Chapter 4
The two men sat at the dining table alone, sighing from the exhaustion of the day.
He had managed some sleep, but he was still awfully tired; and yet he found himself called to goblets of wine even though he knew it would put him on his ass well before he intended.
This whole fiasco was just far more than he had anticipated—and he had already assumed the worst because of who he knew Alan to be.
“I dinnae ken why ye invited the English lass to supper,” Angus sighed next to him.
“Have ye nae heard the carrot works better than the stick?” Magnus huffed. “I’ll have a better chance of getting information out of her if I treat her as a guest instead of a prisoner.”
“But why bother? Ye should simply release her. What comes of her after that, is nae yer concern,” Angus pressed. “We dinnae need whatever trouble having her here will bring.”
His face twitched with annoyance, because he knew Angus had a point.
She really wasn’t his concern and it would be the simplest solution, to cut her loose and let her fate be her own.
And yet, something gnawed at his gut. He simply couldn’t figure out why she was there.
There had to be a reason and until he figured it out… He would keep her.
“We dinnae ken her connections nor her relations. There’s a reason she was in clan Black lands for Alan to have gotten his hands on her.
It’s too risky to let her go without figuring out why.
She could be involved in some scheme that Alan was notified of and was holding her for investigation purposes.
But, Alan being Alan, took things too far,” Magnus said.
When Angus didn’t respond, he looked up and saw him eyeing Magnus seriously. “Dinnae let curiosity be yer downfall. Now is the time to simplify and get things in order, not go chasing unnecessary distractions.”
“I am doing nay such thing,” Magnus said. “I am merely being cautious. She’s a wildcard if I’ve ever seen one. And they must be handled with care, nae discarded. Besides, I—”
Magnus felt himself stop midsentence and nearly dropped his goblet of wine when the English lass entered the dining room.
No longer was she in the simple beige gown from before, he assumed that had been the closest thing to English dress the maids had been able to find.
Before him was a proper Scottish flower, her bodice and arisaid in the clan tartan and her hair done in an intricate braid updo for the top half that Magnus lacked any skill on how to describe even in the privacy of his own thoughts.
But it looked good, and regal, and allowed the rest of her flowing wheat hair to go down her back.
If she had been an English rose in the infirmary, before him was a Scottish bluebell—beautiful, distinct, and blooming with determination even when facing the rocky sea from its place upon the cliffside.
He stood abruptly and nudged Angus to do the same.
Hannah looked their way as they stood to greet her, her expression guarded but damn it all if he couldn’t swear there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.
Magnus still hadn’t any idea who she was or why she was there at his Keep, but he was certain of one fact: this wasn’t any ordinary woman.
This was one who could endure Alan, and internally mock her new keepers while her head was still held high.
“Thank ye for joining us,” Magnus greeted, his voice in its usual gruff tone as he gestured for her to sit across from him.
Her eyes flickered to the chair he pointed at, as though she were considering not taking the offer—maybe she would even stroll right back out of the dining hall.
But then, she sat, her posture straight as an arrow and her eyes deadly with analysis and calculations.
“What in the world is this lass,” Angus muttered next to him. It didn’t go unnoticed that he spoke as though she were a creature, like a selkie or a siren, instead of asking who she was.
Magnus didn’t dignify it with a response and instead, signaled the servants to enter.
He sipped his own wine, finishing his first goblet before holding it out for a servant to refill.
The staff looked at him with leery eyes but when he gave them curt nods of approval, they seemed to soften and even bowed their heads to him.
He appreciated their hesitance, considering the cruelty they likely faced from Alan, but it was good to see they were warming to him quickly—even if he wasn’t exactly a warm man himself.
A slightly trembling decanter caught his attention, pulling him from his thoughts.
He watched as one of the maids approached Hannah’s side, her eyes transfixed on the scar on her cheek.
Magnus wanted to scoff at it, finding it so preposterous that someone could be afraid of a scar.
He himself was covered in them because of his days fighting battles that weren’t his.
But he sucked in a breath to steady himself; he knew how superstitious people were.
That wearing a mark, especially on the face, meant being a harbinger of pain and misfortune.
But he didn’t stop the maid or chastise her—it wasn’t as though he could undo a lifetime of superstitious thinking with a simple command or suggestion.
Instead, Magnus watched the English lass’s face to gauge her reaction.
She seemed completely unbothered, almost as though she hadn’t noticed at all; but he saw it, the way her eyes would quickly flicker to the maid pouring the wine and then away again.
She knew, but she was either putting up a wall or truly didn’t care.
The maid practically scurried away and Magnus huffed in annoyance, drawing the attention of the Sassenach and her deadly stare.
He wasn’t put off by it, however. Every little thing she did, her mere existence there, seemed to only fascinate him.
He wasn’t sure he had ever seen a woman so stoic—then again most hadn’t been through Alan Black.
Once they were left to their food, Magnus called to her again. “Are yer new accommodations to yer liking?”
She looked up from her plate and studied him for a long moment.
“I think anything would have been an improvement, but yes, it’s nice.
And I appreciated being able to walk around the Keep.
Though the guards were unnecessary.” Her English accent was light and musical to his ears, which surprised him.
While he didn’t have a profound hatred of the English as many did, he didn’t exactly have a fondness for them either.
He sighed and nodded. “I can imagine it is frustrating to have yer every step followed. But I assure ye, it is only a precaution for the safety of ye and the Keep.”
“Of the Keep?” she scoffed. “Do you think I’m going to rob you blind?”
“Nay, but I dinnae ken who ye are. Without being able to do something as simple as confirm yer identity, there is nay space for trust here.” His words were simple and firm as he tried to convey that the decision wasn’t personal, but a simple fact of the matter.
Magnus was trying to repair all of the damage that Alan had done, and so there wasn’t a way for him to do that without ensuring all those in the Keep could be trusted to some degree.
A mysterious, defiant stranger didn’t exactly meet those parameters.
The woman hedged, her arms crossing and her fingers drumming against her biceps. “That’s all you need then? My identity and I can just stay here as a regular guest?”
“There’s other factors but, aye. Kenning yer identity is the first building block in putting trust in ye. One that will offer ye more freedoms, certainly,” he told her coolly.
She contemplated for a while and then, she spoke again, surprising him. He thought she would be defiant until the bitter end of her stay there. “Hannah Miller. I was caught stealing from the stalls in town by Alan Black himself. He kept me as a way to vent personal grievances against the English.”
Magnus kept a little laugh from coming to his lips and he maintained his practiced composure.
While he appreciated she was making an attempt, he already knew the story couldn’t be true.
Why would a random noble English woman be in their clan, and why would she be reduced to stealing to survive?
Beyond that, no one had so much as heard of a Sassenach in the area; and he also knew Miller was a typical peasant surname, and she was no peasant.
No, she couldn’t be with the gentle way she handled her cutlery and carried herself.
Not that he was watching her every move, it was simply an observation aimed at protecting his clan.
But he would play into her little game and see what more came out.
There was always a little truth to lies.
“Is that so? And what is it ye stole?” Magnus questioned.
Hannah didn’t miss a beat. “A pendant from the stalls in town.”
“And why were ye in my clan land committing such petty crimes? A mighty long way from home, just to pocket some jewelry in my humble lands,” he countered.
“My reasons are none of your business,” she fired back.
“Yer reasons are precisely my business,” he huffed. “Ye want freedom from my Keep, have admitted ye’re a criminal, and expect me to release ye without even kenning why ye were committing crimes. Ye should at least appeal to yer captor’s heart if ye want mercy, Miss Miller.”
Irritation and sheer anger flashed across her features. He saw it in the way her brow creased, her nostrils flared slightly, and her lips pursed. And then, in the next moment, her expression was neutral again—except for those angry arctic storms she called eyes.
“Wouldn’t you want to get rid of criminals?” she huffed. “It’s not as though I even stole anything. I was stopped from doing it. So you should really send me on my way before I do rob you blind.”
He had to bite back laughter at that, and his amusement must have shown on his face. The look of anger was back on her face, and she was no longer trying to rein it in to appear neutral. “And how long ago did this crime occur?” he asked, not bothering to address her statements.
“How should I know? Time doesn’t exist in a dungeon,” she snapped.
The air was charged with tension and irritation from both sides of the table and horribly, Magnus was reveling in it all the while Hannah looked like she was ready to burst into flames. And he was all too interested in fanning those flames, now that she was talking and so wonderfully reactive.
“I’m glad to see ye are recovering,” he said, a touch of mockery to his tone to highlight her rather spirited attitude.
And it was true, though, she was recovering physically as well.
Even though it hadn’t even been an entire day, she looked like a completely different person.
Bathed, dressed in proper clothes, and talking.
She didn’t get the chance to respond. A guard rushed into the dining hall with a frantic look on his face and his eyes immediately fixed on Magnus. “We’ve caught someone, M’Laird,” he announced.
Intrigue and venom flashed over Magnus’s features.
“Is it my brother?” he queried. And then his eyes went to Hannah, if that even was truly her name, to gauge her reaction.
The English lass was drained of all color, of all defiance.
All her bravery and backtalk washed off just at the idea of his brother being there.
She only stared at the guard in unimaginable horror.
The guard gestured for someone to enter, and a man with a dark tuft of hair and head lowered was dragged in by two warriors, shackles dragging the floor.