"Weel, Laird?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't shake too much. "I dinnae see any lass here."
She did her best to stand in front of the corner as best as she could, hoping that the Laird's eyes did not adjust well enough in the blackness to truly see it. He was still blinking, rubbing at his eyes, and she let herself feel an ounce of hope that he might just leave.
But he picked his head up after a moment, squinting in the darkness. When he saw the bag, she knew immediately that he recognized its origin. His brows shot up in surprise and then dove back downward in a mask of fury.
"This bag..." he said, picking it up. "This is Isla's rucksack! Ye lied tae me! Ye did have her! Where is she now?"
The Laird had stalked over to her, spittle flying from his lips as he accused her. Through it all, his General had not spoken a word; he had stayed stoically silent but had looked increasingly agitated. He shifted from one foot to the other, glancing at his Laird.
"I dinnae have any idea o' what yer talking about," Fiona said, floundering for words. "This has been here since..."
But she trailed off; she had nothing to say, no excuse for why the young woman's bag was sitting there on the floor of her dungeons. The Laird held the bag aloft, glaring at it as though the rucksack had a hand in Isla's disappearance as well. He dumped the contents on the cold stone floor; out tumbled a few slices of bread, rolled up in a cloth, a cheese wedge, and a gown that was still slightly damp.
The Laird picked up the gown, his anger evident on his face. His eyes were bright with rage, and for the first time, Fiona did want to flinch away from the man.
"This is Isla's gown!" he screamed. "Now,whereis she?! Ye are hidin' her somewhere in this castle! Or perhaps yer son has taken her elsewhere? Speak, woman! I demand it!"
She shook her head, unsure of what to say. Fiona could not believe that she had forgotten about the young woman's bag in the dungeon. She truly had been so caught up in her sudden appearance to remember to give it back to her before she'd left. After Iain had left with the girl, she had been too busy worrying over her son to even think about it.
"Where is Iain MacThomas?" Duncan yelled. "Tell me where he's gone immediately!"
More guards appeared at the door; the men were trying to catch Fiona's eye, assuring that she was still safe. She nodded to them, but they did not leave. Instead, they meandered around the outside of the open door, not looking away from the scene. One soldier held it open, fury written all over his face.
"The Laird has been called away tae another village for the time bein'," Fiona said, straightening herself. "Now, I must demand tha' ye leave our castle."
"For what reason was he called away?" Duncan asked, his voice lowering. It took on a dangerous tone, and Fiona felt a chill run up her spine that she ignored as best as she could.
"A letter," she said, remembering the parchment Isla had clutched to her. "'Twas a letter tha' said somethin' about a mysterious truth. He has gone tae seek out whoever sent it. Tha' is all I know, and as I said before, 'tis time for ye tae leave."
Duncan looked as though something was dawning upon him; his face had settled into anxious neutrality. She could almost see the anxious thoughts whirring through the man's head. After a moment, he regained control of himself and took a long step towards her. Duncan pointed a finger in her face, lowering his head to look at her fiercely.
"Ye are lucky tha' I am in a hurry," he said. "All o' ye here at this damnable castle. But watch yerselves, because ye have no' seen the last o' me!Fingal!We leave immediately, ready the horses!"
The man turned on his heel and stormed off down the stone hall again, cursing and raging the entire while as his General followed behind him. Fiona wanted to allow herself to feel grateful that he was leaving, but she could not, for that only meant one thing.
The raging Laird would be out searching for her son with a fury that would only end in bloodshed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Iain was grateful for the four walls surrounding them and a safe place to lay his head, but he was even more thankful for the woman beside him.
Isla lay with her head on his chest, and he listened to her breathing steadily. They had still not talked about what they would do tomorrow, but Iain was intent on living in the moment with her. He reached up to stroke her long, straight hair, marveling at the darkness of it. She was so tender and sweet he wanted to wrap himself up in her and hide away from the world.
He breathed her in as he held her in his arms. The moonlight streamed in through the window, making her seem like a silvery siren on the water. He had never been able to resist her call in the dream, and he found that he could not even now. The closer he became to her, the more he discovered he craved her.
She turned to face him, her lips curved up in a gentle smile, and she twisted her body in his arms. When Isla looked at him, it was almost as though he could feel where her gaze ran across his skin. It left a tingling sensation there that caused him to shiver. She was like the moonlight, and the starlight melded together to form a woman so supple and sweet that he could barely believe she was real. When she trailed her hand up to delicately run her fingertips across his jawline, he closed his eyes in pleasure.
"I'm jus' glad tae have somewhere tae sleep for tonight," she said. "Sleepin' on the ground outside has started tae argue with my back."
He found himself chuckling, his shoulders shaking in his mirth. She laughed as well; the sound was like little bells in his ears. He smiled, his heart light, and he pulled her closer and pressed a kiss on the crown of her dark head. He inhaled her scent, breathing in as much as he could, and then exhaled slowly.
I wish we could stay jus' like this forever... but I dinnae know if tha' is even possible without a fight.
In actuality, he would relish a battle with the monstrous Laird. In the past, he had been looking for a reason to clash swords with the man, but now he had something to fight for.
"I'm jus' grateful we willnae be snuck up on by bandits," he said, adjusting his body and the quilts around them.
"Or deer."
