Page 8 of Kidnapped by her Highland Enemy

F ive days slipped by faster than Lucas would have imagined and let an odd itch under his skin, a sensation he knew very well—and hated. It was the same feeling he got when waiting for an attack, but nothing was forthcoming. He wanted to know what was happening at his home, but did not dare.

A tense solemness rested in the house, and more than once he had heard the lass pacing above.

Was she as worried and agitated as he was?

He kept going outside, checking the grounds, the woods, and the seaside.

Oliver had gone back to the main market once to find what whispers were going through the people’s ears.

“It’s still nothing much, me laird,” Oliver said as he entered the house for another morning of scouting the towns nearby. “There is nay word about ye taking Hendry’s daughter or any whispers about any plans to kill ye as far as I was able to find.”

“I’m nae surprised,” Lucas said while his gaze flew up to the ceiling above. “Faither has the means to stifle any rumors that might tarnish his good name an’ our hierarchy in the highlands.”

He had thought that Laird Dunn would have latched onto him kidnapping Maisie like a goshawk would snatch a mouse. It was the perfect opportunity to smear his name and make him into a wicked fiend deserving of death.

Somehow, the silence from both clans made Lucas that more agitated and he wondered, again, if kidnapping Maisie had been the right thing to do. When he had told Maisie about his clan’s flaws, he had omitted how rash they were at time, but now, that same thing was haunting him.

We could have held a meeting an’ found a way to fetter this so-called killer out from amongst us without me resorting to stealing the lass from her home.

But then—would he have met Maisie? She was a lovely girl, beautiful, smart, and quick-tongued, but he felt she was dejected and unhappy. He did not know what was happening at her home, but he wished she did not have to suffer for it.

After a mostly sleepless, worry-filled night, Lucas made it out to the front room with an invisible weight resting on his shoulders. He ventured into the front room, tired but still resolute and had to keep his guard up. He was a soldier, eight years as a trained but truly born as one.

He came across Maisie’s lady maid in the kitchen and held back a snort at how she turned her nose up at him.

“Good morning,” he inclined his head.

A twinge in her jaw told him she was clenching her teeth. “Good morning,” she eventually mumbled.

Looking at the pot of milk he nodded while reaching for an empty goblet, craving water. “I see ye’ve realized there is nay hemlock in our food, eh?”

She sneered but dropped her lip quickly. “We’ll see about that. I’m making me lady’s meals this morning as I daenae trust ye. Ye are all Barclays, a vicious, brutal lot.”

The insult washed over Lucas’s back like water over a duck’s feathers; he did not mind it, but someone else did.

“Heather!” Maisie snapped sharply from behind them.

Pivoting on his heel, Lucas saw a different Maisie than he had seen before. She looked exhausted, her golden eyes hazed in sleep, dark smudges rested under her eyes and her face was wan. The only feature that gave a hint of her true temperament was the stubborn set of her chin.

Still, even tired beyond reason, she was displeased. “Ye cannae talk to him like that.”

Like the plant shrinking under a scorching sun, Heather wilted at her mistress’s rebuke but even so, she still looked stubborn. Cheek twitching, Heather poured out two goblets, leaving one for Maisie then disappearing with the other into a room down the hall.

Maisie did not meet his eyes, but he reached out anyhow. Touching her arm, he finally got her to look at him. “How are ye?”

Her lips pressed tightly, and she shook her head slowly. “I’m muddled. It’s so troubling that I cannae—it’s distressing to say the least."

His thumb made soft circles on the back of her hand, trying to comfort her. “Would ye like to take a walk down to the seaside with me? The sea air is quite restorative for anything that might ail you in the future.”

She closed her eyes, and he could see the reflection of clashing thoughts waging a battle in her mind. Lucas made sure to keep his hold on her, to keep her in the presence and not get lost in the thoughts going through her mind.

When her lashes fluttered open, and her warm golden eyes swam with conflict, it took all of Lucas’s restraint not to reel her into his arms and hold her. She was so young, and it was not fair for her to be embroiled into this conflict.

“Aye,” she nodded, “I ken it might help.”

Reaching for the milk, he handed it to her, and she drank almost silently, then, to his consternation, she licked her lips, making a flicker of desire heat in his belly. Quickly rinsing the cup, Maisie said, “Shall we then?”

They headed out into the benign day but when they arrived at the seashore, the seas were oddly extremely rough, with dark, angry waves that buffeted the rugged coastline. He led her to a long, flat stone where they sat and Maisie drew her knees up and, surprisingly, rested her head on his shoulder.

He breathed in her lavender-scented hair and felt her petite body slot into his side like a missing piece. He heard her take in a deep breath of the salty sea air and saw the flutter of her eyes, while listening to the sound of the waves as they crashed onto the shore.

“Miss Eilidh tells me ye’ve done many things over the years,” she said. “Ye went to France to contest His Highness’s orders and studied in Glasgow.”

“Aye,” he replied softly, while his fingers stroked her shoulders.

“All this time I took ye for a blockheaded solider who only knew how to fight,” she said. “I apologize. That was nae right of me to judge ye before I kent who ye are.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Why thank ye, lass.”

She twisted her head. “How old are ye?”

“Eight and twenty,” Lucas said, while slipping his hand up to skitter over the back of her neck.

She shivered a little but then leaned into his touch.

“I started me training at ten-and-six at the lowest ranks in me faither’s legion.

I woke up at witching hour and went to bed after the rest were done. ”

Again, Maisie twisted her head, her arched brows drawing tight in the middle. “But yer his son .”

“Matters nae to him,” he shrugged. “I could be a saint reborn and I’d still have to start at the bottom. Nay one gets a pass with me faither, ye must earn yer place.”

She let out a long breath. “Me faither wanted a boy-child, and when I came, it was as if he were predetermined to set me aside and daenae ken of me too much.”

Concerned, Lucas slanted an eye to her. “Is that why yer worried? And daenae try to tell me otherwise, I can see it on yer face.”

A corner of Maisie’s lips ticked down, “Nay, it’s because I ken if I were the male heir he’d wanted, he would have razed the countryside, lifting every rock and pebble, swimming every river, and ripping aside any tree cover to find me and…

” She bit her lip and he saw her eyes begin to mist over with tears.

“…it’s clear that he doesnae care to find me. ”

His heart burned with pain for her. Every child sought after their parents’ care, love, and compassion—he knew because while his father Cinead was stern, Lucas knew he was loved and cherished. He saw her pain and wanted to comfort her.

“This place is unknown to anyone but me, me man Oliver, and his wife. Nay even me faither kens where this is,” Lucas said gently. “It could be that he is searching but is looking everywhere else.”

She shook her head. “Nay, I—I ken him. He isnae looking.”

This time, his heart broke just as a tear slipped out an eye. Instantly, she dabbed at it with the back of her hand, and let out a wry laugh. “I dinnae ken why I’m crying. He’s never truly seen or understood me, an’ I reckon I shouldnae care but…”

“Nae, lass,” he said as he tightened his arm around her, the hand at her back now moving up to clutch her neck. He stilled her movements and forced her to look at him, his hooded gaze deceptively calm. “Ye should care, it is yer faither.”

Maisie felt like a fool, upset by her father that did not care if she lived or died.

All her life, nothing she said, no opinion she had offered on war strategy or political and warfare matters, or even the daily meals were taken by him.

The words had barely left her mouth before he waved her away with impatient arrogance. Why was she upset?

“Don’t be upset, lass,” Lucas murmured in her ear. “Please, daenae cry.”

Managing to get the pangs of grief and sorrow melting her heart under control, she dropped her hands and leaned into his side. “I ken, but I suppose emotions daenae match common-sense.”

“I’ll have to agree with ye there,” Lucas replied as she twisted to look at him. He could see the question in her eye and clarified, “I have made decisions in love that came back to haunt me.”

Smoothing a tuft of hair from her face, Maisie lifted her shoulders just so. “I wish I could but I cannae say anything about that.”

“Ye daenae have to,” he replied, while twisting his head to look at her and Maisie hoped that the grief was gone from her face.

Titling his head to the side, a lock of hair drifted over his left eye and his handsome features were inscrutable and searching. His hand reached out to her, and she grasped it with trembling fingers. It was warm and strong, and reassured her.

Suddenly, she felt too shy to hold the gaze, but as she turned away, he nudged her chin back to meet the intensity of his blue eyes. A slow warmth curled in Maisie’s stomach, and the hollowness that existed there from last night seemed to vanish.