Steeling herself, Selene, tossed her head defiantly.
“And if I tell you my story, will you believe me?”
A grin quirked at the corners of his mouth. “Mayhap. I have yet tae decide.”
She bristled at that. “I am not given to lying, Sir Kenneth.”
With that said, she launched herself into an explanation of travelling to join her sister on Raasay, of her brother-in-law’smessage and the need for the two clans, the MacLeods of Raasay and the MacDonalds of Sleat to settle their differences. Then she related the long story of her arduous journey north. She sparred him no detail of the discomfort, the ambush, the storm, the deaths of her escort, the lost letter. When she finished, Kenneth was silent for several long moments.
“And ye expect me tae believe ye carry peace when ye cannae produce a single scrap of proof?” he said at last.
“How can I have proof?” she snapped, rolling her eyes.
Oh, this brute is infuriating, despite his handsome face.
“You saw exactly what happened at sea. There was not one single soul left alive when you… you… rescued me from those murderers.”
He nodded, his gaze never faltering, his expression remaining stern.
“I expect you to judge fairly.” She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes without flinching.
His jaw flexed, but his eyes remained unreadable.
“I shall dispatch a message tae Laird Halvard. Me men will carry it to the Isle of Raasay – a day’s sail from here. Until I receive verification of yer tale from him, ye’ll remain at Duntulm. I’ll nae risk me people on naught but an Englishwoman’s word.”
She fumed silently at that. He said the wordEnglishwomanwith such scorn.
He nodded toward the window, where the shutters rattled under the force of the storm.
“And wi’ this weather, nay message will leave Duntulm fer days. Mayhap longer. The storms have cut us off.”
At his words a coldness far deeper than her bath settled into Selene’s bones.
She was trapped.
Alone.
And entirely at the mercy of the Brute of Sleat.
There must be something she could do. It was clear that quarreling with him would not to be to her benefit, so she turned up her lips in what she hoped was a winning smile.
“I trust you will not object to me penning a letter to my brother-in-law?” she said sweetly.
“Ah. Of course. An educated lady. Ye are able tae read and write.”
“Of course, I am educated, and of course I am able to write.” She gave him a scathing look. “I am surprised thatyouare able to write.”
He did not take her bait. Instead of lashing out at her insulting remark, he chuckled.
“Aye lass. As I’m certain ye would have discovered during yer stay in Edinburgh, the Scots are educated and refined. Unlike most of the English who are without the wit to discern the difference between a quill and ink and a garden hoe and a pig’s manure.”
She huffed indignantly. “Ye are correct in saying there are educated Scots. I certainly met many of them during my stay in Edinburgh. But things are different in the Highlands, where the refinement of the city has yet to extend.”
“Dinnae take on so, lass. The learning ye so admired in Edinburgh spreads all over this land.” He grinned. “Even tae these far-flung isles.”
In response she lifted her chin, not deigning to answer.
“I shall send a maid tae ye wi’ paper, quill and ink and, if ye scribe yer missive, it will travel tae Raasay wi’ me own letter.”
