"And what is it that the laird wants me to say?" Leah managed to shove off her lips. She didn't expect the tone to be so harsh, but she couldn't help it. Fear tainted and stained each syllable. Her predicament weighed down on her like a wet wool blanket.
"Do ye want me to thank ye for the cruel treatment I've received? Or perhaps ye'd rather I just leave? Because let's face it I daenaebelong here. And I demand that ye release me. I'm nay gift or prize to be had. Ye cannae treat people like this, I daenae care who they say ye are."
"So ye ken of me, do ye?" the laird asked. There was a malicious glean in his eye that made Leah question whether she wanted to speak again.
"Only the rumors. But from what I've personally experienced, I'd say they are all true."
"What do ye ken?" the laird huffed as he folded his massive arms over his chest and glared at Leah. Her heartbeat quickened. She wasn't sure if it was the thrill of defying him or the curiosity of what he'd do to her. Was he truly as mad and delusional as the rest of Moray claimed him to be? It was a question that burned and turned like a roasted boar over a pit.
"I ken Latin, Greek, and French, same as ye I'm sure," she answered, uncertain how to proceed. Everything about the man gave her chills. Yet the tenderness in his touch, as he removed her restraints, hinted at a gentler side.
"Aye, anyone with half a brain would ken how to read and speak the languages of the poets," the laird said.
"The laird reads poetry?" Leah asked as she tilted her head and stared at him. She tried to wrap her head around how a warrior as brutal as the laird before her could have the patience for poetry.
"If the occasion calls for it," he answered as his eyes narrowed. "Now tell me who ye are and what it is ye’re doin' here with Sean."
Leah pulled in a long, deep breath as she rubbed the pain from her wrists. Chewing her lower lip, she tried to recall the last thing she remembered before having the world snuffed out behind a burl lap sack.
"Where to start?" Leah said, pressing her fingers to her temples and closing her eyes. The Grand Hall disappeared, and Leah stood alone in the darkness. Concentrating, she pulled every detail she could. "I worked for Laird O'Malley as his healer for seven years. I was on me way home when me carriage was overrun and I was taken. Now, I daenae ken why it is I have been brought here, but with all due respect, I'd like to go home."
"Aye," the laird said, rubbing the stubble on his chin as his eyes bore into her. The lack of sympathy shouldn't have concerned her, but it did. After all, she was in the presence of the mad laird; what he would do or say to her was as much of a mystery as why she was there.
"So, I may take me leave?" Leah asked. She tried to keep her tone as steady as she could, but it cracked under the laird's malicious gaze.
"I will say that this was done without me consent. It is late and as much as I'm sure ye want to be free from me presence, I cannae allow it."
"What?" Leah gasped as she involuntarily stepped forward. It wasn't like she was a match for him. The man was practically double her size. But his order to keep her there rocked her. "Ye cannae keep me here."
"There is a storm coming and I'd rather nae have yer blood on me hands. Ye'll be able to go about yer way at first light," he answered. The command was unexpected. Was this not the "Mad Laird" Leah had heard of growing up? Yet, there was nothing odd about him from what she could tell. If anything, he seemed isolated and somber.
His words were like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her anxiety. She blinked at him, completely dumbfounded and in awe of the laird before her. The laird clearly was not the monster she had been led to believe. So who was he? It was a question that would plague her the longer she stared at him. Everything about him contrasted with what she had been told.
"Yer gaze is very direct," he said as Leah noticed he had been watching her watching him. "Say what it is that is on yer tongue and be done with it."
Leah couldn't help but recoil at the harshness of his defensive tone. She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes to the cobbled stone floor.
"I've nothin' to say," she answered, averting her eyes. But the Mad Liard’s presence was alluring. Daring to steal another glimpse of him, a shiver of pleasure raced up her spine. He was amighty man with his broad shoulders and rugged features. Leah found herself intrigued by the stranger before her.
"I'll have me servants make a room for ye. And I vow nay harm will come to ye while yer head rests under me roof."
Leah blinked at him as the bewilderment settled in her bones. She watched as the laird arched his eyebrow and gave her a once over. Heat rushed like a current of water under Leah's skin as she drew her eyes to meet his. It was as if he were undressing her with his gaze. And just as quickly as the heat came, it was gone, and its absence left her cold.
“If ye ken why I was brought here, please tell me,” Leah implored. She wasn’t sure if it was his attention she was after or a way to escape the situation. The laird arched his eyebrow, and his hooded eyes remained transfixed on Leah, causing her heart to skip. How was it that he could disarm her so easily?
“I daenae ken why Sean brought ye to me, other than to have ye take a look at me brother.”
"Is yer brother sick, me laird?" Leah asked. He paused and flexed his jaw. Without even a sideways glance, his lips twisted as he spoke.
"Me brother is frail. What do ye ken of it?"
"The man who took me," Leah answered, uncertain why she just couldn't keep her mouth shut. "I heard him mention that I was to be a gift for both ye and yer brother."
"As I told ye," the laird said with a silky smooth tone that made Leah feel as if she were walking on a double-edged sword. The protectiveness in the laird's tone could not go unnoticed. "He's frail."
“Do ye ken what’s wrong with him?” Leah asked as she found herself longing to keep him with her. The way he looked at her was unnerving and thrilling.
“There’s been a wide spectrum of answers to that question,” he answered, his tone short and icy. “Daenae think that with one look ye could miraculously give me the right answer.”
