to bring her. That wasnae hard to do, was it?”
“She fought us, me Laird,” the scarred man replied, his chest heaving from the struggle. “She nearly took out me eye through the sack.”
Oscar exhaled and threw his head back. “Ye were warned to expect resistance. If two trained men cannae manage one woman without bruisin’ her, then I have chosen the wrong men.”
Both guards lowered their gazes while the captive remained on the ground with one hand closed around her mask. Oscar could see that she was terrified; her slow breathing failed to hide the quick flutter of her pulse.
Lennan stepped closer to the men. “Perhaps ye should wait outside before the Laird decides to test the edge.”
“Leave,” Oscar ordered.
The men obeyed.
Festival music drifted in when the flap opened and died down once the canvas fell closed behind them.
Oscar lowered the blade as the woman pushed herself upright before he could offer assistance. She kept her weight off her scraped hand and positioned herself where she could watch him and the entrance at the same time.
Then she removed her mask.
Long dark hair had loosened around the ties, and the ribbon had left a faint mark across one temple.
Her green eyes held anger sharpened by fear, and the fine gown and silver ribbons identified her as the woman Angus intended to marry, though the mud and torn sleeve suggested his men had found her somewhere other than the betrothal gathering.
Oscar noticed the full shape beneath the gown before returning his attention to her face. The lapse irritated him. She was leverage; that was all. No amount of beauty altered the purpose she served.
Her gaze moved over the blade, the scars visible above his collar, and the space between him and the exit. She watched his hands more often than his face. Whatever fear she felt had left her thinking clearly.
“Who are ye?” she asked, her fingers tightening around her mask. “And what do ye want from me?”
“Oscar Barr. Laird MacKane.”
Her breath caught. The reaction was brief, though he saw recognition in the sudden tension in her shoulders.
“I see ye have heard of me,” he said.
“I have heard ye are a ferocious warrior.” She raised her chin and forced her voice to remain even. “Seein’ as this isnae a battlefield, I would like to ken what ye need from me. Then I will leave.”
The audacity in her voice seemed to come more easily to her than pleading. For some rather odd reason, Oscar found he preferred it. It made this entire situation just slightly less unbearable. Just slightly less.
“Ye are supposed to get betrothed before the festival ends.”
Her gaze dropped to the mask in her hand. “Aye.”
He narrowed his eyes at her reluctance. He could not tell whether it came from fear of Angus or something else entirely.
“Are ye eager to return to yer intended?” he asked.
Her eyes rose at once. “Whatever I feel about Angus gives ye nay right to put a sack over me head.”
He sighed. “Angus married me sister nearly a year ago. Muriel disappeared from his castle, and the only explanation he offered was a convenient note claimin’ she had chosen another life.
Now he intends to take a new bride while I still have nay proof that me sister is safe.
So, forgive me if I am nae very keen on lettin’ ye go back out there. ”
Some of the anger left the woman’s face. Her scraped hand closed more tightly around the mask, and when she spoke again, the mockery had gone from her voice.
“I have a sister as well,” she mumbled. “And I would do anythin’ to protect her.”
Oscar believed her. The certainty arrived before he could examine why. “Then ye understand me purpose.”
“I understand yer fear. I daenae understand usin’ me to quell it.”
“If ye care so fiercely for yer sister, why would ye willingly marry the man who may have harmed mine?”
Her guarded expression returned. “Family choices are rarely as simple as men like ye make them sound.”
The answer was too vague, and she sounded protective of someone. Oscar could not tell whether it was Angus, her father, or something else. Whatever it was, he had no time to investigate. For now, having her here would have to do.
He placed his sword on the table and stepped closer. “Angus responds to offenses and pressure. Takin’ the woman he intends to marry will force him to reveal where me sister is.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “So, I am a message.”
“For the moment.”
She advanced one step, bringing them close enough that Oscar could see the uneven knot in the mask ribbon and the mud drying on her fingers. She still looked scared, yet she held his gaze.
“Ye kidnapped me because another man wouldnae answer yer questions.”
“I prevented ye from marrying a dangerous man. Ye should thank me rather than fight me, Lady Daphne.”
Her lips parted in disbelief. “Should I also give ye gifts for kidnapping me?”
Amusement pulled briefly at the corner of Oscar’s mouth. Lennan noticed and wisely turned his attention toward the entrance.
“I am pleased me captivity entertains ye, me Laird. However, I shall leave before ye find another reason to congratulate yerself.”
She turned toward the tent flap, and Oscar moved to halt her. However, before either of them reached the entrance, the canvas lifted, and Tommy ducked inside.
“Faither,” the little boy called.
He stopped just inside the tent and stared at the woman standing near the entrance. His hair was windblown, and a streak of dirt crossed one cheek.
Oscar searched behind him for Ness or some sign of the trouble that usually accompanied him, but the guard outside lowered the flap without allowing the goat through.
The change in Lady Daphne came at once. Her shoulders relaxed, and the anger vanished from her face. She lowered the mask in her hand and turned fully toward the boy.
Tommy seemed to recognize her without the painted leather covering her face. “Did me faither bring ye here to thank ye for savin’ Ness?” Then he bolted across the space between them and wrapped his arms around her waist.
Oscar watched the boy’s hands, then checked the tent flap and glanced toward the table where he had left the sharpened blade. Nothing moved. His son simply held the woman as if finding her again had answered an urgent concern.
Lady Daphne bent and returned the embrace. She placed one hand on Tommy’s back and kept the scraped one away from his clothes.
“Well met again, sweetness,” she said. “Where is yer troublesome companion?”
“Ness is with the guard. He wouldnae let her inside.” Tommy leaned back and looked up at her. “I told him she is well-behaved now.”
“The guard seems to have excellent judgment.”
Oscar stepped closer. “How do ye ken me son?” The question came sharper than he had intended.
Lady Daphne straightened and shifted slightly, placing herself between Tommy and the table. Her gaze flicked toward the blade before returning to Oscar. The protective movement seemed instinctive, though the weapon lay well beyond the boy’s reach.
“Ness trapped her leg between the roots beyond the supply carts,” Tommy explained, his words gaining speed as he spoke. “I thought it was broken, but she came and pushed the tree apart with her hands.”
“I cleared some soil from beneath the root,” Lady Daphne corrected. “The tree remains where it was.”
“Ye pushed it enough. Ness couldnae move before ye came.”
Tommy caught her injured hand and turned it carefully. The scrape across her palm had reopened during the struggle with Oscar’s men, and a thin line of blood marked the base of her thumb.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked. “Ye hurt it helpin’ Ness.”
“It will heal.”
Oscar looked again at the mud on her gown and the torn stitching near her wrist.
“Why would ye risk discovery for an animal?” he asked.
Her fingers closed gently around Tommy’s hand before she released it. “The animal was trapped, and Tommy was frightened. What other reason should I require?”
“Everyone else was too busy,” Tommy said. He moved to her side and looked up at Oscar. “She heard me cryin’ and followed me. Then she made me stop so Ness wouldnae be more afraid.”
Oscar’s attention settled on his son. “Where were yer guards?”
Tommy rubbed one foot against the other. “Near the fires.”
“And where were ye told to remain?”
“Near the guards.”
A reprimand would come later, once the boy had slept and the relief of Ness’s rescue had faded.
Oscar had occupied himself with arranging a kidnapping while Tommy wandered beyond the crowded grounds and placed himself where no guard could see him.
The knowledge tightened his grip on the control he had carried through the evening.
“We will discuss that when we return home,” Oscar said. “Ye will remain with yer guard until then.”
“He only left because Ness ran away,” Lady Daphne interjected. Her voice remained quiet, though she held his gaze. “He was trying to bring her back before she reached the fire.”
“Understandin’ his reason doesnae make it any less reckless.”
“Nay, but it does explain why he disobeyed.”
Oscar studied her. She defended the boy without pretending his choice had been safe. Most people either excused Tommy because of his age or condemned his mischief without asking what had driven it. Lady Daphne had known him for minutes and somehow managed both.
Tommy appeared satisfied that the matter had been settled. “I helped hold Ness still. She said I was brave.”
“Ye were,” Lady Daphne told him. “Once ye stopped panickin’.”
Tommy grinned. “She is a great lady, Faither.”
“So ye have mentioned.”
“She is,” he insisted as Oscar looked between them.
Tommy distrusted unfamiliar women with a thoroughness that had exhausted several members of the household. He rarely accepted kindness without seeing how far he could take it. Now he stood pressed against the captive’s side and spoke as if Oscar required convincing of her virtues.
“And ye are a great lad,” she said.
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “A great lad?”
Lady Daphne looked at him as if his disbelief proved some failing in his judgment. “Aye. He is also very sweet.”
“Sweet,” he repeated.
Tommy beamed at the praise, apparently willing to accept a reputation no one at MacKane Castle would recognize.
“The sweetest,” she emphasized. Her hand rested briefly on the boy’s dark hair. “He must take after his maither.”
Oscar went still before he brought the reaction under control.
His wife’s exhausted face returned to him, pale against the bed linens after Tommy’s birth.
He remembered holding the child while she struggled to draw another breath and how her final words had been too faint for anyone else in the chamber to hear.
Lady Daphne noticed the change in him. Her hand slipped from Tommy’s hair, and she lowered her gaze without asking what wound she had touched.
Tommy remained unaware. “Will ye come and see Ness tomorrow? She likes ye now.”
Lady Daphne’s expression softened as she looked at him. “I would like that, though I cannae stay.”
The answer displeased Tommy, and Oscar found that it displeased him as well. A woman his son trusted could prove useful, especially one who understood the boy’s motives and gained his obedience without bargaining for it.
Oscar needed time to discover whether the bond would survive another meeting. He also wanted time to understand why her courage and wit had altered the purpose of this encounter.
Lady Daphne bent and adjusted Tommy’s collar where it had folded beneath his coat. “Return to yer guard, sweetness. Keep Ness away from the fires and make certain she rests.”
Tommy caught her fingers. “Faither can take ye to our tents. Then ye can see her.”
Her warmth vanished when she looked at Oscar, and the change irritated him more than it should have.
“Yer faither has already done enough for me,” she said. “Perhaps ye can show me the way back to the Morrag tents before ye leave.”
She gave Tommy’s shoulder a final squeeze and moved toward the entrance, but Oscar stepped between her and the flap without touching her.
She halted close enough that he could see her breath disturb the loose strand of hair near her mouth.
Tommy watched them with open expectation while Lennan remained wisely silent near the tent wall.
“What are ye doin’?” she asked, her voice sharp.
Oscar straightened and stared straight at her. “’Tis simple, lassie. Now I certainly cannae let ye go.”