“And when I scowl at you?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She did not want to encourage his flattery or his attention.
He frowned. “You are still beautiful, but you are also maddening, then.”
“I should not have asked you that.”
“‘Tis no matter.”
“What troubles you?” She could not seem to stop herself from asking him inappropriate questions, as though they meant anything to one another.
“How do you know something troubles me?”
“You wear your emotions in your eyes. It is easy to decipher.”
“You have known me but two days, and you can determine my moods from looking into my eyes?” He shook his head. “You are either the most perceptive woman I have ever met, or you are a great manipulator. Which is it?”
Annabella did not like his implications. “I do not manipulate men, even those of your ilk.” She lifted her chin.
“Those of my ilk? Look around you, Lady Annabella. I did not have to do any of this for you.”
“So why did you? I did not ask for special treatment.” She did not like where the conversation was heading all of a sudden.
“I do not know, and it appears I have been mistaken in my attempt to make you comfortable and feel unthreatened in my home.”
“But I am not in your home, am I? I am in a tower prison cell. Your private chambers are on the other side of the island. How many people have been walled up and perished in this chamber?”
“This was never a prison cell. It was my mother’s chamber when she became vexed with my father. It was built for her by him, after a particularly bad argument between them. I recall that she spent nearly the entire summer up here that year.”
His expression had taken on a faraway look. Annabella truly did not know what to make of him. His mood this evening was odd and unpredictable.
MacDonald stood and moved over by the fire. “I met with my war council this evening. We have agreed that if the Stewart comes for you, I will allow you to go freely.”
“Why?”
He turned around with confusion in his eyes. “Why? I thought you would be pleased to hear it.”
“I am, but I do not understand. I thought you were waiting to negotiate terms to exchange me for your father.”
“I am. However, I am troubled that I could not find him. We have considered the very real possibility that my father no longer lives, and in that case it is likely the Stewart will come for you. I will not allow one drop of my people’s blood to be spilled over this business, so if he comes, I will release you.”
With that, he left the room. Annabella did not know what to make of it. Just yesterday the man had been convinced that his father was imprisoned somewhere and that abducting her was the only solution. Now he believed his father to be dead? And at the hand of the king? Annabella did not understand a great deal about the history of this conflict between her cousin’s husband and her captor. But she intended to find out. Surely Osla would answer her many questions on the morrow.
Annabella gazed into the fire for what seemed like hours. Precious sleep that had been close now seemed impossible to find. Was it possible for her to get a message out somehow? No, the only way would be by messenger bird, and in order to do that she would have to gain permission from MacDonald. Unless she would be allowed to send a message to her cousin. But even then, how could she say what she needed to without alerting MacDonald to her plan?
Various plots and schemes and scenarios rolled around in her mind, until she came to the conclusion that she would have to create a code that only her cousin would understand. But how? She had always enjoyed riddles, but was there some story or reference she could make to get Joan to understand that the king could simply come and collect her?
She paced her chamber for ages trying to work it out. Finally, exhausted in body and mind, she crawled back into bed and blew out the candle. Perhaps on the morrow a solution would present itself.
* * *
Angus tipped up his cup and drained the last of his ale. He then promptly poured another and stared into the fire. From his chamber, he could see light coming from between the cracks of the tower window. She had either not gone to bed, or was afraid of the dark. The latter seemed so utterly ridiculous that he smiled at the thought of it.
He’d been so bone weary before going to see her, yet now he feared sleep would evade him for the entire night—hence the ale. If he consumed enough, he hoped he would at least sleep for a while. The danger, of course, was that his head would pound on the morrow, so either a hangover or lack of sleep was bound to keep him from thinking clearly.
But his clansmen were right. He had to face the possibility that his father was not at Edinburgh Castle, or anywhere, because he was dead. If the Stewart kept that to himself, he would avoid having to watch Angus ascend as the new Lord of the Isles. A younger king might pose a greater threat, so Angus could see the man’s logic. If that was what was going on.
These games were not appealing. He would much prefer to face his enemy straight on and battle it out. But that was not possible with this so-called king. The man had no honour, so Angus had been forced to fight back in the same manner. And now he had involved yet another innocent person in the endless battle over his lands. What gave the Stewart the right to claim that which was never his? Angus would never understand the man’s greed.
Grey shadows streaked across the floor as Angus rose and stoked the fire. He donned his tunic and plaid, careful to secure his clan brooch pin at his shoulder. In his father’s absence, it was important for all he met to understand that Angus acted in his stead. Not that anyone on Islay would challenge him, but he was careful, nonetheless. Greed seemed to escalate during troubled times. He’d seen that well enough in the past few years.
