Chapter 2
The two stared at one another for what seemed like ages, shock claiming them both.
She was such a sight to behold, even in the filth of that cell and the dingy aura that clung to her from neglect and abuse.
His eyes flickered around the room, seeing that an English lady had been living like this for who knew how long.
There wasn’t even a proper bed in that cell, not even a cot.
Just a thin hay cushion with something that looked more like a rag than a blanket strewn across it.
Blood splattered the wall in irregular shapes and with an array of shades that let him know they told an unspoken story of many visits from his brother.
And all of it, all of the blood and grime, contrasted to her with her pretty face and deadly eyes.
It reminded him of a bobcat that he once came across in the woods while scouting in his days of being a warrior.
The way it was clearly injured and in need of help, but still looked at him with murder in its eyes that told him it would fight until its very last breath if he made the creature feel uncertain.
When Magnus came back to his senses, he spoke firmly. “What is yer name?”
He hadn’t any idea why she was there, and he needed to ascertain if she should be sent with the rest of the captives to await judgment.
But the girl didn’t answer, only staring at him like she was that cornered bobcat in his memory, deciding whether she should pounce on the intruder.
“Miss, tell me yer name. I need to ken,” Magnus tried again.
She still didn’t speak, only stared. Magnus’s eyes shifted to Angus, who shook his head. “I… dinnae have any intel about a woman being kept here. Let alone an English lass.”
Magnus clicked his tongue and sighed. “I am a man trying to make right the ways of the past, but I am also one of limited patience. Speak,” he instructed.
When she still didn’t answer him and only kept glaring at him with those deadly blue eyes, Magnus could truly feel his patience starting to wear thin.
“Speak now, lass. I will nae ask again.”
After eyeing her for a bit longer, he stepped forward slowly.
It truly felt like approaching a feral cat, one who was ready to scratch and bite her way to freedom—and he didn’t blame her.
After the reports he had heard about what happened during his time away…
He couldn’t imagine what Alan had put her through if he kept her so very secret.
Crouching down next to her, he got a good look at her.
She was beautiful, there was no denying that.
She had a button nose, apple cheeks, and round, crystal blue eyes that made the scar stand out even more.
At this close distance, he could see the scar was old, completely healed.
Just how much time had she been in here?
Magnus’s heart broke a little more for her.
Gradually, he lifted a hand to her, to place on her shoulder as a sign of kindness. To show her that he wasn’t going to strike her as his brother did. As his hand neared, however, the woman made her first move. Snapping in his direction, she bit him.
Horribly, he found himself smirking internally—glad that his brother hadn’t broken this lass. It sent a thrill through him that was sinful and dangerous.
He withdrew his hand quickly, the bite stung—but not as bad as the fury in her eyes that told the story of the horrors she had faced.
And the realization struck him, she wasn’t a prisoner, she was a survivor.
While he still didn’t know why she was there or what all she had been through, Magnus knew that his brother had to have been abusing her and more than what left that scar on her face.
The English dress she was wearing, one he believed used to be a shade of red but had gone dingy, a sort of gray, had dried blood splattered on the sleeves and skirt.
There were rips along the dress and underneath, there were bruises and cuts littering her body.
If those small glimpses at her skin showed such cruelty, he didn’t even want to imagine what the rest of her looked like.
The woman before him didn’t look like an English Lady, she looked like a wildling. But just like that bobcat a few years ago, Magnus didn’t gawk in the face of fear—he reveled in it.
Standing straight, Magnus moved toward the door, wanting to grant her some space so as not to scare her further.
Just like a wild beast, he knew when to withdraw and use bait instead of force.
Looking at Angus, he gave the orders, “Find any women servants left. Have her cleaned up and brought to the healers. Immediately.”
Every movement, every action this new stranger made, Hannah watched with closeness after she bit him.
Ready for him to lash out, ready for him to continue the torment of her stay there at Black Keep.
But he didn’t. His face had flashed with something like amusement before falling stoic again.
The man’s large, bulking frame let her know that he was a warrior and she couldn’t help but wonder what cruelty those calloused hands would bring her.
Hannah already didn’t trust him and his talk of wearing patience, the way he got close to her and assessed her like she was some sort of animal instead of a Lady.
If it weren’t for the fact he looked so much like Laird Alan Black, his behavior would never have let her know that they were brothers.
And then, he ordered help for her. But Hannah wasn’t so easily convinced. She knew the men of Black Keep fed on the terror of their captives.
Finding her bravery, Hannah started to get herself to her feet and she felt his hand brush against her waist as though to help her.
In a flash, she shoved him away with all the force she could muster in her weak, pain laden body and glared hard at him.
There wasn’t any way in hell that she was going to let him believe she was accepting him or his help, not when all of her stay there had made her learn time and time again not to willingly accept so much as an extra piece of bread from a man of the Black family.
And she wasn’t going to let him view her as some weak English woman who needed saving, even when her situation screamed that she did.
The man assessed her with those soft blue eyes of his. Her spine was straight, her chin lifted instead of tucking to hide her face. She hadn’t any idea what his plans were for her, but she knew that she wasn’t going to go down without a fight if down is where he planned to take her.
He stared back at her and Hannah wasn’t sure if his face held pity or approval. Either way, Hannah didn’t care.
Two servant women came in and with the guards, guided her out of the filth-encrusted cell. Each breath felt lighter than the last because she knew at least being out of those four walls, even if the chance was only left up to her and fate, there was a possibility of freedom.