Page 22 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

22

T he stone was damp with sweat and blood as Keith entered the deepest cell in the dungeons.

He paced the length of the chamber, his boots striking the floor with deliberate menace. Lucas leaned casually against the far wall, his arms folded, his eyes sharp and satisfied.

The two men knelt, barely upright, their heads lolling from side to side.

Keith clenched his jaw as he leaned in and let the torchlight illuminate the man Ersie had danced with and his lanky brother.

Christ, they look as if they were beaten within an inch of their miserable lives.

He didn’t need to ask who was responsible.

“Lucas,” he said lowly, his voice like rolling thunder.

His brother pushed off the wall with a shrug. “They werenae keen to talk, Braither.”

Keith shot him a look that promised reckoning—later.

He turned to the prisoners then. “What are yer names?” he barked.

The broader one mumbled something incoherent, blood trickling from the side of his mouth, and his brother merely moaned.

Keith exhaled sharply through his nose. Pointless.

He changed tactics, his voice dropping to something far more dangerous—something honed and as sharp as a dagger.

“Alright then. Ye will answer me by nodding yer head aye or nay. Nothin’ else. Ye understand?”

Both men flinched and nodded feebly.

Keith crouched before the broader one, grabbing his bloodied chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing the man’s swollen and dazed gaze to meet his own.

“Ye are the one who spoke with the lady at the festival. Aye or nay?”

The man weakly nodded his head.

Keith’s mouth twitched.

Good, he still has enough common sense.

“Were ye sent there with orders?”

The man blinked slowly, confusion fogging his battered features.

But then both men nodded their heads, the lanky one even croaking out a shaky “Aye.”

Keith’s stomach twisted—not from surprise, but the confirmation of his worst suspicions.

“Were ye ordered to watch her?”

The broad man hesitated, and Keith tightened his grip on his split chin. “Answer me.”

The man nodded.

“Were ye ordered to take her?”

This time, the man shook his head.

Nay. Nae take her. They couldn’t do that anyway.

Keith furrowed his brow. “Were ye supposed to talk to her?”

Both men nodded.

“Can ye speak?”

Both men sighed heavily and nodded.

Keith tilted their faces up, so their eyes landed on his. “Then ye shall speak. What were ye there for?”

The lanky man’s lips trembled. “Warn her.”

Keith stiffened. “Warn her about what?”

The lanky man swiped his tongue over his split lip before replying, “They ken?—”

But the broader man cut in, as if their answer was rehearsed. “They ken she’s sniffin’ around.”

Keith released them both with a shove, standing to his full height.

“So, ye, who danced with her—ye were meant to warn her. What about ye?” he asked the lanky brother.

The man winced. “I was there to help him.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Who sent ye?”

The two brothers exchanged a look, their terror clear as a shout.

“Name.” Keith’s voice was deadly quiet.

“Red Hugh,” the lanky man whispered.

Silence fell over the cell.

Lucas stiffened visibly at the name, and another movement in the shadows caught Keith’s eye.

She’s here.

Keith curled his hand into a fist at his side. Red Hugh was a noble from Clan Airdhollow, known to run the mercenaries, smugglers, and worse lot.

“Ye are a part of his lot?” Keith asked sharply.

Both men nodded.

Keith leaned forward. His next words were pure steel.

“Did Red Hugh have somethin’ to do with the death of me son and heir?”

The prisoners gasped as they violently shook their heads.

“Nay,” the broad one choked out. “I swear it, Me Laird. We were only told to watch the lass?—”

“Lady.” The correction was as quick as a whip.

“We were only told to watch her. Make sure she didnae hand over anythin’ of interest.”

Keith’s mind raced. They were protecting something. Not the bairn’s murderer, but Red Hugh had a vested interest somehow. And he wished to keep Ersie from uncovering more.

And he needed to know what.

He turned to Lucas, his voice flat. “Put them in the pit.”

Lucas gave a sharp nod and hauled the first man up by his soiled collar.

Keith let the command land without any further explanation or discussion. The ‘pit’ wasn’t a place men returned from easily, and everyone knew it.

Both men wept and begged as they were silently dragged away.

He turned on his heel, his blood boiling under his skin for several reasons—one of which was her.

Ersie emerged from the shadows at last, her arms crossed, Trouble tucked against her chest.

“Yer braither isnae subtle,” she muttered.

Keith grunted, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “He’s… efficient.”

“Aye,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “If efficiency means ye have two men barely able to count to three.”

Keith allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch.

“The lankier man, did he nae look familiar?”

“Aye, like the man ye helped get away.”

Shame crossed over her features, and Keith nearly reached out a hand to wipe any trace of it from her face. Instead, he gripped the stock of his pistol.

“Is it the same man?”

“Nay. He resembles him, though. He has blue eyes, lass,” Keith said softly, reminding her that the man, bloodied and bound as he was, had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Almost eerily blue.

She nodded and closed her eyes, remembering.

“Red Hugh?” she asked.

Keith groaned inwardly. “Aye, and anyone tied to him.”

“And that’s what we should dig into next?”

“Aye. He had men inside me own village… He ordered them to watch and warn ye, and Lord kens what else they were told to do if ye have proved… non-compliant.”

They were right there, within me borders, and someone had invited them in. And I let her out of me sight this morning.

Trouble mewed indignantly from Ersie’s arms, but she only shushed him softly, her attention still focused on Keith. “We need to meet with him. Face to face.”

Keith’s jaw flexed. No doubt she had seen war and death and pain, but Red Hugh was something else entirely.

“Ye wish to walk straight into a viper’s nest, lass?”

She stepped closer, her chin lifted stubbornly. “Better than sittin’ on our arses while he sends his snakes after us.”

Damn him if he didn’t crave how her fire burned straight through him.

Keith raked a hand through his hair, the heavy weight of responsibility pressing down on him. “We’ll nae go in blind.”

She nodded, already thinking. “We’ll take only yer trusted men. Two, nay more. We go as visitors, nae warriors.”

“And if he refuses to meet?”

She smiled grimly. “Then we lure him out.”

His mouth twisted into a smirk despite the storm churning inside him. “Aye, that sounds like ye.”

He closed the distance between them in two strides, towering over her, aching to reach for her. But he didn’t, even when she subtly arched toward him.

“Ye will stay behind, lass.”

Her perfect lips parted, clearly affronted.

“Ye will stay,” he repeated, his voice softer but no less firm.

“Ye cannae keep me from this, Keith.”

He leaned in, his voice a low growl against her ear. “I will keep ye safe—I promised yer braither.”

She didn’t answer, but her breath hitched, and that was answer enough.

He stayed unmoving for a moment, letting her heaving chest brush his, until she finally moved back.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But ye better come back.”

Keith caught her gaze and held it. “I’ll always come back.”

Too raw. Too honest.

“Go,” he gritted out. “Rest.”

He turned away until the sound of her retreating footsteps filled the space. Then, he stalked down the lower corridor, the air heavy.

Lucas emerged from the pit, his sleeves rolled up, blood flecking the leather of his bracers. He saw him and smirked—that damned smirk that used to charm their nurses and any woman he set his sights on, but now only grated on Keith’s very last nerve.

“She shouldnae have been down here,” Lucas said, shaking blood from his knuckles. “Unladylike.”

Keith stopped dead. “What did ye say?”

Lucas leaned lazily against the wall, as if the weight of his sins sat lightly on him. “Ye heard me, Braither.”

Keith crossed the distance between them in a flash, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him against the stone. “If ye speak of her again with such disrespect, I’ll relieve ye of yer tongue, Braither .”

Lucas laughed, the sound low and rough. “Och, the Mad Laird back to play? Hit a nerve, did I?”

Keith bared his teeth. “Mind yer place.”

Lucas shoved him off roughly, rolling back his shoulders. “Dinnae take me for a fool. I can see plainly what is going on here, even if ye stubbornly refuse to see it for yerself.”

Keith seethed, stalking his brother’s movements.

“Only I can tell ye to yer face. Me , yer baby braither,” Lucas continued.

“What can ye tell me?” Keith gritted out.

“She’s got ye wrapped around her perfect, little finger,” Lucas said. “Or mayhap…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “She’s the one wrapped around yers.”

Keith’s vision blurred for half a heartbeat. He drew back his fist but stopped it mid-air with a herculean effort.

Lucas chuckled, finally pushing off the wall. “Come on, Keith. Ye think folk didnae notice?” He walked past his brother. “The looks ye give her. The way yer eyes follow her across a room as if ye’re a starvin’ wolf.”

Keith’s hands shook with the force of holding himself back as his brother threw him one last glance over his shoulder, his grin wicked.

“Best be careful, lad. Folks love a good scandal. And secrets rot faster than corpses.”

Only I can tell ye to yer face…

Lucas was right, of course. Although the sound of his echoing laughter grated on Keith’s already frayed nerves, he was right.

Keith stood there, his fists clenched, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He thought back to the woods. Her delicious moans swallowed by the trees. The taste of her mouth. The way she had trembled in his arms.

No one had seen them.

Had they seen us?

If Lucas suspected it, Keith couldn’t help but wonder how many others did too.

Shame came crashing down like a wave. He had to fix this.

The keep was quiet, save for the hollow click of his boots echoing in the corridors. He paused outside her chamber door, his hand hovering just above the handle. His chest heaved, his thoughts a bloody mess.

I have to do this… for her.

The door creaked open, and there she was. He knocked only after he came in.

She was curled up in a chair by the fire, Trouble tucked into her lap. Her fingers trailed mindlessly over the cat’s soft fur. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, firelight catching the copper in her strands.

“Keith?”

Her voice was low, uncertain, and speared him straight through him.

He shut the door behind him, steeling himself.

“We need to talk, lass,” he said, rougher than he had intended.

She tensed. “Aye? About what?”

Keith crossed the room but kept his distance, the heat from the fire licking at his back.

“About us,” he ground out.

Ersie furrowed her brow. She set Trouble on the ground, and both of them watched as the kitten wandered lazily toward the hearth.

“There is nay ‘us,’” she said lightly, though he saw the flash of hurt she tried to mask.

“Exactly,” Keith said, his voice clipped. “There cannae be.”

She stood up then, jutting her chin defiantly. “Why?”

“Because of everything, Ersie,” Keith growled. “The clans. Me past. Ye deserve more than being chained to the Mad Laird, who cannae even protect his own home from rot.”

Ersie opened her mouth as if to argue, but he cut her off with a harsh gesture.

“For that reason alone, I never meant to remarry. And even if I did, ye dinnae wish to marry me.”

She pounced then, refusing to stay silent. His words ripped through her skin like a whip. “Ye’re right.”

“What happened on the training grounds… in the woods …” He swallowed hard. “It was a mistake.”

The words tasted like bile.

She flinched.

Silence stretched between them, taut and sharp. He was saying things that he had to say. Words that would never be forgotten or forgiven.

This was it. This was the role. Duty above all.

“A mistake,” she repeated hollowly.

Keith nodded once, though the motion nearly undid him.

Ersie stepped closer, stopping just shy of touching him. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it meant nothin’.”

His hands clenched and unclenched. She waited.

“Look at me, Keith,” she demanded, her voice trembling now.

He lifted his gaze to hers.

God above, she is beautiful. But I have to do this. I must.

“It meant nothin’,” he rasped, lying so easily that he could barely stand it.

Ersie’s lips parted. Whether to curse him, slap him, or lean into him and kiss him, he didn’t know. But she said nothing.

After a long, painful moment, she stepped back.

“If that’s what ye need to believe,” she whispered.

Keith turned before he did something foolish, wrenching the door open with such force that it nearly slipped from his damp grip. His voice cracked as he said, “Goodnight, Ersie,” and let the door close behind him.

In the corridor, he leaned back against the wall, pressing his fists to his forehead. The ache inside him was worse than any injury he’d ever suffered.

What have I done?