However, she was not as sure if she trusted in her father’s judgment while he was in the throes of despair. Grief could do peculiar things to a person. She was proof of that, for she could not remember the last time she had lost her temper, until she had come face to face with that beautiful man, with his wavy red hair, powerful body, and astonishing height.
That night, once the rest of the castle had retired to bed, Heather slipped out of her chambers and went in search of Brandon. Unable to find him in his usual haunts—the library, William’s study, his guest chambers—she was disappointed to learn that he had temporarily left the castle altogether. Apparently, he had ridden out earlier that evening, in the lull after dinner.
Still, Heather was not yet ready to retire. She had not slept well in the week that had passed since discovering her brother’s death, and she saw little use in spending empty hours in her bed, tossing and turning in the vain hope that sleep would relieve her, just once.
As such, she found herself at the door to the winding stairwell that led down into the dungeons. The guards were gone, but the door was locked. That might have been on obstacle if Heather did not have the key, but her brother had given her an iron ring that held every key to every door in the castle. She kept it on her, always, for it carried the key to the “secret” library that she was not supposed to know about: a small room with books that her father did not consider appropriate for a young lady.
However, she had never had reason to use it for any other locked door.
Within minutes, she was down in the torchlit passageway, making her way to the last cell on the right. A nervous thrill thrummed through her, for, aside from the forbidden books on alchemy and anatomy and astrology, she had never done anything to disobey her father’s wishes. She knew he would certainly be displeased if he found out she had gone down to the dungeons alone.
“Laird Dunn?” she squeaked, stepping out in front of the cell. All her former bluster and courage had abandoned her, for though she sought the truth, what if the truth was much simpler—this handsome Scotwasher brother’s murderer? What if he tried to hurt her, too?
I shall stay a good distance from the bars. Then, he cannot reach me and cannot possibly harm me.It seemed a sufficient plan.
Someone stirred in the dirty straw, though the brazier had been extinguished, so she could not see as well as before. Realizing that the gloom would not do, she padded back up the passage to fetch one of the torches and brought it back to the cell.
A scream strangled in her throat as the flickering torchlight cast its bronzed glow on the towering figure of Laird Dunn, who stood flush to the bars, his arms wrapped around them. His glittering eyes looked almost black, while fire danced in the center of them.
Are you the devil, sent to tempt me?She swallowed thickly, feeling foolish for almost unleashing an almighty scream. It would certainly have gotherinto more trouble than Laird Dunn.
“Apologies, Lass. I didnae mean to scare ye,” he said, in that deep, husky voice that seemed to carry the Highland mountains with it. “I assumed ye wanted to speak with me, so I came to where ye could see me better.”
Heather took a moment to catch her shallow breath, while her heart thundered in her chest. “I did not know it would be so dark.” She grabbed a rickety wooden chair that rested against the wall and pulled it nearer to the cell. “Nor did I hear you approach the bars. You must be awfully catfooted, which is unexpected, considering your size.”
“Did ye expect me to stomp about like a war horse?” He grinned, and the curve of his mouth, exposing pearly white teeth, transformed his face into something even more astonishing. It was as if a lantern had been lit within him, making him radiate a warmth she could not explain.
“Yes, I suppose I did,” she fumbled to reply, as she perched on the edge of the chair, worried that it might give way beneath her.
In kind, Laird Dunn sat down on the floor, though it did little to diminish his imposing presence. Even seated, the top of his head would have reached to Heather’s bosom, had she been standing.
An awkward silence stretched between the two, becoming more awkward as Heather felt the burn of his intense gaze upon her. A rush of heat moved up from the depths of her fluttering stomach, spreading out across her chest in patches of embarrassed pink. If she could see the flushed dappling, then he surely could.
Just because he is extraordinary to behold does not mean he is not capable of terrible deeds,she chided herself, knowing she was being naïve.
“Are ye goin’ to say somethin’, Lass, or are we to spend this encounter in silence? I daenae mind which, but I would ken in case ye’re seekin’ quiet.” He broke the silence first, with a note of humor warming up his words and, as a result, the flushing in her chest. By now, it had reached her neck, and would soon infiltrate her cheeks.
Heather stared down into her lap, hoping the shadow of her chin might cover some of the blush. “I wanted to ask for your account of what occurred,” she said uncertainly. “I should not have come down here in a state of emotional turmoil, as I did earlier. I like to think that I am a just person, so I would give you a fair trial, here and now.”
She did not mention the things Jemima had spoken about, though they had created the driving force behind her visiting the Laird again. Indeed,shehad let her grief get the better of her, when she should have allowed herself to listen. Just in case someone had gotten the situation wrong.
“I shouldn’ae have been so churlish with ye, either,” he conceded. “It wasnae right nor honorable of me to turn me back on ye, when ye’re obviously in great pain.” His fingers extended subtly toward her, as if he wanted to offer comfort. Of course, Heather did not reach out. She would not.
Tears stung at her eyes, for there was a loneliness to being the only daughter of an Earl. She could not freely unburden herself of her struggles and pains, as she was forever expected to hold her head high and show no emotion. And, with no mother to hold her or soothe her, or stroke her hair, she lacked a physical comfort that she craved. One that tormented her, now, as she fixed her gaze on his outstretched hand.
“I didnae kill him, Lass,” he said, so softly it nearly broke her already broken heart. “I didnae ken him, but when ye heal a man, ye become kin for a while. Also, his last words were spoken to me, and that’s somethin’ I hold in high regard. I would’vehelped to bury him with nothin’ but honor and respect in me heart, if yer faither hadnae accused me like I was naught but a common brute.”
Heather’s eyes met his. “He spoke his last words to you?”
“Aye, Lass.” Laird Dunn smiled sadly.
“What… did he say?” Heather’s insides clenched, for she was not sure she actually wanted to know. What if they were painful? What if they were desperately sad? What if he had pleaded for their mother, as she knew men sometimes did when they were on the brink of death? Worse still, what if the next words out of Laird Dunn’s mouth were a lie?
The Laird scooped his hair back off his face. “He wasnae makin’ much sense, but his fever was ragin’, so I didnae expect it would. At first, he thought he was already dead, which isnae a good omen.” He paused. “I gave him watered ale to quench his thirst, and then he asked after yer faither. I said I’d fetch him, but yer brother ardently refused. Said he didnae want yer faither to ken somethin’ and that he wasnae sure what was real and what wasnae.”
The rush of warmth ebbed as Heather concentrated on the story, puzzled by the revelation. “What did he not want my father to know?”
“He wouldn’ae say, in the end. He just kept beggin’ me to save him, then he said… “He’s killin’ me. He’s killin’ me again.” I daenae ken who he was talkin’ of, but I’m nae the only one whothinks it’s suspicious.” Laird Dunn shifted so his back rested against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. “He was about to tell me somethin’ when a cough set in. A bad one, considerin’ the damage to his chest. All I heard of it was “attacked me,” and then he… passed.”
