CHAPTER SIX
“ W hat is it?” Nicholas demanded, his voice low and dangerous, his patience already worn thin, when a knock echoed through the thick wooden door.
He turned toward it sharply, his expression hardening as he opened the door.
The guard hesitated at the threshold, shifting nervously before stepping back into the corridor, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and anxiety.
Nicholas followed him and closed the door behind him.
"What is it?" Nicholas asked.
“I believe ye’ve got the wrong lass,” the guard stammered, his voice trembling as he spoke.
Nicholas’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his gaze before his temper flared. “What do ye mean, the wrong lass?” he barked, taking a step closer to the guard, the air between them growing heavy with tension.
The guard swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he explained, “A message from Marcus. The maid says that they are of the Sinclair clan and that is the sister of Laird Sinclair, nae Laird McLaren. She’s the woman McLaren was to marry and that's why they were on a journey.”
Nicholas’s blood ran cold, the shock of the news settling like a weight in his chest. His mind raced as the pieces of the puzzle began to shift, but the anger in his gut flared brighter than any confusion.
“Ye’re certain?” he demanded, his voice a growl as his eyes narrowed, locking onto the guard’s.
The man nodded quickly, barely able to hold his ground under the intensity of Nicholas’s glare. "Marcus bid me come to ye straight away as he secures the others."
“Go,” Nicholas commanded with a wave of his hand, dismissing the guard without another word.
He stepped back inside. The door closed with a soft thud, leaving him alone with Alexandra once more. His gaze snapped to her, eyes wild and feral as he sized her up, trying to reconcile what he’d just learned with the situation he found himself in. He moved to her.
"Stand up," he said.
"Why?" she asked.
Instead of answering, he pulled her to her feet. He pulled her cloak off her. There it was. At her waist sat a sash in the clan colors of Sinclair, not MacLaren.
"Tell me yer brother's name, lass," he said.
"What? Ye already ken his name. Ye've spoken of nothin’ but me brother since-"
"Say it!" he shouted.
"Caelan. Caelan Moore!" she shouted back.
His lips curled into a dark, cruel smirk that barely reached his eyes.
“Well, well,” he murmured, taking a step toward her, his voice dripping with mockery. “Ye’re a right unlucky lass, aren’t ye? To catch the eye of Laird McLaren and end up here, in me hands.”
His tone was thick with disdain, but there was something else beneath it, something that spoke of a twisted curiosity that only deepened his intrigue.
He saw Alexandra’s confusion plain on her face, but Nicholas felt a strange satisfaction in the power he held over her, regardless of the mistaken identity.
"We thought ye the sister of McLaren, nae his betrothed," he said.
Alexandra shot him a glare, her defiance clear as she lifted her chin, her voice ringing with anger.
“If ye’ve got the wrong woman, ye should let me go, Robertson,” she spat, her eyes blazing with fire.
“I’m nae the one ye’re after, so ye’ve nay reason to keep me here.
” Her words hung in the air, daring him to act on them, to test her resolve.
Nicholas’s amusement flickered in his expression, but it quickly faded into something darker. His eyes narrowed with irritation, his jaw tightening as he took another step closer to her, his presence looming over her.
“Ye should be careful, lass,” he warned, his voice low and lethal. “The last person who made demands of me ended up without one of his hands.”
The words hung between them, heavy with menace, yet there was something about her defiant posture, the fire in her eyes, that both irked and intrigued him.
His gaze lingered on her, studying her with a twisted fascination as she stood her ground.
This wasn’t the timid, broken woman he’d expected, and that made her all the more dangerous.
He couldn’t help but wonder what else lay beneath her sharp tongue and fiery glare.
He stood motionless, watching Alexandra with a cool, calculating gaze as she demanded once more to be released. Her eyes burned with frustration, her voice carrying the sharp edge of a woman who had been wronged.
“Clearly, this is yer mistake, nae me own,” she said, her tone desperate but unwavering. “As I've said, ye have nay reason to keep me here, so let me go.”
“I cannae do that, lass,” he replied, his voice low and steady, filled with an authority that brooked no argument.
He saw the fire in her eyes flare with indignation, and it only made his grip on his patience grow tighter.
She wasn’t afraid of him, and that stirred something within him he hadn’t expected.
“Ye’re a brute,” she spat, her voice thick with contempt. “A beast, treatin’ a woman like this.” The words stung, but Nicholas didn’t flinch.
“Aye, I’m a brute,” Nicholas growled, his tone dark and filled with quiet menace.
“And ye’d best remember that, lass, before ye make demands ye cannae back up.
” He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her ear as he added, “I’ve been through worse than ye, and I’ve dealt with worse, too. Yer insults mean little to me.”
“Ye’ve nay right,” she said, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “I’m nae the one ye’re after, so why bother? Let me go before ye make a bigger mistake.”
Nicholas paused, studying her carefully, as if weighing her words.
“Ye daenae get it, do ye?” he said slowly, his voice dripping with a quiet intensity.
“I’ve made me decision. And ye, lass, are part of it.
” His eyes darkened, and his smirk faded into something far colder.
“I’ll nae be lettin’ go of anythin’ anytime soon. ”
Her breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. “Why are ye doing this?” she demanded, her voice cracking slightly. “What do ye want from me?” There was desperation now, but still that fierce defiance, a fire that refused to be quenched.
“What do I want?” he echoed, his voice hardening. “I want ye to understand yer place, lass. Ye’re in me hands now. And ye willnae be leavin’ until I get me son back.” He straightened up, his eyes locking onto hers with a gaze that felt like a physical weight.
"But I already told ye me brother does nae have yer child," she said.
"Nae, but McLaren does. He has somethin’ I want and I have somethin’ he wants. Ye may nae be his sister, but ye are his betrothed. Ye are still leverage whether ye like it or nae," he said.
Alexandra stepped back, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Ye’re nothin’ but a coward,” she hissed, her words laced with venom. “Stealin’ a woman away, then treatin’ her like this. A coward hidin’ behind his title.”
“Ye’re nae in a position to be callin’ me names,” Nicholas replied, his voice cold and measured.
He reached out, gripping her arm with surprising gentleness, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words.
“But if ye keep up with this nonsense, ye’ll find out just how far I’m willin’ to go to make ye understand. ”
He watched Alexandra flinch at his touch but stood tall, her chest rising and falling with each heated breath.
“I’ll never understand,” she spat, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her. “I’ll never accept what ye’ve done.”
Nicholas studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
There was something in her that intrigued him more than he cared to admit—something that made him want to push further, test her resolve.
He tightened his grip on her arm, though his touch was not rough.
“Ye think ye can defy me,” he said quietly.
“But ye’re just a woman, lass. And I’ve dealt with much worse than ye. "
"Ye’re a beast, Nicholas Robertson! Let me go," she spat.
"Well, birdie,” he drawled, his voice thick with mockery, “ye’re nae goin’ anywhere. Ye should’ve been more careful about the attention ye draw.” His smirk widened, cruel and knowing. “I hope ye enjoy stayin’ with a beast.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned away, his mind already calculating his next move. He called out for a maid and a guard, his tone commanding and final.
“Take her to the guest chambers,” he ordered, his voice carrying an unmistakable edge of authority. He didn’t care what she thought of it; she was a prisoner for now, and he would deal with her in his own time.
“Should I nae be in the dungeon, then?” she asked, her voice still laced with defiance.
The question surprised Nicholas, though he didn’t let it show. “I’ll think about it if ye continue to run yer mouth,” he warned, his voice low and menacing.
As Alexandra was escorted from the room, Nicholas stood still for a moment, watching her every move with a gaze that could pierce through stone.
The sound of her footsteps echoed through the stone hallway, a reminder of the tangled web he’d woven.
He couldn’t deny that a part of him enjoyed seeing her frustration, even if it was only the beginning of what would undoubtedly be a long and difficult game.
Turning on his heel, he made his way down the corridor to find Marcus, the ever-loyal confidant who had been with him through thick and thin. When Nicholas found him, Marcus looked up, his face a mix of curiosity and wariness.
“What of the matter now, Nicholas?” Marcus asked, his brow furrowing at the look in Nicholas’s eyes.
“Ye are right, we got the wrong woman,” Nicholas said, the words coming out slowly, almost as if he were savoring the irony.
"Aye, ’tis what the maid and the guard said,” Marcus responded.
Nicholas let out a deep breath, his hand running through his dark hair in frustration.
“Aye, we abducted McLaren’s betrothed, nae his sister,” he explained, his voice sharp with frustration.
“We’ve got the wrong lass, Marcus. But now, I’ve got a bit more leverage than I thought.
” He glanced at Marcus, seeing the confusion still in his eyes.
“McLaren has me son and now, I’ve got somethin’ McLaren really wants—his bride. ”
Marcus’s expression shifted from shock to understanding, his gaze sharpening with interest. “So, ye’re goin’ to use her as leverage?” he asked, his voice tinged with awe.
“Aye,” Nicholas replied, his eyes dark and calculating.
Marcus nodded slowly, a grin slowly forming on his face. “Aye, that could work,” he muttered, clearly impressed by Nicholas’s plan. “McLaren willnae like it, but he’ll nae have a choice. What’s the next move, then?”
Nicholas’s gaze turned cold, his mind already working out the next step in the tangled dance of power and manipulation.
“I’ll let him stew for a bit,” he said, his voice calm but filled with a dangerous edge.
“Then, I’ll give him a choice—release me son or lose his bride.
” He paused, letting the words settle in the air.
“Either way, we’re in control now. I can only hope he truly wanted this woman as a bride and nae simply a means to an end. ”