He was frustrated and furious with himself for appearing so weak in front of her. At least, that was how he himself had viewed it. He had struggled with his words, let his eyes tear across her, devouring every inch of her beauty and reveling in it. He had longed even then to fill in the gap between them, to close the space and enfold her in his strong arms. If it had been up to his instincts at that moment, nothing and no one would ever harm her. There had been an animalistic protectiveness in him that he had not felt in years.
Not only that, but somehow she also called to him. Her soul tugged at his, but he wasn't sure in what way. It was as though she was the piece he was missing, as though she could heal him in some way. He knew it, he felt it, but there could be no explaining it. Something about her made it feel as though they were connected; it almost felt to him as if they'd known each other for lifetimes, though he had never actually clapped eyes upon her anywhere else but the land of dreams. It was not enough to convince him that she was really who she said she was, but it was enough to give him pause.
It was true that she could be a spy sent to undo him and aid the Robertson's in taking the entire keep. However, that was not the aura that he felt coming from her. She had seemed like a scared young woman, that was certain, but of course, a spy would act in that way.
He blew out a hot, irritated breath; negativity kept bubbling up inside of him, and he needed desperately to release it.
Iain smacked his lips idly; this morning called for a drink. He had woken up late, and it was rolling towards noontime now. He scratched at his tightened stomach and rolled his shoulders. A swallow of mead now would do him some good. Perhaps then it would allow him to forget the mind-numbing morning that he'd just experienced and sift through the thoughts that kept bombarding his mind.
He exhaled fully, telling himself that he was acting like a child in the woods, spooked, but that was not the whole truth.
In reality, she had also charmed him with her beauty, as she had always done in his slumber. He became increasingly uncomfortable in front of her stunning gaze and had fled from her presence.
And how had she appeared directly from his dream into the living world? She had certainly seemed like the same woman. He could only wonder what the reason for her appearance was; there had been no other clue provided. He racked his brain, desperate to discover the meaning behind the woman, but nothing seemed plausible.
The thought bothered him, but he chose to set that thought aside. Instead, he was brought back to the way her heart-shaped face had turned up at him, at the darkness of her angled eyebrows, the way her bright eyes slightly reflected the sunlight that had spilled in from the hall.
There had been a sudden urge to pull her into an embrace that he'd had to ignore; in fact, he'd had to turn immediately and stride away to get it to dissipate at all.
That drink is sounding ever better by the second.
Iain moved to pull his bedchamber door open, but as he did, it swung inward, nearly hitting him.
"Och!" he cried, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Have ye no’ been taught how to knock?"
His mother blinked back at him, her brown eyes bright. She wore a questioning frown, and Iain felt himself wince beneath her stare.
"That's no way tae talk tae your mother," she said, a stern brow raised high on her forehead. "I wanted tae come and see how ye were doing, my son. I suppose that ye slept okay, even with all the racket. There was quite a fuss in the main hall this morn; something of a capture and a spy?"
She fixed him with a strange look. Her expression was probing, confused, and it begged the answer to a silent question: What is really going on here?
He could hide nothing from his mother that he knew. He shifted his gaze to his window, squinting into the sunlight, but it was better than facing her stern expression. She could tell that he was avoiding her and stepped sidelong so that she was facing him again.
"Aye," he said cautiously. "A capture and a spy, it was. Or so we think."
"What do ye mean, 'so we think'?" she asked. "Were they a spy or not?"
Her voice increased in pitch, and she wore an expression that she always wore when she was silently judging his actions. He shrunk only a little beneath his mother's gaze.
"Well," Iain said, weighing his words carefully. "We're not sure, Mother. The spy is... Well, the spy looks like no other that I've ever seen. We think the Robertson clan sent her—"
"Her?" his mother exclaimed. Her hands flew to her hips, her pale skin offsetting the dark green of her gown. "Ye have a woman locked away in a dungeon?"
"A young woman," he supplied, shrugging his shoulders vaguely. He was making this sound worse and worse with every word, but it was the truth.
His mother reared her head back to look at him, as though she were waiting for the smile to crack over his face, for him to laugh and say that he was joking. He could only gaze back at her neutrally, his mouth one straight, grim line.
"Iain MacThomas," she said. "Yer meaning to tell me that ye have a young lass in the dungeons? Now?"
He glanced down, unable to meet her eye, but he stood firm. "Aye," he said. "That I do. Even if she is a woman, Mother, ye know that we cannae afford to have a spy wanderin’ the halls of the castle!"
His mother had looked as though she was about to cut in, and so he had to raise his voice slightly. His mother did not look as though his comment had turned her mind; in fact, her lips pursed, and she frowned deeply at him. Her eyes judged him, he could feel it, but he shrugged it off.
"Mother," he said. "We cannae risk the safety of the entire castle for the well-being of one lass. Especially with the Robertson clan so nearby. It cannae bode well for a young woman on her own to be wanderin' nearby in the dead of night."
He didn't know when his tone became pleading, only that it did. Even now, Fiona MacThomas was the only person in the castle who could look him in the eye, let alone stand up to him.
But even though she disagreed on the subject, he would not budge. The woman would stay in the dungeon until he decided her fate.
