Page 5 of Highlander’s Captive Bride (Troubles of Highland Lasses #4)

5

“I ken ye dinnae agree, Bellamy, but I cannae help thinking the councilmen would calm down a little and accept yer manner of bringing the healer here if ye told them the truth about Bridie,” Jamie was saying as he and the Laird stood practically toe to toe before the hearth, in the Laird’s study.

Bellamy shook his head vigorously. “The truth. Ye really think so, d’ye? In fact, without me commanding them, I reckon those ignoramuses would do just the opposite,” he replied tersely, raking his fingers through his hair in apparent exasperation.

“Aye, ye made yer thoughts clear on that when ye beat Arbroath to the ground for speaking out of turn,” Jamie agreed. But then, he added, “But is it nae worth a try?”

Bellamy spun away from him, his mind filled with the terrible possibilities of revealing what only he and Jamie knew for sure. He could not trust his councilmen to act as he wished, and that would mean more trouble.

“Nay,” he answered decisively. “’Tis best we keep it to ourselves. Dinnae ask me about it again.”

Jamie sighed in defeat. “Very well, if that’s what ye wish,” he relented and was about to say more when a light tapping sounded at the study door.

“It’s Nadia,” Bellamy said. “I told her to come.” He strode to the door and opened it. “Come in.”

He beckoned the visitor inside, and a tall, slender girl of around seventeen entered. She was beautiful, with long blond hair and large blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face.

“Welcome home, M’laird. ’Tis good to see ye safely back,” she said in a soft voice, curtseying and smiling at them both. “And a good evening to ye, Jamie.”

Jamie nodded at her, returning her smile.

Bellamy sat down behind his desk. “Thank ye, Nadia. I trust ye’re well,” he replied, regarding the girl he had raised as a Murdoch in his home for the last eight years since annihilating her clan.

“Very well, thank ye, M’laird. But I’m excited to learn about this new healer ye’ve brought to the castle for Elodie. Is she really as clever as they say?”

Nadia’s lovely face was alight with frank curiosity as she gazed at him. Bellamy thought her interest was to be expected. She and his daughter were close, and she would naturally wish to know what was happening.

“That’s yet to be proved,” he told her, an image of Daisy popping up in his mind. “But I have high hopes. She’s up there now with Elodie, examining her.”

“Oh, so soon?” Nadia asked, clasping her hands before her, her fingers twitching nervously. No doubt, he thought, she’s anxious for Elodie’s recovery, too.

“Nae time to waste, lass,” he told her curtly. “Anyway, ye’ll meet her shortly. Her name is Daisy, by the way,” he added, standing up. “Jamie, I want ye to take Nadia up to Elodie’s chambers and introduce her to the healer. Nadia, I want ye to meet up with Daisy in the morning and show her around the healing rooms and the apothecary, and show her all the medical supplies she can use. Show her anything that could help her in trying to heal Elodie. And make a list of anything she needs. Is that understood?”

Nadia nodded immediately, still toying with her fingers. “Of course, M’laird.”

As the pair left the study, Bellamy whispered to Jamie so Nadia would not hear, “When ye’ve done that, bring the healer here, and keep a close eye on her. She’ll likely try to escape.”

Jamie nodded silently before following Nadia down the hallway.

* * *

Daisy had heard the footsteps approaching and turned her head as the door opened. But she did not get up as the man she had been introduced to earlier by the Laird as Jamie Blair slipped inside, followed by a beautiful young girl with golden hair and blue eyes. Daisy guessed she was in her late teens.

“How is she?” Jamie asked in a whisper, creeping to the bedside and looking down at Elodie.

“Ach, the poor thing looks so pale,” put in the young girl, now standing beside him, her fingers fidgeting.

“As ye can see, she’s sleeping. I gave her a draught that seemed to have helped a little. I’ll ken more in the morning. If she sleeps through the night, that is,” Daisy responded, her voice hushed.

“That’s good. I can see ye’re working yer magic already, Daisy,” Jamie told her with a smile.

She bristled. “’Tis nae magic,” she said coldly.

“Right,” he uttered, glancing at her hesitantly before turning to the girl at his side. “This is Nadia, the Laird’s ward.”

He has a ward as well!? And a pretty one, too.

“How d’ye do, Daisy,” Nadia said, coming forward and extending her hand.

Daisy shook it distrustfully, injecting some ice into her voice as she replied, “Good evening, Nadia.” She looked at them both in turn. “What brings ye here?” she asked.

The Laird has sent them to spy on me, no doubt.

“I’m to show ye the healing rooms and all the supplies we have in the morning, Daisy,” Nadia replied, “in case ye need anything for Elodie. Shall I come and find ye after breakfast?”

“I suppose that’ll be fine, depending on the child’s condition, of course,” Daisy returned, hope stirring inside her that such a tour might give her the opportunity to find a way to escape.

“Ye can go now, Nadia,” Jamie told the girl.

“Very well. I’ll see ye in the morning, Daisy,” Nadia said, taking one more worried look at Elodie before leaving the room.

“The Laird wants to see ye,” Jamie announced as soon as Nadia had gone.

Daisy’s heart sank, but she got up and nodded.

Poppy looked up from her knitting. “I’ll let ye ken if anything happens,” she promised her with a smile. She then turned it on Jamie, who, Daisy noticed, smiled bashfully back at the servant as he ushered her out of the room.

The young warrior appeared to be completely smitten.

Full of trepidation about the forthcoming encounter with her captor, Daisy nevertheless noticed that the place was well-lit with lamps as they went down the left staircase, turned right in the great hall, and took a broad, high-ceilinged passage lined with tapestries and paintings. The decor looked very familiar to her, having been raised in Castle McGunn, and yet there was, of course, a strangeness to it all.

“Where are we going?” she asked, suppressing the tremor in her voice that threatened to reveal her nervousness.

“To see the Laird,” Jamie said simply, giving her a half smile.

She was not deceived by his pleasant manner or boyish, good looks. It was clear to her he was the Laird’s right arm and, therefore, could not be trusted. Halfway down the hallway, he stopped by a large, intricately carved door. She halted, too, taking in the picturesque renderings of thistles, heather, numerous deer and stags, fanciful heroic warriors, and winsome maidens in long, trailing gowns.

Jamie rapped sharply on the door.

“Come in,” came the barked reply in a voice Daisy recognized all too well. Her stomach dropped further as Jamie opened the door and ushered her inside, following her in.

“Ye can leave us alone now, Jamie,” the Laird said, looming large behind a vast desk that appeared to match the door in its carved artistry.

“Right ye are,” Jamie replied, but she saw the look of disappointment on his face as he turned and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Silence reigned for a few moments as the sound of his footsteps retreated, as if the Laird was listening to them fade as well.

Daisy found herself standing in the center of a beautiful, old carpet hued in rich reds and greens, in a den that was distinctly masculine. It smelled masculine, too, she noted, catching the familiar whiffs of woodsmoke, whisky, leather, and musk.

Her chin held high despite her racing heart, she looked around with interest, determined to show that she was not intimidated by the fearsome weapons arrayed on the walls, nor the collection of stuffed heads of stags and boars that stared glassily down at her. It was not much different from her brother’s study, which had been her father’s, and his father’s before him.

“So, what d’ye make of it?” the Laird asked in his deep, gravelly voice, rising from his seat behind the desk and coming around it to stand a few feet away from her.

Daisy swallowed her nerves and looked up at him. He looked… different. His plaid was gone, and he stood in his kilt, half boots, and a black coat, with a snowy white shirt beneath that was open at the neck, revealing the smattering of springy, dark hairs on his chest.

He seemed larger and more well-formed than before. She noted that he had shaved, and his dark hair looked somehow neater, though still unruly. His chiseled features glowed amber in the lamplight, and his dark eyes fixed upon her, his expression stern but with a hint of enquiring eagerness.

She swallowed a trembling breath, for his presence was acting upon her senses again, making her pulse race and heat run up and down her body. Inwardly, she cursed him for it and resolved to be professional.

“I gave her a draught that seems to have eased her pain for a while. She was sleeping peacefully when I left,” she told him, strengthening her voice, which threatened to betray her nerves.

“Hmm,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off her. “Sit, will ye?” He gestured to a pair of matching leather armchairs.

Daisy wanted to refuse out of pride, but she was exhausted by the events of the last two days, and hungry, too. She sat down.

He crossed to a corner cabinet, and she watched as he poured two tots of whisky and brought them back, passing one to her before taking the chair opposite.

Again, she wanted to refuse the drink.

“Slàinte mhath!” he said, downing the dram in one go and setting the glass on the desk.

“Slàinte mhath,” she echoed, giving in to temptation and tossing the whisky down.

Immediately, she felt its warming, restorative powers as it slid down her dry throat. The Laird seemed to give her an approving glance as he leaned towards her in his chair, resting his muscular forearms on his knees.

“’Tis good to hear it, for she has trouble sleeping because of the pain,” he told her. “But what I want to ken is what’s the cause of the sickness. Have ye found that out yet?”

“Nay, not yet. ’Tis too early to say,” Daisy began, pausing when she saw the disappointment in his eyes. For some annoying reason, she felt the urge to offer reassurance. “But I’ve only just begun. I’ve examined her and got a lot of information about her symptoms. I need more time.”

“Aye, that’s what I thought ye’d say. Can ye hazard a guess?”

“Nay, there are too many possibilities for what it could be. But I ken she’s never been sick like this before, so that seems to point to something new—maybe a condition or ailment that’s only recently come to light.”

“I see.” He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, looking gloomy.

“Is there any history of any illness in yer family that could explain it? Sometimes, there are things that are passed down in families,” she added, wondering if it could be a hereditary condition.

Daisy was surprised when he gave a small, mirthless laugh and said, “Naething that I ken of. Most of the Murdoch men die in battle, and the women usually expire from something to do with childbirth. Or a broken heart.”

She could not help but nod her head. “Aye. That sounds about right for the family of a laird,” she agreed, blaming the whisky for her gradually receding nervousness.

“Well, I have a task for ye to perform before ye retire,” the Laird told her, rising from his seat and going back to the chair behind his desk. “Come, ye can sit here,” he urged, gesturing that she should come and sit at his desk.

“Oh, what is it?” Daisy asked, her nerves resurfacing as she did as he bid her and went to sit in the enormous chair. He stood over her as he pushed the chair in, trapping her firmly. She could hear him breathing behind her, and the heat from his body burned her like fire.

“I want ye to write some letters. One to yer braither, and one to yer sister, the Lady Rottrich.”

As he spoke, he arranged several sheets of parchment in front of her on the desk before sliding forth the nearby inkpot and quill.

Of course. He’s going to get me to cover for him.

Daisy listened, her lips pursed, as he explained what he wanted her to write.

“I want ye to tell yer braither that ye cannae come to see yer sister-in-law just yet, for ye have a very sick child to treat. Then, ye’re going to write to yer sister and tell her that ye’ve arrived safely at Castle McGunn, and all is well. Is that understood?”

Daisy’s anger flared at the lies he expected her to tell her siblings to cover his misdeeds.

“Well, I’m nae deaf, if that’s what ye’re driving at. Nor am I simple. And since we speak the same language, of course, I understand, ye big dummart!” she cried.

She froze as the last word slipped out of her mouth, half expecting a blow to knock her off her seat. It did not come, but there was a sound, very slight, behind her. It sounded very much like he was stifling a snort of laughter.

Furiously, she whirled on him, as far as she could, imprisoned as she was. But though she craned her neck to scrutinize his face, she could detect no sign of levity on his face.

“I’ll nae tell such lies,” she said in retaliation, still suspecting him of mocking her behind her back.

“Well, it’ll be a long night, then, for ye’re going nowhere until I have those letters in me hand,” he growled in her ear, his warm breath tickling her neck and sending shivers through her body.

Apparently satisfied, he returned to the armchair on the other side of the desk, crossing his legs and fixing his dark eyes warningly upon her.

“Write,” he commanded, stabbing a finger at the writing gear.

Silently, knowing she had to obey, Daisy picked up the quill, chewing at the end thoughtfully as she suddenly realized this might be her chance to alert her siblings that all was not well with her.

But how to do it without the monster guessing me intentions?

“Ach, dinnae chew me pen, will ye? That was me faither’s,” the Laird protested, grimacing at her.

“Oh, sorry,” she said automatically, her thoughts on what she could write to secretly tell of her plight. She took one of the sheets, dipped the quill in the inkpot, and began to write.

Dear Braither,

I’m so sorry to hear that Violet is ill. I hope she’s feeling better by now without me, and I promise to be with ye as soon as I can. But there will be a delay, for at present, I cannae leave the place where I’m staying. ’Tis a castle inland that stands in a loch, and I’m treating the child of the—

“Let me see that,” the Laird demanded, making her jump as she realized he was behind her again, looking over her shoulder, though she had not seen him move.

He snatched the sheet from her hand and read the few lines she had scribbled. He shook his head with a derisive laugh. “Nae very clever for one who claims nae to be simple. Ye must think me a fool to try to get away with that nonsense.”

Suddenly, before she could move, he bent down and gripped her by the chin, turning her face up to meet his eyes. She quivered with fear but tried to appear as defiant as she could. Nevertheless, as she looked into the stormy gray depths of his eyes, that same snakelike thing as before coiled inside her.

They stared at each other for several moments, and Daisy felt the air between them crackling with tension. It took her back to the time in the woods, when he had caught her running away and they had regarded each other in exactly the same way.

Once again, their faces were very close, and just as had happened back then, the thought came to her unbidden that he was going to kiss her. Involuntarily, her gaze fell to his firm, sculpted lips, and heat rose through her as she wondered what it would be like.

She felt a hint of disappointment when, instead, he let go of her face and stood up, sliding a clean sheet of parchment in front of her. The heat inside her died right away, to be replaced by resignation.

“Dinnae try something like that again. Now, write!” he commanded, standing over her this time.

Troubled once more by the actions of her renegade body whenever he was near, Daisy applied herself seriously to the task. Half an hour later, much to her chagrin, he was reading the finished letters with an approving smile.

“That’s more like it. These will do nicely,” he told her, tucking the letters in his coat. “Right. Ye’ll want to retire now. I’ve had some food sent up to yer room. Come on, I’ll take ye back there.”

Not speaking but with the tension between them still palpable, he did just that. She had to trot to keep up with his swift steps on the way to the chamber in which he had previously locked her.

Once again, he opened the door and pushed her inside.

“Good night,” he said, shutting the door and locking it from the outside before leaving her alone.

Daisy looked around the room. True to his word, a tray of food had been brought up for her, but she had no appetite and did not even bother to look at it. Her thoughts racing, her body at the same time excited and weary, she kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed, pulling the coverlet over her.

She huffed in indignation as she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, knowing that she needed all the rest she could get if she was to formulate a plan of escape.

Half wishing she was a witch and could turn the arrogant Laird into a turnip, she turned on her side and snuggled down. Soon, however, all she could see when she closed her eyes was a pair of handsome gray eyes staring back at her.