Chapter 11
Seonaid’s posset proved as potent as her warning, and it was another day before Flora felt well enough to rise from bed and return to her room under Morag’s watchful eye.
The first thing she did was request that a tub be sent up.
The salt from the seawater was irritating her skin, which had begun to itch.
By midmorning, clean, fed, and dressed in a gown that had appeared on the chest the day before while she slept, she almost felt like a new woman.
Almost.
But not everything could be washed away with lavender-scented bathwater.
The knowledge of what he’d done to her, for one.
Snippets of memories haunted her, teasing the edges of her consciousness with an unexpectedly powerful tug of emotion.
She’d lain naked with a man. Even if she couldn’t recall the details, it was hardly something she could forget—though she desperately wished she could.
But he’d saved her life. That was one thing she’d never forget. She owed him … something.
She tapped her fingertips in a rolling motion on the stone sill as she gazed out her window to the sound.
From this vantage point, escape looked like such a simple proposition.
The water appeared placid and the distance to the Isle of Mull barely a stone’s throw away. How had it gone so terribly wrong?
Since neither the laird nor his sisters had been to see her, she still didn’t know exactly what had happened.
Their absence disturbed her more than she wanted to admit.
Even though he’d abducted her, and she had every right to escape, she felt in some way as if she’d let them down in her attempt to do so.
It was irrational, but true nonetheless.
Turning from the window, she sighed, more confused than ever.
If anything, her attempt at escape seemed to have made the jumble of emotions tangled inside her even worse.
Lachlan Maclean had kidnapped her, wooed her with curious intensity, sparked her passion, refused to release her, and then rescued her.
She didn’t know what to think. In some ways, she feared him more than any man she’d ever met.
He held a strange power over her that she couldn’t dismiss or ignore.
There was, however, one thing she knew she had to do. No matter how uneasy the prospect of confronting him made her, she needed to thank him. He’d saved her life.
Opening the door, she expected to see Alasdair back at his post, but was surprised to find the corridor empty. If anything, she’d thought the guard would have been doubled. She frowned, not knowing quite what to make of it, and hurried down the corridor.
Considering the ordeal she’d been through, she felt remarkably well—until she started to go down the stairs.
A wave of dizziness overtook her, and she had to grab the stone wall to keep from taking a tumble.
When it had passed, she resumed stepping down the stairs, suitably chastened and a bit more careful.
Focused as she was on the narrow stone steps, it wasn’t until she reached the great hall that she noticed how unnaturally quiet it seemed.
The boisterous sounds of life that she’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks had dimmed to silence.
She passed a few serving women, but they quickly turned their heads to avoid her gaze.
It soon became apparent why. Exiting the keep, she glanced into the courtyard and saw a gathering of what looked to be every man in the castle before their chief.
Though she heard only the tail end of his speech, it was enough for her to realize what was happening.
The men were being reprimanded and punished for allowing her to escape.
“Fail duty,” “possible attack,” and “confinement in the dungeon” left no doubt.
A not insubstantial pang of guilt needled her. No wonder no one would meet her gaze. It was because of her that these men were being punished. And she’d learned enough the past few weeks to understand that the worst punishment of all was for a Highland warrior to be shamed before his chief.
But the dungeon …
She shivered. Her attempted escape had far greater repercussions than she’d realized.
She’d never seen him disciplining his men, and it was more than a little intimidating.
His expression was hard and implacable, and his voice resounded with absolute authority.
To his people he was lord, master, judge, and jury all in one.
Her mother was right. A Highland chief was like a king of his own small fiefdom.
Such absolute power was disconcerting, making Flora realize just how vulnerable she was.
If he’d wanted to, he could have done almost anything to her—forced her to marry him, ravaged her, imprisoned her—and no one would have lifted a finger.
It took a strong man to hold such power, know when to wield it, and do so nobly and with honor.
She didn’t think he’d noticed her standing atop the forestairs, but as soon as the men had dispersed, he pinned her with his gaze.
Heated awareness rippled through her, and then a deluge of powerful emotion and all that had happened that night came back to her in full force. She could remember everything.
The first glimpse of him on the beach. The surge of hope that had given her strength to keep fighting as water poured into the skiff.
Watching him swim toward her, the powerful strokes cutting across the heavy current.
Knowing how hard he’d fought to reach her in time.
Hearing his voice. The steady, soothing tones that had staved off panic as the boat finally succumbed to the waves and tried to take her with it.
The comfort of knowing that he was out there as the water dragged her under.
Holding on to the image of his face before blackness overtook her.
She remembered everything.
The raw intensity of his kiss when he’d pulled her from her watery death. How she’d felt in his arms. How safe. How protected. How right.
And then later, waking to find him beside her. The gentle warmth that seemed a balm to her soul. Reaching for him. The erotic sensation of his naked body molded to hers. His hands on her skin. Her breasts pressed against his chest. His powerful, muscular legs entwined with hers.
He’s a very virile man. Seonaid’s words rang in her head like a taunt.
Yes. She’d felt evidence of that snuggled up against her.
He wanted her. Yet from his leman’s words, Flora gleaned that he hadn’t been visiting Seonaid.
The relief she felt upon learning that told her much. But how much longer would he wait?
Finished with his men, Lachlan strode purposefully across the courtyard and up the stairs. The timber shook with the angry force of his step. She took a few steps back, not knowing what to expect. Would she be punished as well? She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat.
“Get back to—” He stopped himself, then continued more gently. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
Flora lifted her brow at his attempt to curtail his natural proclivity toward issuing orders. “I’m feeling much better,” she assured him.
He pretended not to hear her, took her elbow, and steered her right back into the keep. So much for the attempts at niceties, she thought. The new leaf hadn’t lasted long.
She halted outside the great hall and tried to shrug off his hold. “Really. I’m fine.”
His gaze narrowed. She yearned to wipe away the frown with a caress of her hand, wanting him to look at her the way he had that night. Softly, and with tenderness in his gaze.
“You almost drowned and then nearly froze to death. You lost consciousness for hours. You need to rest.”
He was concerned about her. The realization settled over her like a warm, fuzzy plaid. Perhaps she could forgive his heavy-handedness—this time. Putting her hand on his arm, she said softly, “I’m fine. Please, I’d like to speak with you.”
He held her gaze, as if to assure himself that she spoke true. Finally, he nodded and led her through to the laird’s solar behind the great hall. The place where she’d nearly succumbed …
She shook off the memories. “I couldn’t help overhearing some of what you said out there.
” She bit her lip, uncertain of how to proceed.
It was because of her that those men were being punished.
She had to do something. “Is imprisonment really necessary for those men? They were only turned away for an instant, and they weren’t expecting anyone to leave. ”
He closed the door behind him and turned to her, his expression hard and impenetrable. “Too barbaric for you, Flora?”
She heard the bitter undertone and knew he’d misread her intent. She’d accused him of such, but no longer. “No, of course not,” she said hastily. “I just—”
“You think I like punishing my men? I’ve known most of them since they were lads.
But no one may pass through the gate in either direction without being seen.
No one. The men who allowed you to do so must be punished.
Standing guard is one of the most important facets to the security of a keep.
Need I explain to you the importance? Any lapse could leave us vulnerable to attack.
Two days in the dungeon will be unpleasant, a hard lesson, but they will not be harmed.
The alternative is flogging. Would you have me do that? ”
She shook her head miserably. “No, of course not.”
He paused to study her face. “I think it’s not whether the punishment is justified that bothers you, but the reason for it.”