Chapter 9 Half-Lies for the Wrong Questions
Half-Lies for the Wrong Questions
It was clear that the guards hoped that Struan would be weak after his various ordeals. They set a cracking pace down the hallways, gripping his elbows tightly, clearly hoping that he’d struggle to keep up and maybe fall and have to be dragged.
Struan took pleasure in keeping up easily, his long-legged stride carrying him down the hallway, matching them pace for pace.
The breathless hurry and silence helped Struan clear his mind.
That was a mistake. What was I thinking, kissing her like that?
It could have ended badly. It should have ended badly.
She should have punched him in the face, or screamed for help, or both.
Laird and Lady Kenneth’s willingness to give him a chance would evaporate instantly once they knew he’d tried to kiss Una in a secluded washroom.
It would be over for him. Laird Kenneth would probably tear him apart with his bare hands.
If only I still wished to die. It would be convenient.
It didn’t matter. She hadn’t screamed, hadn’t struck him.
She’d just scurried away, wide-eyed and horrified, and he hadn’t seen her since.
She hadn’t come to collect him with the other guards.
He half-wondered whether he’d see her when they reached Laird and Lady Kenneth’s private rooms. He assumed that was where they were going. A study, perhaps.
Closing his eyes briefly, Struan forced himself to breathe evenly, in and out. He hadn’t planned the kiss. But might it work in his favor? After all, it had been made pretty clear how helpful Una could be to him. And she hadn’t pushed him away. Perhaps…
Stop it, he told himself, cutting off the thought. Hadn’t his father warned him about runaway thoughts? About feelings? They got in the way. Anger was useful. Desire for revenge—that was useful. Ambition. But the rest of the feelings were nothing but a waste of energy.
I’ve thought of her every day since the day she shared her bread with me.
He gave his head a tiny shake. Thinking of this wouldn’t help him. Not at all. Objective thinking was what would save him. Logic would save him, along with brute force and ruthlessness.
Regret and uncertainty would kill him.
There was visible irritation in the guards’ faces when they reached their destination, a small door with a rounded top, plain wood with a heavy lock on it.
One of them hammered on the door, and the other scowled at Struan.
“In fine fettle, aren’t ye, lad?” he hissed. “Fine fettle for a man who’s done what ye have. And while our people starve. Disgusting.”
Struan was saved from giving a reply by the door being jerked open. Laird Kenneth stood there, glaring balefully.
Struan, of course, had known him as Kai. Kai Alcorn, last of a destroyed clan.
Kai gave a brittle smile. “There ye are. Step in, then. Men, ye can wait outside.”
The soldiers glanced at each other, uncertain. “Are ye sure, m’laird?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Kai responded brusquely.
Struan stepped inside, glad to have the soldiers’ painful grip removed from his arms. He rolled up his shirt—the new shirt, the fresh, clean-smelling one that Una had brought for him—to inspect his bruises.
Behind him, the door slammed, and he heard a lock click.
He imagined that Kai had pocketed the key.
He found himself in a small circular room, dominated by a desk. There were curved bookshelves lining the walls, and a small, circular window let in a small amount of light. There was really only room for two chairs, and Kai shouldered past him to take one, the one behind the desk.
“Sit,” he ordered brusquely.
Struan did so. He noticed that there was a large map of the Highlands unrolled on the desk, with the lands of various clans carefully marked out.
“My sister believes that ye can be useful to us,” Kai said bluntly, catching Struan’s gaze and holding it. “Now it’s time for ye to make good on that promise.”
Struan breathed out slowly. This was it, then.
He’d expected right from the beginning to be questioned about his father’s plans.
Of course, in his imagination, he’d assumed that he would be in a dungeon, with instruments of torture hovering menacingly around.
He’d braced himself for that, not this. Not a quiet, semi-civilized conversation in a comfortable room, without bindings or threats of any kind.
“To start with,” Kai continued, “let’s talk about the convent.”
He tapped the tip of his finger on a particular place on the map, where St. Deborah’s stood, along with the village around it.
Struan’s chest clenched, remembering the Abbess.
She’d been kind to him, kind when he hadn’t deserved it.
She seemed to have some idea of him becoming more than he was destined to be.
I’m a sword. Nothing more, nothing less. What else can I be? A sword can’t be a hammer, can it? It doesn’t even make a very good knife.
Struan said nothing, and Kai continued.
“We believe that an attack is planned on the convent,” Kai continued, his expression grim. He was watching Struan closely, ready for any signs that he was lying. “We believe that it’s been planned for a while, even before ye were taken.”
A voice echoed in Struan’s head. His father’s voice, of course.
“There’s a wee convent causing more trouble than ye would imagine, he scoffed.
They serve as healers and encourage women to…
to read and to learn, can ye believe it?
Giving them ideas above their station. It’s run by a dangerous woman, one who does not know how to keep her mouth shut.
She ought to save her objections for her prayers.
We’ll have to deal with her and her followers before they become dangerous. ”
Struan was aware of Kai’s eyes on him.
“Aye, I remember him saying something,” he said, voice tight. “He hated the convent. And the Abbess.”
Kai’s face lit up a little. “Well, when is the attack planned?”
Struan was shocked to find that he was relieved to be able to give an honest answer.
“I do not know. He never told me of a planned date before I left.”
Kai gazed at him for a long moment, his eyes searching. Whatever he saw in Struan’s eyes seemed to satisfy him. He nodded.
“Very well. Now, my spies tell me that there is a raid planned on Grahame territory. What can ye tell me about that? The most direct route from Keep Dickson is across the hills. Would Laird Dickson drive his men over the hills?”
Struan sighed. “It would be a risk to do that. It exhausts the men.”
“So he’ll take them the longer, easier way around?”
He shrugged. “That’s what I would do.”
Kai nodded, making a note.
Struan struggled to keep a smile off his face. He knew about the Grahame raid. He had suggested that they take the long way around, to keep the men fresh and energetic, ready to fight. His father had disagreed, and of course he had the final vote. The soldiers were to go over the hills.
But he hadn’t lied to Kai. He had chosen his words carefully.
Half-lies for the wrong questions.
Kai’s information would be no good, but it didn’t matter. Struan had answered honestly, and yet he hadn’t given anything away. He wasn’t a traitor.
The triumph he’d expected to feel, however, did not come. Struan only felt a dead heaviness in his gut. He found himself thinking of Una and the wide-eyed way she’d stared up at him after he kissed her, and all the satisfaction Struan felt at fooling Laird Kenneth disappeared at once.
“When this is over,” Struan said, mostly to drive out the unsettling feelings in his head. “I’d like to go to the training fields. Unless, of course, ye would rather me sit around in the Keep, eating all of yer food and growing slow and flabby.”
Kai glanced up from his scribbling and lifted his eyebrows. It stung Struan that he had to ask permission for something he would have just taken for granted.
“Very well,” Kai responded brusquely. “Not today, though. We have too much to discuss today. Tomorrow, maybe.”
Struan’s heart sank, but he kept his cool.
“Whatever ye say, Laird Kenneth,” he responded smoothly, fighting to keep his voice cool.
Just a wee bit longer, he promised himself. Just a little longer.
Thump. Thump. Thu-Thump.
Una danced around the straw dummy, hung up from the ceiling to make a punching bag. Her knuckles were growing sore, and her shoulders ached, but she forced herself to keep going.
Behind her, the door opened, letting in a ray of light and a blast of fresh, cold air. Una ignored it, delivering a few more blows.
“Ye seem a wee bit preoccupied there, Una.”
She flinched, dropping her fists.
“Kyla?”
Sure enough, Kyla stood by the door, smiling weakly. She was pale but seemed otherwise healthy. Astrid stood beside her, the hem of her long, green velvet gown trailing in the straw covering the floorboards.
“We wanted to talk to ye,” Astrid said smoothly, stepping forward. “Today has been a strange and upsetting day, aye?”
“Ye could say that again,” Una mumbled.
She was doing her best not to think about the kiss.
The idea that he would kiss her at all was unbelievable, and the fact that she had just stood there—stood there and not even knocked his teeth down his throat for doing such a thing—was hard to stomach.
She’d walked away with her head spinning, her knees weak, and the memory of his lips on hers.
She could still taste lavender, although she was sure it must all be in her head.
It was all a mistake. All of it was a mistake. What good could possibly come of associating with a man like him? He’d only hurt her. And besides, she loathed him! She’d loathed him—or told herself that she did—for a long time.
Kyla came towards her, smiling hesitantly.
“I wanted to thank ye, first of all, for yer help with Struan. I know many people feel differently, but he’s my brother. I don’t know how I could go on if I had to watch him be executed. I often think that if I hadn’t escaped my father, I would be just like him, too.”
“But we are concerned,” Astrid added, striding over.
She stood just a little too close to Una, smelling strongly of rosewater. Una reminded herself, as she often did these days, that while Astrid was her sister-in-law, she was also Lady Kenneth. That position must come before all others.
Una cleared her throat, shaking out her shoulders. Behind her, the straw dummy still swung slightly, its rope creaking. Una did not like the sound, as it reminded her of a hanged man.
“Concerned?” she echoed. “I don’t understand.”
Astrid’s jaw tightened. “Sometimes it seems that ye are overeager to defend Struan. Ye are… Ye are a wee bit too kind to him. Arguing his case, getting him better treatment. A bath, for God’s sake!”
“I promised the Abbess—” Una began but was cut sharply off.
“I don’t mean to make any sort of accusation,” Astrid continued, holding her gaze. “But let me warn ye that developing feelings for Struan Dickson will only end in pain. And yer death, most likely.”
Color rushed into Una’s face. For a moment, she couldn’t formulate words.
“Feelings?” she gasped, clenching her fists at her sides. “How can ye say such a thing? Have ye any idea what I’ve suffered at Dickson's hands?”
Astrid held up a hand. “As I said, I am not accusing ye.”
“Ye clearly are!”
“I am only telling ye what I have observed,” Astrid continued firmly.
“He is a handsome lad. He can be charming when he wishes. He is manipulative. We know that Laird Dickson is the true evil here, so it might be easy for ye to imagine that Struan is just a victim himself. Well, he isn’t.
He’ll do what he has to in order to get away, and if that means using ye, he’ll do it. ”
An image appeared in her head; of Struan’s face close to hers, an almost surprised look in his eyes. She tasted lavender and felt the brush of his fingertips against the side of her neck.
What did he have to gain then?
Una glanced at Kyla. “And what do ye say to this?”
Kyla shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t pretend to know my brother well enough for that,” she said at last, a little miserably. “Not anymore. I… I want to believe the best of him, but I know he wants to escape. He’s treated ye differently from the others.”
Una swallowed. “He has? Well, then, what’s to say that I cannot get to him? That I cannot reach him? Romantic feelings aside, of course.”
Kyla opened her mouth to speak, but Astrid neatly spoke over her.
“Ye cannot,” she answered firmly. “Nobody can. At least, it’s not a risk we can afford to take. Ye must understand.”
Una swallowed hard. She remembered the sight of Struan’s back, well-muscled and dappled with scars, still damp from his bath. Why had he gone out into the hallway? To get soap, he’d said. What had the maid thought, encountering a shirtless Struan Dickson like that?
Had he flirted with her? Maybe. She was certainly eager enough to flirt with him. Apparently, not everybody in the Keep was appalled at the very sight of Struan Dickson.
“Una?” Astrid broke into her thoughts, and Una glanced up to find her sister-in-law staring at her, eyes narrowed. “Una, do ye have feelings for him?”
“For Struan Dickson?” Una gave a short laugh. “The only thing I feel for him is hatred. But consider me warned. Now, are ye going to let me get on with my training, or not?”