“Wait!” she cried.
Thomas froze, his hands on the doorframe, and glanced back over his shoulder. Astrid stood at the bar, her expression tight and determined.
“Let’s talk outside,” she said smoothly.
Marching across the floor, she shouldered past him, ignoring some poor drunken fool asking for another ale.
It was shaping up to be a fine day outside, which seemed a little inappropriate to Thomas. It was bright and airy, and while the sky was mostly gray, it was a light gray, and the breeze was warm.
Astrid had clearly chosen her clothes with this in mind. She wore a loose white dress that blew suggestively around her figure, adorned with blue embroidery that perfectly matched her eyes.
“The way I see it,” she said meditatively, “becoming a laird is something ye must work for, aye? Ye must show that ye want it.”
Thomas grimaced. “Not me. I was born into it.”
“Why should a lady be any different?” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Ye need a wife, Laird MacPherson. A fine, beautiful woman to make all your subjects jealous. Who ever heard of a laird having a plain, stocky wife with pockets full of grass and herbs and heaven knows what else? A wife with green-stained fingers is just ridiculous for a man of your stature.”
Thomas bristled. “I’ll marry whom I choose. That’s my prerogative as Laird, and nobody will dare say a word against my choice of bride.Nobody.”
“Do ye intend to marry Emma, then, the pretty wee healer?” she snarled.
“That’s none of yer concern. Do ye have information for me, or not?”
“I think we should be wed. I’ll speak plain. I’ll be a good wife.” She batted her eyelashes at him, taking a step towards him. “I’ll make it worth yer while.”
Thomas shook his head, turning away. “Goodbye, Astrid.”
“If ye marry me, I’ll tell ye where they’ve taken her.”
He froze, glancing back over his shoulder. “Who arethey?”
She grinned. “Lachlan McCade and Gregor, of course. I believe Gregor was a soldier in your keep, and he’s got a grudge against ye and Emma.”
Thomas swallowed hard, feeling sick. “Gregor is locked up in the dungeons.”
Astrid pursed her lips. “I don’t think so.”
He thought back to when he’d asked Tabitha about Gregor, and her eyes had slipped away from him, and she’d made a vague comment. Damn the woman, she was probably trying to keep him focused on other matters.
Lachlan McCade, he knew him. He was a vile man, famous for his disgusting pub and trading in human flesh. Nobody respectable would go near him.
And these two men had Emma.
“Ye must have helped them,” Thomas heard himself say, his nails digging into his palm. “Why? What did Emma do to ye?”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. She was in my way, and that’s all there is to it. I got rid of her, and ye still won’t see sense. I am the one meant for ye, Thomas MacPherson. So, we’ll do this the hard way. Announce yer betrothal to me all over the Keep and set it up so ye cannot just change your mind once it’s done. Then I will tell ye where they took her.”
Thomas stared at Astrid for a long time, searching her face. “When I was young,” he said slowly, “me Da used to lie to me a lot. He thought it was fun to manipulate people, to make them think one thing, to make them feel that they were to blame in a situation when they really weren’t. Lying was an art to him, and he was good at it. That’s why I hate liars so much.”
Astrid’s cheeks reddened. “Are ye going to give me an answer or not? I don’t know what they’re doing to her. Ye may not have much time.”
“I hate lying, and I hate how my father treated me,” Thomas continued, “but it taught me one thing. I can always tell when a person is lying to me.”
Astrid’s face went beet red. “How dare—”
“Ye don’t know where they took her,” Thomas said contemptuously. “Ye never did. What, did ye mean to guess if I’d gone along with yer plan? Goodbye, Astrid.”
He turned to go, and she hurtled across the space between them, her sharp fingernails clawing at his arm.
