“I willnae be sold to the highest bidder! Do ye hear me?! Ye dinnae care about yer clan. Ye never cared about me or me maither! Yer greed and selfishness cloud every decision ye make.”
Skye rose from the table and turned to leave, but Grayson reached up and grabbed her arm hard. She winced.
“Ye dinnae have a say now, do ye, lassie?” His rancid breath fanned her ear, and he roughly pushed her down to her knees.
Suddenly, there was a crashing of mugs and plates as Arran flew across the table and landed a solid punch to Laird MacKeith’s face. He drew his fist back, ready to pummel him again.
“Guards!” Blackwell screeched, shrinking in his chair, not even trying to defend himself.
Arran snarled at him, but then two burly guards quickly grabbed him from behind and pulled him down and away from their Laird. Arran turned, wrenching his arms from their grasp, and punching the one on his left in the face, while stamping his bootheel into the one on the right.
More guards ran to the fighting men. One pulled back his laird’s chair, getting him out of danger, while four more waded into the conflict.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Skye ran toward the doors, only to be blocked by her erstwhile serving maids. They held her fast, not allowing her to leave the room. They turned her about so she saw Arran try brought down by a blow to the head.
Grayson Blackwell screamed at Arran,“Ye dare strike me, lad? And while we’re sharing a meal, too?” Now that his guards were holding Arran down, he continued. “Listen to me well. Ye willnae get yer deeds until I am satisfied that Helena is truly dead. And I’m only making that concession because the Highland Council witnessed our agreement.”
Arran shook his head trying to clear it. “How? Who? What?”
“Nay questions!” Grayson interrupted and held up a still-shaking hand. “Ye’ve committed a terrible deed, assaulting me the way ye did. Wars have started for less. When the council hears about this, ye’ll pay for what ye’ve done.”
“Ye’ll get nothing from me, Laird MacKeith. Ye are the one that owes me… and owes me clan.”
Grayson Blackwell ignored him and continued. “While I look for proof of Helena’s death, ye can cool yer temper in one of me cells.”
“Ye cannae keep me here! Me clan will come looking for me.”
“And if they do, ye will have to explain yer crime. I’m within me rights to detain ye.”
Grayson signaled to one of the servants. “Send for the master of the guard. I’ll need him in the morning.” And with that, he motioned for his men to haul Arran away.
Looking past him and over to Skye, he said, “Take her back to her rooms. Keep close watch on her, and daenae let her out.”
Skye glared at Arran. This was all his fault. If he’d not pursued her, if he’d let her go as well as her mother, none of this would have happened.
“Skye, forgive me,” he croaked, struggling against his captors.
Skye wrestled with her conflicting emotions. He kidnapped her, and she hated him for that. He brought her back to Castle MacKeith, where her mother suffered under Grayson’s abuse. He handed her over to her stepfather, but he had kept her safe on their journey here and had tried to come to her aid when Blackwell pushed her down.
She took a step toward him, but her washer woman guards held her fast between them, even trapping her feet and legs so she could not lash out against them. Skye knew where they would take Arran, and for the first time, her heart ached for Laird MacArthur.
CHAPTER FOUR
Darkness. Arran heard nothing but the sound of his labored breathing.
Fine mess ye got yerself into.
The small barred window in the door let in a scant amount of light from the one torch in the hall outside his cell. Arran leaned back against the wall and looked for a way out.
The cell wasn’t large, and it was empty, with no cot or bench to sit on, and the stone floor was bare. Iron bars separated this cell and the one next to it. He went to each bar and shook each one as hard as he could with his bound hands, but they didn’t budge.
His only option for escape would be to fight his way out the next time the door opened, but with no fists to swing, his chances were slim. So, he alternated sitting on his haunches and pacing.
The events of the past hour replayed in his mind, and his anger toward MacKeith threatened to overtake him. He’d heard of menseeing redwhen angry, but it’d never happened to him.
But when Grayson practically admitted he’d sell Skye off and then pushed her down to the floor, something switched inside him. Like the tales he’d heard of the ancient Viking berserkers, he knew he could have killed Laird MacKeith with his bare hands if the guards hadn’t stopped him.
Arran pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his head on his knees. He thought about his clan, how he’d let them down, and about the future of his people. And then he saw Skye’s face in his mind’s eye… He remembered the fury—and the fear—in her eyes when Grayson threatened to marry her off and pushed her down to her knees.
