Page 4 of Kidnapped by her Highland Enemy

W ith one boot on the wall of his temporary rooms, Lucas tossed a knitted ball into the air as his mind wavered on a few matters. He wondered about what was going on at home and even the mayhem that he was sure was happening in the Dunn’s camp.

Surely, they knew who had taken Maisie by now, and he could only imagine the fury on Laird Dunn’s face, if he got to face his father, Cinead. The two would not come to blows, no matter how hot-headed they both were; no, they would leave that to their men.

Then, his mind landed on Maisie and despite himself, a smirk cracked on his face. God’s bones, that lass had some fire in her. He reflected on the passion in her pretty eyes, the sharpness of her tongue, and the restrained fury he knew she was keeping just right at bay.

The creak of the front doorway had him sitting up and then on his feet. It was past sunset, but not truly night, and he headed to the doorway, knowing that their next guest, Oliver’s wife, had arrived.

Cocking his hip on the doorframe, Lucas folded his hands and grinned as Oliver helped his wife down from the wagon.

A third of Oliver’s size, Eilidh was a sliver of his size and his contrast. She was slender with delicate curves, elegant limbs and flawless pale skin, like a nubile water nymph rising from a spring.

She rested her hand on her belly and tipped on her toes as Oliver folded on himself, nearly bending in half to kiss her. It was oddly sweet —not that Lucas would admit it— and he gave the lady a wide smile as she came to him.

Bending, he kissed her hand. “Welcome to our humble abode, me lady.”

“Ah, thank ye,” she said, while tapping his cheek. “Yer still the scoundrel charmer, arenae ye?”

“What gave ye the inkling that I am anything but?” Lucas teased as he stepped away to let her into the room. “Can I get ye anything? Warm milk, water, a new husband?”

She eyed him. “I’ll retain me husband, thank ye, but a glass of milk would be lovely.”

Lucas went off to the squared-off room where they had a small scullery and poured out the milk from a pail into a pot to set over a firepit.

Oliver and his wife were talking between themselves, and whistling a tune, Lucas warmed the milk and added a dollop of honey to it before handing the pewter cup to her.

“So,” Eilidh said, her warm voice dulcet and soothing. “Oliver tells me ye took the lasses for their protection as well as yers. Is that right?”

“Aye,” Lucas replied. “But she nor her maid can ken it yet. For now, I’d prefer if they believe it is because of the rivalry we have with their clan.”

“Ah,” she sipped her drink. “Why the deception?”

Lucas sobered, and he grabbed a stool then sat near her. Resting his elbows on his knees, Lucas dropped his hands between them. “A few days ago, we received notice that someone from Clan Dunn was fixin’ to kill me, so we acted first and took one of theirs for leverage.”

“And where are these lasses?” Eilidh asked.

“They’re separated at the moment,” Lucas said while raking a hand through his hair. “I wasnae confident that the two wouldnae come up with some harebrained plan to escape and end up killing themselves.”

“How long do ye ken ye’ll keep them here for?” Eilidh asked while rubbing her hand over her belly. She winced a little and pressed harder. “The bairn is kicking somethin’ fierce. I am getting surer that it’s a lad, Oliver. I’d be gobsmacked if a lassie is that strong.”

“Well, I daenae ken,” Oliver grinned. “Ye are its mother and ye are the strongest woman I’ve seen.”

“Of course she is,” Lucas jibed, “She has to deal with ye.”

“Away with ye,” Oliver shoved Lucas.

Casting a look up the stairs, Lucas wondered what Maisie was doing, if she was awake and worrying, or sound asleep. For a moment, he debated on what to do, but then, excused himself. The two could do with some time to themselves anyhow.

With a stride that took two steps at a time, he mounted the stairs and headed to Maisie’s room. Gently cracking the door, he measured his weight, almost as if he were in a forest hunting skittish deer, and almost silently stepped into the room.

The lass was there, haloed by moonlight with her brown hair, now a dark mass, spread out like fine gossamer across the pillow.

He felt the urge to trace his finger down the high-boned planes of her face and across the sensuously curved cheekbones but did not.

After a moment, he retreated from the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Why had I done that?

He wanted to tell himself that it was only to make sure the lass had not done anything foolish, but his gut told him it was only that he wanted to see her. Reentering the room with Oliver and his wife, Lucas jerked to a stop as the two abruptly stopped talking.

Narrowing his eyes, Lucas asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Naythin’,” Oliver shrugged. “We’re just talking about news from home.”

“About that,” Eilidh said. “Laird Dunn took a small army of men with him to see yer faither, and the two were in a heated standoff, almost coming to blows until they found that they were both given a similar letter but instead of tryin’ to figure out who is behind it, they both ken the other is lying. ”

Lucas’s mouth dropped, “Wait? What ? What letter?”

“Laird Gunn got a letter that someone from Clan Barclay was going to kill him, and that was after ye had taken the lass,” Eilidh explained patiently. “Oliver was telling me that ye got one yerself.”

Lucas felt his mind begin to spin. What was going on? “And what happened?”

“Fortunately, nay one came to blows and nay blood was shed, but tension is high between the two,” Eilidh said. “One does have to wonder, though, where the letters came from.”

“And what is the sender tryin’ to do,” Lucas added grimly. “Or if this is real.”

“It’s nay that odd for two clans to attempt to assassinate rival lairds,” Oliver inserted. “Even at the same time. This could be happenstance.”

Privately, Lucas doubted it. For the two clans’ lairds to get the same letter about the other’s pending death, it stuck of twisted manipulation and high treason.

For a moment, he wondered if this was coming from the King.

It was widely known that Balliol, was under English King Edward I’s thumb and most of the lairds had him as little more than Edward’s puppet, willing to dance the jig at the Englishman’s request.

Could this be a ploy from the crown to undermine two of the strongest clans so he can have a foothold in the midst of his tyrannical rule? He must be aware that he is losing favor with us nobles.

As much as he tried to find a reason to this double duplicity, Lucas could not find one. He decided to give it more thought in the morning.

“Well,” he said, “That’s a problem for another day. Oliver, ye do have a room set up for Eilidh, aye?”

Oliver nodded, “Aye, I have.”

“Good,” Lucas said. “I’ll leave ye to yer privacy while I take first watch.”

With a round of good nights, Lucas went back to his room that overlooked the front of the house and perched himself at the window with his claymore in reach.

His vigilant gaze swept over the forestland and the bushes and shadows that lingered at the front line. The subtle surge of the sea behind him was soft noise to his ears and as soothing as it was, verily lulling him to sleep, he could not let his watchfulness down.

Being in sentry form was second nature to him. With the many nights he had been on hunting parties and attack missions, he knew how to be a lookout and spot signs of ambush and attack. He glanced at the bow and quiver of arrows, primed and ready to shoot down any advancing enemy.

He kept watch until Oliver came to relieve him an hour before midnight.

He retreated to his bed, with his weapons at the ready, and kept his boots on.

Years ago, at a request from Laird Mackenzie, he’d been forced to fight their enemies barefoot on sharp stony ground, a lesson he had never forgotten.

Lucas’s eyes popped open the moment dawn began to light the sky. The deep purple fingers of dawn gradually gave way to brighter skies. The warming rays of the morning sunshine pushed the chill of the night away, lifting the salty sea smell, reawakening Lucas senses.

Instead of sitting up, Lucas allowed himself to prop an arm under his head, lay back and think about how he would approach Maisie that morning.

Will the lass be unfriendly or will she be a bit more amiable?

Lucas realized he could not finish that thought.

What was he going to expect from Maisie?

She could not be comfortable, no, and neither would she understand, as he had not given her any reason to do so.

If she was still upset, he would understand.

No one would be enthusiastic at being kidnapped from their home and whisked away into the middle of a forest.

Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, Lucas stood and went to a nook where a bucket of washing water stood and cleansed his person before dressing in trews, his boots, and a loose shirt.

He headed to the cooking nook where, to his unsurprise, Eilidh was stirring something on the stove, and it smelled divine. That was when he spotted rounds of pies cooling on a ledge and his jaw dropped. “Ye cooked those, so early?”

She looked over and smiled, “Good morning to ye, me laird.”

Abashed, Lucas dipped his head and kissed her cheek. “Good morning. Forgive me for losing me manners. But I am stunned.”

“Dinnae be,” she laughed. “I baked them from yesterday before I came, they only needed some heat.”

“A scoundrel like Oliver doesnae deserve ye,” Lucas teased. “Yer too pure for the likes of him.”

She swatted at him, “Get away with ye, ye charmer.”

“And I heard that,” Oliver growled from the doorway.

“Calm ye,” Lucas snorted. “I’m jesting.”

Ian came into the room, yawning. “Good morning. The other lass isnae awake yet, but she keeps asking to see her mistress. What shall I do?”