Page 2 of Forge of the Highlander’s Destiny

“What clan are ye a part of? I daenae recognize the colors.”

“What have ye done to end up here? Have ye had a disagreement with my faither?”

“How old are ye? Ye look young, but I cannae tell in the light what age ye are.”

Some of the questions were enough to make him scream with irritation, and then others made him want to laugh aloud, even though his death was looming over him with every second that passed.

Eventually, her questions dimmed, and he sent up a silent prayer, thanking God that she was quiet, and he could actually get some sleep.

He slid down to the floor and closed his eyes.

It was the best he could do under the circumstances.

At least there was a scratchy, if smelly tartan nearby, and he pulled it over himself, shivering underneath it.

He didn’t sleep well because thoughts of who in his company had betrayed him were running through his mind over and over.

In the morning, a few hours later, or so he thought, he was woke by the sound of the lass’ voice again. He’d never forget that voice if he happened to live beyond this execution. It was now seared into his brain like a brand.

“Come now, why will ye nae tell me who ye are, Lad?”

He lifted himself up from the floor with a little effort.

His arm was a little bruised from having slept on hard, cold stone all night.

He turned his face to the lass, and she was watching him eagerly, leaning against the wall of her cell again.

He furrowed his brow, wondering why on earth she looked as if they didn’t both just spend the whole of the evening in a dungeon.

A little voice inside him told him that it was no use trying to hide anything from anyone anymore when death was so close.

It was right on the horizon. It might even be that day, and it would all be over.

His sister might never know what had happened to him.

That thought hurt him most of all for he was all she had left in terms of family.

“Me men betrayed me, and I was taken here. I daenae ken why, though. Nor dae I ken which of me men gave me away,” he said finally, and he cleared his throat because it sounded hoarse now that morning had come.

Arya grinned. “Finally, ye have come to understand the life of being imprisoned. Ye must cherish each moment because ye daenae ken when the moment of freedom is.”

He nodded. “Aye, but me moment of freedom will be death,” he said plainly, and he watched as a flicker of a serious expression crossed her face.

It was likely the first serious expression she’d ever had.

Now that it was morning, more light was pouring through the small window overhead, and it filled the room, removing most of the shadows.

Cohen could finally see that Arya’s hair was almost black, and sparkling, bright-blue eyes.

How could her eyes still be sparkling? It bemused him, the fact that she could still contain such cheer and brightness after a whole night in the dark, dank cell, and the fact that they’d just been discussing death.

He wondered if she might be a figment of his imagination.

One last, torturous gift given to him by the Heavens before his death was upon him.

Or perhaps he had already died and wandered in through the pearly gates.

It was not so bad to be trapped with a young, bonnie lass, whose mouth distracted him.

However, if it was Heaven, then God had forgotten to remove the iron barrier between him and said lass.

She said nothing for a few seconds, and he was glad for it.

He could look at her as he pleased, and it helped to quell the fear that was bubbling up inside him.

Besides, he had finally found a way to silence her annoying questions.

But on the other hand, he hated it. He didn’t want his last mission on earth to be to quell the cheeriness and energy of a bonnie young lass who was clearly abused by her own father.

He looked away before he said, “I am Cohen Kirk, Laird of Sinclair Castle. There is nae point to hidin’ it any longer.”

When he turned back, he saw that Arya’s blue eyes were gleaming. “Can I ask ye somethin’ then?”

Her eager expression and her smile sent a sort of rush through him.

It was a mixture of longing, safety, and home.

Even if it annoyed him, her smile was like a jolt of energy, waking him up to life.

It made him smile in return, if only briefly, and he thought that he was under a spell.

She was so energetic, so full of life that he couldn’t help but react to it.

He frowned again, hoping to replace his usual scowl.

“I hardly ken ye, and yet I daenae think that I could stop ye from askin’ somethin’ if I tried.” To his surprise, he actually laughed a little, and she seemed to light up at his teasing.

“Ye are right at that. Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “I would like to ask ye that if ye manage to leave this place, would ye let me come with ye?”

Despite her eager look as she peered at him from her cell, he shook his head and instantly refused. “Nay, Lass, I willnae take ye with me. Ye live here, first of all, and second of all, it is very unlikely that I will be leaving here still alive, that is.”

Even though he thought his answer was very logical, and his concerns very founded, she gave him the most dejected look he had ever seen in his life.

He had to look away because it had already cut him to the core.

He clenched his fists, eager to forget the feeling in his chest. He’d never felt the weight of someone’s disappointment like that.

In a softer voice, he said, “I am sorry, Lass, but it will nae dae. I cannae take ye with me.”

She sighed, and he closed his mouth, not wanting to say anything else.

Why did he have to explain his reasons to her?

He wasn’t going to take her with him. If he managed to escape, he would get out, far away, and he would find the bloody traitors who had allowed him to be taken.

He would have his vengeance one day, and that was all he would want to focus on.

Not the safety of a strange lass who asked a lot of questions.

The door to the dungeons screeched open. Two guards entered with trays. Keys jangled as they opened the doors and slid the trays of food across the floor, one for Arya and one for him. They said nothing, but slammed the doors after themselves, and the two prisoners were left in silence again.

Cohen dragged the tray toward himself, but he was watching Arya out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t known her for more than a night, and yet her silence discomfited him. After a few minutes with the guards gone, Arya’s voice again filled the dungeon, and he didn’t feel so guilty anymore.

“I have a plan to escape, ye ken. I have spent a lot of time down here, and so with yer help, I think the plan could work. But ye, of course, must agree to take me with ye.”

He clenched his jaw, feeling grim. There was no way he could bring a lass with him. A lass from a rival clan who had no connection to him whatsoever. She was not a relative nor was she a potential bride. She was just a loud, pestering woman who wanted to be free.

Well, that might have been reason enough, but he shook his head. “Nay,” he said a bit louder, and she was quiet once more, only this time it was more of an angry rather than a sad silence.