He was speaking sense, and she knew it but would not admit it. She turned back toward him after a moment's pause and straightened to her full height.
"Fine then, son," she said. "Ye can escort the girl to this village, and if she does turn out to be a spy, then I expect I know what ye'll do. But rest assured, I can look into this lass's eyes and see that she doesnae mean us any harm. The fact that ye cannot worries me, Iain."
She said this with gentle conviction only a mother could conjure, and Iain felt himself soften. When she spoke again, she was back to the no-nonsense woman he had always known her to be.
"Now," she said. "Dinnae ye have somewhere to be?"
She turned and left him alone, fully expecting her to do as she bid. He knew for certain that she would check the dungeons soon to be sure that he followed through with his promise. He intended to do exactly that; however, he was no liar, and certainly not to his mother, his only remaining family.
He only hesitated a moment before returning to the dungeons. As he passed through the halls, the guardsmen caught his eye and glanced away—a sharp feeling of remorse spread through Iain.
Had his men truly learned to fear him for his temper?
They had taken to wincing whenever he was around, and whenever he spoke, the men either held rapt eye contact or refused to meet his stare altogether. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that they had seemed increasingly fidgety around him.
He told himself that he would have to keep his temper in check. But for now, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
When he pulled open the dungeon door, the young woman looked up. He hated to see her face jolt in fear; it was so like the terrified expression she always wore in the dream, right before he woke up. It was a memory he did not enjoy experiencing, but it was there all the same.
"Alright, lass," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "I will give ye one chance tae prove yer words are spoken truly. Ye can go tae this village, but on the condition that I follow along with a few of my men. We'll see if ye are tellin' the truth or no, and if ye aren't, the day that ye made a fool of Iain MacThomas will be yer final day on this earth. Understood?"
The young woman nodded eagerly; she hadn't spoken at all in his presence since the night before when he'd boomed with rage at her trespassing. She looked grateful for his words, and he wondered instantly if she perhaps had been telling the truth. His mother had said the woman had initially been lying to him; had it really been his own fault?
Had he frightened her into concocting a story to save her own life?
He thought back to the guardsmen who cowered around him now, and for a moment, he faltered.
Perhaps I have been a little on edge, a little too hard of late.
His thoughts were confirmed as he took a step towards her. She shrank back instinctively, and Iain felt a frown touch his lips. He had only meant to help her up, partly to assist her, but also to give himself an excuse to touch her hand.
He hated himself for it, but the opportunity had presented itself, and he had taken it. And so Iain offered his hand out to her, waiting until she looked back up.
When she did, the young woman didn't immediately trust him. She stared at his hand for a long moment as though it were something foreign and then flicked her blue eyes up to his face. She reached out a nervous, pale hand and when it settled softly into his, he felt a calming sensation from her touch spread all the way through him.
It was as though she somehow returned to him a peace that he hadn't realized had flown away.
He pulled her up easily. She was light and now dry from the torrent that had soaked her previously. Iain took a moment to look her over; her hair had dried and was voluminous and flowing, shiny black and soft-looking. She didn't look as bedraggled as she had the night before, and in fact, she looked like she might be something fantastical straight from the heavens.
"Thank ye, m'Laird," she said quietly.
Iain was treading on a thin line between frustration, distrust, and desire. He could not fathom where she had come from nor why she had haunted him so much for two long years; she didn't seem to know him at all. He pushed the thoughts of her lovely face and slender body away; there was no room for them now, not with as close as she was to him.
And so he led her away, staving off thoughts of her origin, her beauty, but especially the dreams that he had seen her face in every night.
Chapter Seven
Isla could not believe her luck.
The Laird had actually released her! He had kept a hawk's eye upon her at all times, not letting her out of an arm's reach of himself, but she hadn't minded. She was free of that damp prison cell and could breathe fresh air again.
It was true that she had lied about her family name, but this Laird would never find that out. He would surely accompany her to her mystery village, but once he saw that there truly was someone there who had requested her presence, he would instantly leave her be. She was sure of it. He had only wanted to make sure that she had not been lying about the letter if she understood correctly.
Surely he would not escort her back to MacIntosh Castle.
Perhaps she could elect to stay with whoever had sent the letter for a time, just enough for the Laird to have to return home. She could get the person alone, explain her situation, and maybe they could help her. Whoever it was certainly seemed to have her best interest in mind.
And she needed friends now more than ever.
