“Is that so?” Kieran asked, sitting back down, his expression anything but impressed.
“Yes. You see, while my men were out on patrol a couple of nights ago, they stumbled upon a young lad. He was rather wounded when they found him, so they brought him here. He was wearing plaid – I did send you a piece of it if you’ll remember?” Reginald said, the innocence dripping from his tongue like poison.
Kieran nodded, grinding his teeth together so hard that it was audible to Vivien.
“It seems he was one of your men; I assume that is correct if I may be so bold. He must have been involved in some sort of altercation on the night of the attempted attack on your castle.” Reginald leaned forward, grabbing the crystal decanter that was almost empty, and refilled his glass of wine. “Regardless, he is here, under my care. Agree to my proposal, and you shall have not only my protection, as promised, but your little friend – Bailey, I believe his name is – returned to you as well. What do you say?”
“The answer remains the same, Lord Stone,” Kieran ground out between his clenched teeth. Vivien winced at the anger she saw flashing across his face; she had never seen him so angry before.
Kieran stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back so hard that it scraped along the floor.
“I think I’ll be taking my leave now, Lord Stone. Thank ye for yer hospitality, Lady Stone,” he inclined his head to Vivien, with a brief twinkle in his eyes, despite the anger radiating off him like heat off a stove.
Reginald remained seated, “I would think twice about that, Laird. See, you are in my castle, and my arm is that of the crown’s. I speak for the crown. Which means that, should you continue to refuse my offer, I have the authority to have you arrested for treason.”
“Treason?” Kieran raised his voice, clenching his fists at his sides. Vivien flinched at the sudden outburst; the rage in his voice ran deep, like the currents of the ocean. Powerful and unyielding. “I am nae traitor, sir. Ye best be watching who ye threaten in these parts.”
“I am the Lord of the castle in these parts now, MacBride,” Reginald said, all but growling in the back of his throat, “You will do as I say, or I will have you thrown into the dungeon along with your little friend.”
The house of cards was tumbling down around them, Vivien thought in horror. She could not let Reginald imprison Kieran. She knew Reginald would have him killed that very night simply because he could. She had to do something. She had to prevent more bloodshed between the men in her life.
Vivien extended her hand out to lay it on Reginald’s arm on the table. He flinched before composing himself again.
“My Lord, would it be wise to arrest Laird MacBride?” she asked softly, hoping that there would be no severe repercussions for her interrupting their conversation, “I know he has shown you nothing but disrespect tonight, but maybe there are better ways of dealing with this?”
“What are you on about, woman?” Reginald snapped in irritation.
“I think the other clans around this area may not take kindly to you arresting one of their own – at least, not so soon after arriving here, Lord. It may cause them to turn against you, could it not? And that would put you in grave danger, wouldn’t it?” Vivien held her breath, hoping that her excuse would mean something to Reginald.
Reginald contemplated her words for a few moments, his eyes darting between her and Kieran. Vivien forced herself to maintain her focus on Reginald; she could not risk looking at Kieran, even though she longed to look at him and to beg him to run.
“You make a fair point. It is early to make enemies of the locals,” Reginald said. Vivien exhaled in relief. Something in Reginald’s expression stopped her relief short – he was not as convinced by her story as she had hoped he would be.
“You may leave, MacBride,” Reginald said, still looking at Vivien, searching her face, “But remember this, I have the power to take everything that you call yours. Leave, and if I call on you again, you will answer.”
Kieran snorted but said nothing as he left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Helen arrived at the castle a couple of nights later to let Kieran know that Vivien would be able to see him the following evening. She would meet him at his castle; Reginald would be away for a week on a trip down to London.
Kieran waited anxiously for Vivien to arrive; she did so just after sunset, as promised. Her hair was wind-whipped and wild around her delicate face, lending her a wild, seductive look that had his loins tightening in his breeches.
They embraced as soon as Vivien dismounted her horse, Kieran holding her as close to him as he could. There had been too much time between their first night together and now for him to feel content. There had been too much physical distance between them while they had been together with Lord Stone at the farce that was the dinner he had been invited to.
Kieran was still seething with resentment; he could ignore all of the slights that Reginald had handed out like free bread, he could ignore how difficult it was to be in the same room as Vivien and not be able to touch her or hold her. What he could not ignore was the veiled and not-so-subtle threats the man constantly threw at him. He could not handle knowing that his best friend was being held captive by his enemy.
He could not cope with knowing that it was his fault that Bailey was locked up in a dungeon beneath the Englishman’s feet.
The rage and guilt ate at Kieran like acid. He was caught between a rock and a hard place – did he continue to deny Lord Stone his cooperation and risk Bailey’s life in the process?
Or did he betray everything he believed in, everyone who trusted him, and turn his back on his own kind to save one man’s life?
It was an impossible decision, one that he struggled with every single second of his waking hours.
Tilly had been devastated when Kieran had given her the confirmation that Bailey was indeed a prisoner. The only bright side was that Bailey was still alive, as far as Kieran could tell.
He refused to believe otherwise, no matter what his instincts wanted to scream at him. Bailey was alive; a hostage, but alive.
