He turned to the men. “How long has this continued?”
“Since Nones, my laird.”
Frazier hadn’t found him quickly then.
“I daresay she may be wearing down?—”
“Or run out of things to throw.”
“Nay. She comes to collect them and starts again,” said a young man with wide eyes.
He sighed. “Very well. Go now. All of ye. I shall take this watch.”
Half a dozen nervous men were only too happy to leave him alone with his hellcat. Though he tried, he could not fathom what might have caused her distress. But his eagerness to see her again, to be near her again, won out over caution, and he knocked gently on the door.
“The men are gone, Kenna. We are alone now. Open the door and allow me to be of service?—”
Something very hard and very sharp struck the door opposite his head once again, only this time nothing fell to the floor. She had a weapon! And the only weapon he knew he’d left inside, tucked in the bottom of his clothes chest, where he wouldn’t imagine she would find it—the small dagger his father, Leith Macpherson, The Kingmaker, used to wear in his very tall boots. The only reason Tearloch himself didn’t carry it was because his boots were far too short for it, and he would never risk losing it in battle. It was too dear.
That she would throw that blade at his head lit a fire under his ribs. Instinct told him to break down the door and punish her, somehow. But he would never beat her, could never lay a hand on her in anger. But frighten her?
Most certainly.
He tried the latch again, just to get his ire up. Pounded his fist half a dozen times, then pulled his weapon from his belt. He struck the door with the heavy pommel that acted as a counterweight for his impressively long broadsword.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
“I’ll allow ye one last chance, woman! Ye have to the count of three to unbar this door, or stand well back!”
A crowd had gathered at the top of the main stairs, and he waved his sword to disburse them before turning back to the bedchamber door.
“One!”Met by only silence.
“Two!”If she were to comply, it would be now.
“Three!”
He took a step back, lowered his shoulder to where he knew the bar rested on the inside, and charged through.
The wood flew from its moorings, along with the braces and the bar they cradled. He stumbled on a boot and found another half dozen littered around the doorway. Two candlesticks, one of them bent nearly in half, and various bits of bowls and the like, were scattered on the floor.
He marched over to the largest piece of door now resting aslant against the small table and flipped it over. Just as he expected, his father’s dagger was seated an inch deep in the center panel. He wrenched it free and examined it for damage before searching the room for the hellcat. His gaze swept the room, and when he didn’t readily see her, he noted the bits of shattered shutter and strode to the open window.
She wouldn’t have jumped.
He peeked out and down and noted two wary guards looking up at him. Satisfied, he quickly turned in case she ran for the open doorway. But she did not.
“Not much protection left for ye without a door, is there? Was that yer goal here? To anger me enough to batter it down?”
She did not rise to the bait. He would have to hunt her down, which he entirely expected to enjoy.
Movement near the back corner of the bed. A flash of green and an auburn braid, then a flash of something else, which bit his arm! He lunged back to the outer wall, rushed around the large table, then jumped onto the bed and off the other side where he caught her and pinned her to the wall.
“The hellcat has teeth,” he snarled, taking in the sight of her. With her hair contained, she seemed much smaller. Almost harmless. But there was strength behind her struggles that hadless to do with muscle and more to do with rage. He tried to force her to look at him, so he might understand, but she fought his every attempt to hold her steady.
