Chapter 3
Magnus’s focus had shifted entirely to that woman, despite his own efforts to stay focused on the big picture of his takeover. She felt like a physical embodiment of his brother’s cruelty and part of him knew that he should simply look at her as that, another error for him to remedy.
And yet, his mind couldn’t let go of the look in her eyes. That sort of drive for survival that was only found in war and the wild…
It fascinated him, it plagued him.
Angus pestered him about sleeping, but he shot down the request and told him he could sleep if he wished.
Instead, Magnus was a man with a mission, he couldn’t think about sleep while he was so focused on that damn Sassenach.
He went to the servants’ quarters, kitchens and stock rooms, to see what those who remained after the takeover, knew.
He spotted one of the maids that had been around since his childhood, her familiar brown eyes still warm even after all the mayhem that had overtaken the last several days; just as she had been in his childhood.
Only now, and sometime during his years away, her hair had started to show signs of her age, gray strands streaking her mousy brown hair.
There had been times that the woman had been a motherly figure to him and Alan, a person who had always encouraged him to see the good in Alan.
He wondered if she felt foolish now in the wake of everything, but he wasn’t about to make her feel lesser for it.
She was good people, her staying with the Keep even after the takeover felt proof enough for him.
“Tilly,” he called as he approached. “What do ye ken of a Sassenach in the dungeon?”
“M’Laird, an English lass? Here?” Tilly echoed, looking at him with a small frown. “Have nae heard of one so much as being in town, I’m afraid. I would nae ken of one in the Keep… Let alone the dungeon.”
Magnus sighed and let out a small huff of acknowledgement before turning and walking to the other side of the kitchen; though, his hope for information was already snuffed out by Tilly’s answer.
She was one of the most senior servants in the Black family employ, if she hadn’t caught wind of it, it was likely that no one else had either.
“Ye there,” he said, calling to one of the younger staff. “What do ye ken about a Lady in the dungeon?”
The young woman gawked at him. “A Lady? In the dungeon?”
He clicked his tongue in disapproval and stormed out of the kitchen. When he spotted a group of male servants, who were cleaning up broken glass in the corridor, Magnus barked over, “Aye, any of ye ken about a Sassenach in the dungeon?”
The men blanched at his sudden appearance, something like panic or fear crossing their features before his question truly settled in their minds.
“An English lass?” one murmured.
“A woman in the dungeon?” another breathed.
Magnus’s annoyance grew and he turned to continue down the corridor, waving a hand of dismissal.
“Nothing, continue yer work. Good work,” he said gruffly before leaving.
Cursing under his breath, he continued his search for information.
Every servant, every warrior, every person he passed, he asked about the Sassenach in the dungeon.
And every person was confused or horrified, but knew nothing.
It was as though she didn’t exist, even though she was right before his very eyes.
Considering her treatment, however, Magnus guessed that Alan kept her a secret, only his closest men—those who had fled with him—had known about her.
It was hard to imagine that they had gotten her into the Keep without anyone seeing, and something told him it only spoke to the inhumane treatment further.
With no answers, no rest, and a great deal of frustration, Magnus found his way to the infirmary. Before he could enter, the healer stepped out. “How is she?” Magnus called to him. “The Sassenach.”
The healer bowed politely and looked to the new Laird with a soft look.
“She’s certainly… endured,” he said, the politest way to say she’s survived nothing short of torture.
“It appears that most of her wounds at this point are superficial. Bruises and cuts that will heal with the salve I applied and some time. Though, she wouldn’t let me treat the scar on her cheek.
She was quite adamant that I nae even touch it. ”
Magnus’s eyes flickered with curiosity, finding that to be strange. Why would she want a scar on her face? The woman was a great mystery. “Very well, are ye done with her now?” he questioned.
“Aye, M’Laird. She’s been bathed, changed, and treated. She’s only waiting now,” the healer confirmed.
With that, Magnus dismissed him and took a step inside the infirmary.
Because of the siege that had just taken place, the infirmary was full of servants and warriors being treated for their injuries sustained during the chaos—but his eyes found her right away.
For a moment, his breath stilled. She sat poised on a cot, a cool expression on her face, as though she was already calculating…
something. Escape, no doubt. Not that Magnus was certain he would stop her, but he would still try to rectify the cruelty she had been through.
But all of that wasn’t the reason his breath caught in his throat.
It was because she was beautiful. Her blonde hair was the color of wheat, clean and dry and plaited into a single braid down her back.
And her eyes… They were the color of winter.
Icy and arctic by nature of the light blue, but they had such an intensity to them, like she was a warrior preparing for battle.
Her skin was milky white now that she had been bathed, the only imperfections being bandages that concealed the worst of her injuries—and that made his heart ache in a way that made him despise her.
Now wasn’t the time for weakness, even in the shape of a beautiful, dangerous woman.
As he stepped closer, her focus flickered to him.
Once again, he was reminded of a cat. Only instead of a feral little domesticated creature, she was now a lynx.
Unafraid and ready to strike—and he was her prey.
But, Magnus wasn’t afraid of enemy clans, his brother, or lynxes.
He closed the distance, towering over her as she sat on her cot.
“Will ye tell me yer name now, lass?” he asked, his voice calm.
She looked away as though bored of him already. “What does my name matter? I only want to be released.”
He sighed and folded his arms. “It matters because I can find no trace of ye throughout the Keep. No one has seen or heard of a Sassenach in the dungeon. I need to understand why ye are here before I can release ye, for yer own safety,” he said.
It was true. If there was something he didn’t know, some incident that had transpired that had led to her being there, releasing her could mean people came after her.
And his brother and his men, the only people who knew how she had come to be in that dungeon, were still at large.
She crossed her arms, mirroring his stance, but hers was clearly done out of defiance.
She said nothing and Magnus sighed, adding.
“Ye will be safe in my clan, my lady. I ken the marks of my brother’s cruelty when I see it and I will do all I can to set it right.
Ye’ll have my protection for as long as ye need. ”
The English woman before him didn’t bat her eyelashes, bow her head, or even nod awkwardly.
No, she laughed. Not a boisterous laugh that came from the belly, but a sharp, metallic, bitter laugh that chortled out in only a couple of notes.
“Do you really think I need your protection? I need nothing from you but my freedom.”
Challenge flared in his veins, an unsuspecting feeling for him. He knew she wasn’t trusting, and with good reason, but he hadn’t anticipated her being so defiant when he was trying to help her.
“Ye do need my protection. Ye’ve come a long way from home, My Lady, and I’m nae sure ye are familiar with the Scottish wilderness.
But let me assure ye, it is none too forgiving.
And I dinnae think I need to tell ye what it will be like for a woman on her own in the world,” he said, not hiding the slight condescension in his tone.
“Some might use the phrase ‘the enemy I know is better than the enemy I have yet to meet’ to justify your argument. I, however, am intimately familiar with the fact I shall never know a worse enemy than clan Black,” she fired back without hesitation.
Magnus’s jaw clenched and venomous words hung on the edge of his tongue, dying to release.
He wasn’t used to being talked back to like this, and most certainly not by a woman who was in absolutely no position of power.
Annoyed was an understatement, but there was something more to his irritation, something underneath it.
Amusement? Admiration? He wasn’t sure, but he knew she was as foolish and arrogant as many thought the English to be.
“I am nae my brother,” he said lowly. “And I am nae foolish enough to allow a complete stranger freedom in my clan. I dinnae ken why ye’re here, nor who ye are.”
“Just let me go home to England. I want no business with you and your clan. What’s the problem if I’m never here again?” she countered.
“Ye can be free,” he said evenly. “Just tell me yer name.”
Her pale eyes narrowed at him and if looks could kill, he would be struck dead by her fury right then.
The conversation was going nowhere and it seemed to be she was realizing that simply demanding release from him wasn’t going to work.
The woman didn’t answer him and with a smug smirk on his face, Magnus let the silence sit.