Page 7 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“Anger is a wind which blows out the lamp of the mind.”

Robert Green Ingersoll (American Lawyer 1833-1899)

“Ye may look like an angel, but ye’re a bloody devil,” Kenan said, imagining himself snarling. Although, if he turned berserker and frightened her away, he’d have a hell of a time getting loose from the shackle around his ankle before he died of thirst.

He watched the golden-haired woman brush out her tresses before the fire. She had changed from her petticoats and bodice into trousers that revealed her well-shaped arse and long legs. The white tunic was that of a lad’s and untied to show her lovely, kissable throat. Was she trying to tempt him, knowing he was properly shackled and unable to reach her? He had to keep imagining his middle-aged aunt, Morag, naked to keep his cock from rising up.

“If I’m an angel, I’m a fallen one,” she said, turning her back to him. “In fact, I’m cold and a nuisance and not a proper lady.” She used her brush to point toward the trout she’d caught. “But I can keep us fed.” She’d cleaned and roasted it over the fire she’d started. She’d seasoned it well with herbs from a packet she’d brought, and he’d waited until she ate it first before partaking. The fish was delicious. Bread and berries had been included in the meal, as well as fresh spring water.

“A resourceful devil,” Kenan said. He sat on the small bed, his back against the wall and arms crossed over his chest. The woman had left the door wide open earlier so he could see his beloved horse being ridden away, hauling his glider and sword in the back of a wagon. The other lass, Cora, had sat in the wagon while the young lad rode on Freya’s back, their white dog trotting alongside as if on sentry duty.

Tierney looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m just a dead chief’s daughter who needs your help to save her people.”

He’d heard desperation in her voice before, but he’d been too incensed to listen. Which wasn’t his fault. She’d foking abducted him. “Ye don’t know much about men if ye think ye can force me to do anything to help ye after ye’ve drugged and shackled me and then stolen my horse and sword.”

She exhaled through her pert little nose and lowered her gaze to the floor as if the weight of thousands of lives sat upon her shoulders. “Freya will be treated with care. My brother has a calm way with animals and will likely sleep in her stall to keep her company when they arrive at Scorrybreac. I even sent Sneachda with them to keep the wolves away. But I need a reason to get you to accompany me to Scorrybreac since you’ve refused.”

Tierney raised her gaze and held her arms out, lifted from her sides with palms exposed. “I haven’t the physical strength to force you to do anything, Kenan Macdonald, so I must use whatever weapons I have. Cleverness, resourcefulness, and a vast knowledge of living in the forest.”

“And how to drug a man.”

“Which falls under all three categories,” she said. She pointed to his plate. “Shove your plate over the line so I can wash it.”

He could refuse, but it would come across as childish pouting. Kenan stood, the sound of the chain sending a ripple of memory and anger up his spine. He’d been shackled whenever he was moved from his cell at Carlisle Dungeon. A year and a half of cold, hunger, diseased surroundings, and torture. Despite greatly outnumbering the English that day, the disastrous loss to the Scots at Solway Moss had reinforced the need for Scotland to stop fighting each other and unite. Something Kenan had sworn to do at least on Skye.

Helping this woman would bring the MacNicol Clan in as an ally, but from how she described her ailing clan, it wouldn’t be much to celebrate. Clan Mackinnon, on the other hand, was vast and powerful. Daingead. Did Cyrus think he left Dunvegan without wishing his sister farewell?

Tierney picked up his plate and moved about the cabin with agile grace, skirting the perimeter of his invisible cell as if she’d been doing it all her life. The woman was clearly athletic and fairly strong, but her body was also full of soft hills and valleys. Bloody hell! He needed to keep his mind away from how soft and warm she’d felt clinging to him in the sea.

She’s a thief and a liar.

What else was she? “How is it ye know how to fish and start fires if ye’re the daughter of a chieftain?” Perhaps her story was all a lie.

Tierney left the door open as she scraped the fish bones off the side of the stoop and squatted to wash the plates in a bucket set outside the door. For a long moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer. Without looking up, her voice came out crisp. “I thought one day I’d run away, live wild perhaps. To be prepared, I set out to learn how to survive in the woods.”

“Ye do seem quite feral,” he said. She ignored his insult. “Why would ye have to run away from Scorrybreac?”

She turned her face to him, still in her crouched position. “I was living at Uig then, in Tuath Tower, with the Macqueens, and it was…inhospitable. My first plan to…” She shook her head. “Well, it didn’t work. Plan number two was to run away, and I wasn’t about to die in the woods of starvation and cold or be eaten by wolves.”

His brow rose. “Ye can fight off a wolf?”

“We might both die in the process, but yes, yes, I can.”

He tipped his head to the side, considering her. “His pack would just eat ye, then.”

She straightened, drying her hands on her thighs, ignoring his taunt. “I can hunt, fish, start a fire, slice a beast trying to eat me or a man trying to attack me. I can shoot a bow with practiced accuracy and climb trees. I know which berries and mushrooms are safe to eat and how to collect herbs to heal or put a captive to sleep. I am self-sufficient.” Her beauty glowed as pride infused her words. She walked back inside, barring the door.

“But ye still need me,” he said. Even though she’d learned much about survival, she knew when she needed help. Not only able, intriguing, and lush, but also clever. Liar and thief. Don’t forget that.

She nodded slowly. “I need a warrior who will deter a war. I could slice Ranulf’s throat, but it would bring his brother bent on revenge.” He watched her swallow and wondered if she’d actually be able to kill someone. Or was she putting on a confident face?

“The simplest way to solve this issue is for you to pretend to be my husband. If I’m already wed to a strong chief on Skye, the betrothal contract my father wrote will be void. There will be nothing Ranulf can do about it.”

“Except try to kill me,” Kenan said. “Is there a clause in the contract about that?”

“Your reputation as a warrior says you’ll survive anything Ranulf throws at you.”

But if Kenan killed him, it would cause more strife between the clans of Scotland.

Tierney looked at him. “Please,” she said evenly. There was no begging. Just determination.

“One of yer MacNicol warriors could act as yer husband.”

She hesitated near the tiny cupboard where she stored the two plates away. “The clause says it must be someone in power, like a chief with a large enough army to keep Clan Matheson from taking over Scorrybreac and my clan.” She looked at him. “And I need a warrior who is honorable, a man able to deter a formidable enemy but who also won’t just take us over.” She stepped right up to the line marking his prison. “And you, Kenan Macdonald, fit that role. I need you. Please.”

The words wrapped around in his chest like a ribbon that could change into a noose. “Ye need me, lass? Only me?”

She inhaled, and he caught a slight tremble in her shoulders. “Your position and the force you command, your acceptance of this quest, can save us. Your refusal will see the MacNicol Clan wiped off Skye, replaced by a powerful foe.”

And see either Tierney taken by Ranulf Matheson against her will or her living in the forest, taking shots from trees at the invaders until someone kills her. Neither of which was something Kenan wanted to see happen despite what she’d done to him. She had reasons for her plan number two, reasons he could understand. Somewhat.

Kenan rubbed the short beard over his jaw. “Capturing and shackling a man who has survived and escaped an English dungeon will not sway him to help ye.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Then what will?”

“What’s yer third plan?”

“Pardon?” she asked, blinking. Blotches of color rose first in her cheeks and then slid up her neck as if heat bloomed under her skin.

“I heard yer friend ask if ye were going to implement plan three before she and the lad stole Freya—”

“Borrowed,” she interrupted. “You’ll get her back unharmed.”

“She said something about ye resorting to plan three, and she’d looked aghast as if it involved force-feeding me kittens.”

Tierney waved her hand. “Cora looks aghast at most of my plans.”

“Maybe that means all your plans are mad.”

The lass smiled meekly. “Maybe they are, but some of them work.”

He opened his eyes wide. “Good God, ye are going to suffocate me with kittens.”

A little hiccough of a laugh came out of her. It sounded almost musical, and Kenan wanted to hear it again.

“I might have unique ideas,” she said, “but I would never torture kittens or any animal.” She flapped her hand. “And all ideas have merit. Without the irrational idea of man flying, Leonardo da Vinci would never have made his plans that you used for inspiration.”

He crossed his arms. “So yer third plan doesn’t involve torturing me or my horse.”

“Of course not. What do you think I am?”

“Seduction, perhaps? Is that more like you?” he asked, watching the color that darkened in her cheeks.

“I know nothing about seducing horses.” She rolled her eyes, but the stain of embarrassment slid across the exposed skin at her collar.

“How about men?”

A small burst of air escaped her lips, and she shook her head, returning to the fire without an answer. Keeping her legs straight, she bent over to stir the embers, adding another dry peat square. The trousers cupped her perfect round arse like his palms itched to do. Would she like to be mounted from behind? His hands fisted, and he sat back on the cot, his back against the wall while he adjusted his rising cock. When she stood, her hair fell to her midback in waves of gold. It looked soft, and he suddenly imagined pressing his face in it.

Bloody hell. She might not have kittens to suffocate him with, but a man could lose himself in those glorious tresses.

“We will just have to stay here until you agree to act as my husband to void the contract and dissuade Ranulf from invading, until you see that it will benefit you to keep him off Skye.”

“And how exactly does a husband act? Do I carry ye over a threshold or throw yer skirts up without ye skewering me with a sgian dubh, slicing me right where ye know a man would bleed to death?”

She stared unblinking at him.

When she didn’t speak, Kenan continued, hoping to shock her. “Do I ask ye, wife, to take me in yer mouth before this obstinate suitor?”

“Is that what being wed to you would look like? You telling me to suck on your jack before people? Or you throwing my skirts up for a quick mating in corners of a barn?”

“Probably not in a barn. Hay makes me sneeze.”

Her lips pursed, and her face reddened so she looked like she might pop.

“Bloody hell, Tierney,” he said with a dramatic sigh, “I would never embarrass a woman like that, but I don’t know how ye think me saying, ‘Good day, Ranulf Matheson, many pardons but I wed her first,’ will make him believe that we are wed. We have no paper that says we are married.”

“You can tell him we are wed, and I’ll say it as well, that the priest has the document. Then you can promise to rally the might of Clan Macdonald against him if he doesn’t leave Scorrybreac and Skye completely, never to return.”

“I could start a war with the Matheson Clan,” he said, which was opposite of what he wanted. His castle was destroyed, and he was just gaining confidence from his clan as the new chief. He couldn’t just jump into a clan war, especially when he’d sworn to help bring Scotland together.

“No.” She shook her head. “Ranulf, with his brother, Chief Murdoc, would be starting a war. They are bent on war anyway, either with my clan or yours, and your clan is powerful while mine is nearly non-existent.” A slight shine of unshed tears came to her eyes. “You will be victorious, Kenan Macdonald, and I will help you become the new Lord of the Isles, in charge of all of Skye and beyond.”

“Again, saying the words into the air doesn’t make them true.”

“Putting the words out there helps them manifest into reality.”

“Even if that really worked,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m not greedy and prefer the clans rule themselves. They should be united, helping each other out of joint loyalty, not being ruled by one man.” He tipped his head. “Perhaps ye should try plan three instead of luring me with a promise of power. That is if plan three involves something…pleasantly carnal.”

She blinked at him, which made her look almost innocent and certainly not a woman who would trick and abduct him. She was soft and curved and looked like someone who could use saving, not that he was foolish enough to say that. Instead, he wondered what it be like to sink into the softness of Tierney MacNicol. She looked like a true fallen angel with golden hair framing smooth features, large eyes, and full lips.

“Plan three is…complicated and risky,” she said. “’Tis hard to bargain with seduction when a man is physically stronger than a woman and likely to take what he wants and walk away.”

Kenan frowned. “I don’t take anything from a lass that isn’t freely given.”

One slender finger rose to her lips, the tip tapping them in thought. “So, if I remove my clothing and unshackle you…”

Kenan stood, moving to the line, his chain dragging behind. “And I kiss ye and stroke yer fine skin until yer heart races and ye tremble in my arms, pleading me to bring ye to thrashing climax.”

Her hand dropped to her side. “Or you throw me down and push into me, bruising me as you take your pleasure before leaving me on the floor while you steal my horse and ride back to Dunvegan and Dunscaith.” She shook her head. “Plan three has major flaws.”

Had someone told her that was how tupping worked? “I don’t hurt my lover, and if I…push into ye, ’tis because ye want me to. With me loving ye, ye’ll be begging me to touch ye inside and out.”

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t imagine that.” She fluttered her hand in the air as if brushing away his description. “I’m sticking with plan two and will come up with plan four.”

Kenan released a long exhale and shifted on the bed. “Tell me why ye chose me again.”

Tierney clasped her hands before her. “Asher MacNicol said,” she hesitated, “said you were honorable and the kindest of the four of you imprisoned in Carlisle Dungeon.”

“Would an honorable man fok ye and steal yer horse?” He watched her closely as he cursed. She didn’t flinch. The lass was tough and brave, and she didn’t look convinced. “Nay, I wouldn’t, and I must get Freya back. She’s more to me than a mount. She’s a friend.” He shrugged. “And Goliath, her stallion mate, would mourn her.”

Tierney’s eyes fastened back on his, and he saw a gleam of hope there before she hid it with indifference. “You would go to Scorrybreac to save your horse even with your need to return to Dunscaith?”

There was also the betrothal Cyrus had brokered with his sister. He needed to make sure his sudden absence hadn’t ruined a possible alliance with the Mackinnons.

“I will retrieve Freya.”

“Then just come to Scorrybreac for her. My father’s advisor, Master Henry Macqueen, will see we are married and hear your pledge to help our clan. He will swear to it before Ranulf and request the contract be destroyed. It won’t be as good as you being there, but it will help. Perhaps you could send some warriors to help deter Ranulf when he arrives.”

“’Tis not that simple, lass.” Nothing about this plan of hers was simple. He needed to marry Grace Mackinnon to bring peace to Skye. Joining with the Mackinnons could also stop a Matheson incursion. But that plan didn’t sit well in his gut suddenly. Could Grace catch and skin a rabbit? Climb a tree? Risk her life to save her clan? Bloody hell. Those things weren’t important.

“’Tis simple. We can be done with all this,” she motioned to the chain, “if you just promise you’ll help me.”

He lifted the end of his chain, his fist firm around the iron. “Ye could have asked me nicely for help. That works.”

She leaned, bringing them close across the border but still out of reach. “If I had asked you at the wedding, you would have said no and ridden away to Dunscaith. You said you were leaving at dawn. I didn’t have time to follow you to Sleat Peninsula. Ranulf could land any day.”

“Ye should have tried.”

“And put you on guard against my strategy?” She snorted as if that were preposterous.

“I can assure ye I would never have imagined…” He swooped the chain through the air. “…this.”

She didn’t look convinced. This was getting nowhere. He turned, forgetting he’d taken off his tunic, and sat on his cot to drop his face in his palms.

“Your back,” she said. “Does it still pain you?”

She’d obviously seen the flay marks. You couldn’t miss them. “Nay, but the tightness is a reminder that Scotland will always be weak if we don’t unite as a nation.” This was why he needed to ally with the powerful Mackinnon Clan.

He watched her bite the cuticle of her finger and wondered if she did it without being aware.

Lowering her hand, she said, “I will work hard to help you strengthen Scotland if you help me save my clan.”

“And ye want me to marry ye to do that.”

She shook her head. “Not really marry. I will never marry again. Merely act like we are married.”

“So that part wasn’t a lie. Ye’ve been married before?” She was fairly young to be a widow.

“I wish it were a lie.” Her voice was soft and pinched but also swollen with anguish.

Darkness pressed in on Kenan. “Did he give ye bruises when ye were wed to him?” Did the lass think that all tupping involved pain and a man being violent?

She moved her hand in the air as if washing away the topic. “We are not discussing my past marriage.”

“Tupping is not about pushing and ending up with bruises.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she shook her head. “We aren’t discussing tupping. We are discussing you helping me deter Ranulf Matheson from taking over Scorrybreac and my clan. And you keeping Skye strong and united.”

He nodded slowly when she opened her eyes. Inside though he was gripping his temper with both hands, wishing he could meet this dead husband and thrash him. No wonder Tierney knew better than to wed Ranulf Matheson. From what he’d heard, the man was brutish, too. Any investigation would have revealed that to her father. Had Douglas MacNicol failed his daughter a second time?

“An honorable man doesn’t hurt any woman, and he protects his wife.”

“I’ve learned to protect myself because honorable men are quite rare.”

“Ye certainly don’t have a good opinion of my sex.”

She held up three fingers, and for a moment, he hoped she was telling him she’d try plan number three with him. “I know three people who are male and also honorable.” She counted on her fingers. “My brother, Asher, and a friend, Jacob. That’s it.” She dropped her hand. “I’m hoping you will be a fourth.” She looked hopeful and sad and desperate. It all pulled at his chest like something trying to yank his heart out. ’Twas his weakness. This blasted kindness.

He inhaled. “After ye poisoned me, chained me, and robbed me.” The reminder stirred some anger in him, and he tried to hold onto it.

She placed her palms together before her. “I am sorry.” She bit her bottom lip. “It was the only way to keep you here to listen to me.”

He wanted to continue to be furious with her. She foking shackled him. But his fury had mellowed to annoyance. “I may have listened if you’d tried plan three,” he said. “I appreciate a good seduction, and I’d never hurt ye.”

The moisture cleared from her eyes, and she frowned at him. “Do women ply you with seduction often, or are you the seducer?”

“Usually ’tis I doing the seducing.” He studied her as she considered his words. How far would she go down this path?

“Oh?” she said, crossing her arms. “And what do you do during this seduction?”

He allowed a seductive grin to spread across his lips. “I’d kiss ye from those lush lips to yer long neck,” he said and watched her lips part slightly. “My warm touch would cause a tingling to run just under yer skin.” His words came slowly as if he truly was tasting her skin. “I’d stroke and trail the warmth of my breath over to capture one of yer peaked nipples before sliding down yer tingling body with feather-like, teasing touches and heated nibbles.”

Her cheeks brightened again in the glow of the hearth light. He liked it, knowing he affected her.

“I’d reach yer inner thighs that would spread on their own as ye squirm under my mouth, my fingers—”

“I will give you some time for privacy before sleep.” Her voice was high-pitched, and she turned away, striding toward the door. “We ride to Scorrybreac in the morn.”

“To do that, ye’ll have to get close to me, lass.” His voice was still husky, and he realized his cock had been listening. It rose up, and he adjusted it. “Close enough to feel all the heat ye’re feeling now.”

She slammed the door on the way out, and he stroked his hard cock. Daingead, it would be an uncomfortable night, not because of the shackle but because of his own foolish words.

…

By Holy Joan’s sword!

Tierney lay on her side facing the stone wall of the cottage as dawn turned the darkness to gray in the room. She’d spent much of the night unable to sleep. First, she’d had to fight off the strange achiness his carnal description had woken in her. That must be lust, something she barely remembered from those days before she knew that behind Wallace’s good looks was a monster.

And once her body had calmed enough for her to go back into the cottage where Kenan seemed to be sleeping on his cot, she’d spent hours trying to work out a way to get Kenan to Scorrybreac. She’d have to be close to him to make certain he was bound tightly. If she was close to him, he could just grab her, taking her away from Scorrybreac and those who desperately needed her plans to work.

She couldn’t drug him again. Just the thought brought such guilt that she nearly gagged. And despite this new-to-her heat that Kenan’s words had ignited in her, plan three was just too risky. He could certainly overpower her before, during, and after…

I’d stroke and trail the warmth of my breath over to capture one of yer peaked nipples before sliding down yer tingling body with feather-like, teasing touches and heated nibbles.

And what was that about him doing something with his mouth? More kissing, but on her inner thighs?

She’d ask Vera about it when she got to Scorrybreac. Vera, who helped in the tower, giggled about frolicking with the lads in the village. But she couldn’t trust Kenan to really do any of that. Asher had said Kenan Macdonald was honorable and kind, but she’d pushed the powerful Macdonald chief too far by drugging and chaining him. Honor and kindness could dissolve in the shackles of an enemy.

The iron links of Kenan’s tether rattled as he rose from the cot, and she heard him pissing in the pot behind the screen. Each minute he wore it made the man angrier and more deadly. She hadn’t figured that into her plans, how Kenan must feel being chained after his year and a half in an English dungeon. She grimaced as she heard him curse.

She rolled over to see him sitting on his cot, the foot raised as he inspected his binding. “Is it chafing?” she asked, pushing up out from the blanket.

“Of course,” he said. “Have ye spent any time shackled?” His eyes rose to meet her gaze.

Tierney had been shackled, trapped in a horrible marriage, but he was talking about irons and chains, not vows and threats. “No.” She stood slowly. “I have some ointment for it.” She ached from lying on the hard wooden floor and stretched as she went to her leather satchel to retrieve another clay vial.

When she turned back, he leaned upright against the wall behind him. “Or ye could toss me the key to get the bloody thing off.” Even though his tone was milder than the night before, there was still an edge to it she couldn’t miss.

“And then you take my horse and return to Dunvegan.”

He exhaled. “I’ve already told ye I would go to retrieve Freya and my sword, and if possible, my glider.” Kenan wiped a cloth over his teeth with some of the gritty polish she’d left for him with the pitcher. He stood and went behind the screen again where she heard him swish water and spit into the privy pot. When he came back around, he was raking his fingers through his thick hair.

“And you will act like my husband?”

Kenan crossed his arms and stared at her as he took his battle stance. “I cannot stay at Scorrybreac until this suitor of yers comes calling.” His arms went out. “I have a clan to guide, a castle to rebuild, a brother to find, and now my glider to repair.”

Panic shot through her stomach. She must convince him. “What if I help you with all of that? All you have to do is act like we are wed before witnesses at Scorrybreac.”

Tierney took a full breath, her breasts rising above the binding under her tunic. “Then when Ranulf Matheson comes, people will say ’tis true that I wed the powerful Macdonald chief, and he will leave me and my clan alone.” It may not be enough to deter Ranulf, but the threat might stop him from moving into the tower house. She would just have to stay on guard until he left Skye.

“Will ye cut the hides and stretch them?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”

“To rebuild my glider.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I can do that.”

“And wash soot from Dunscaith’s stone walls?”

The speed of her words increased. “I can, but I’ll have to spend time at Scorrybreac to make certain Ranulf is truly gone. But I can help you from there by commissioning new tapestries and writing songs about the great Macdonald chief.”

“Songs?” he asked. “Ye think ye can help me with songs?” His eyes opened wider as if he worried about her being mad.

She pinched her lips together in impatience. Even now, Ranulf may be arriving in Scorrybreac. “Yes. I write songs that touch the hearts of people, and I’m a very good singer.”

“Sing then.”

She stopped herself from grabbing her hair by fisting her hands at her sides. “Right now?”

“Aye. Sing.”

Her mouth fell open, and then she waved her hand. “There’s no time for that.”

He crossed his arms. “If ye don’t sing, I don’t help.”

Her lips opened with hope. “If I sing, you will help?”

“Ye will scrub Dunscaith’s charred walls, assist in the re-creation of my glider, order tapestries and furniture for Dunscaith, and write ballads about my bravery, honor, and fairly handsome looks. Feel free to exaggerate—”

“I will write you a song—”

“And possibly plan three if ye’re curious about the heat and aching ye’ve been feeling.”

“Wha…I…” Her lips remained parted on an unfinished denial. Had she moaned in her sleep, or had he seen her try to rub away the ache between her thighs? She finally snapped her lips shut, pinching them hard for a moment before she spoke. “There will be no seduction. Plan number three is off the negotiation table, but I agree to the rest.”

His lips curled in as if he were disappointed. Then he shrugged. Holy Joan! What had she gotten herself into? “Very well,” he said, “so go ahead. Sing.”

“And you will help—?”

“I will go to Scorrybreac to see yer copy of this betrothal contract. I’ll spend a day assessing yer clan’s strengths and devising a plan with ye and anyone there who cares.”

“And a letter to Ranulf and his brother the chief,” she continued.

“Ye can write yer letter and use my signet ring to seal it. Now sing.”

He would do it. He would help her in exchange for servitude. The relief that washed through her was muted by the anxiety still tying her in knots.

“I’m waiting,” he urged, and annoyance warred with her relief. She’d sworn never to make herself serve another man. Was breaking an oath to oneself a sin? She’d add it to the rest of them on her list.

Tierney had sung to entertain her clan when she was young. She’d even sung when Wallace Macqueen, young and handsome, had come to call, when he pretended to be honorable. She’d been excited that a man wanted her, someone she hadn’t grown up with, someone she didn’t think of as a brother. Wallace had said she was beautiful and clever and smiled at her, so she sang often before she found herself in a soul-killing marriage. Then there’d been silence for years as she plotted her escape.

She inhaled and closed her eyes, her lips opening with an exhalation of song. She worked the long notes expertly, ignoring any reasons why she wanted to impress him.

“How we grieve the sight, the grayness of his skin. May the angels paint his cheeks anew and carry him to rest with his kin.”

After two more stanzas, she let the final perfect note fade and opened her eyes to find Kenan staring at her, no emotion on his handsome face. “A funeral dirge?” he asked, leaning forward. “Ye sing me a funeral dirge right after I agreed to help ye?”

“It matched my mood.”

His lips twitched as if he fought a smile. “Toss me the key.”

She frowned. “Your word, Chief Macdonald, on your mother’s soul.”

He tipped his head to the side. “What if I hated my mother?”

She imitated the tilt. “Your mother was kind and loved you. ’Twas your father you hated and are certain burns in Hell.” Before he could ask her how she knew anything about his immediate family, she held up a hand. “The bard who came through.”

Kenan Macdonald stared into her eyes and slowly nodded. “On my mother’s soul, I will come for a day to Scorrybreac and help as much as I am able.”

The tension that she’d been holding for so long lessened its hold on her, and she nearly sank to the floor. Her plan was working.

“And then,” he continued, “ye will sing me a joyful song.”