Page 16 of Highlander’s Dangerous Gambler

"But, sir..." faltered Scott, his voice right outside the door.

The man did not listen. Violently, the door fell open.

A thickset man swaggered into the bedchamber.

"So then, doll, are ye gonnae tell me who ye are?"

Aileen looked up. It was the laird of McLeod.

"As yer guest, sir, an' very grateful, but as a gentleman, could ye kindly knock afore wandering in!"

If Aileen sounded indignant, then that was because she was! But the sharpness of her voice belied her insecurity. Unbidden, a strange man had just walked into the bedchamber. She was vulnerable, and it showed.

With little more than the bedsheets for protection, she sat bolt upright—as much as her pain would allow—and stared down the errant laird. Behind him was Scott, an apologetic glance in his blue eyes.

There was a silence as the laird walked around the room, the soles of his shoes clacking volubly on the wooden floor. Aileen watched him unsurely. Finally, the laird turned.

"I apologize; ye’re right," he said in an indeterminate voice. He stopped dead in front of her, the tips of his boots touching the bedstead. Aileen held her breath. There was a tricky look in the man's eyes that she did not trust.

Fearfully, she sat back. Perhaps she had been too outspoken. She barely knew the McLeod laird but was aware that he had a reputation. All she had wanted to do was to show she was not afraid. But there was one problem. She was.

Nervously, Aileen watched as the laird finally came to the point.

"I trust ye’re being looked after," said the laird, his eyes appearing to look past her.

Aileen found herself watching him curiously. His eyes were dark and hooded and so flattened that it was hard to see their color. But it was the fact that he seemed to be looking elsewhere which confused her. It took a moment for it to register that he had a lazy eye.

"Aye, aye. I am, sir, thank ye," said Aileen, trying to fix her voice someplace between chastened and prim. She smiled at the laird, but he was not looking.

"Braw, braw," said McLeod dismissively. He had his back turned to her, and Aileen could only imagine the expression on his face. She could see Scott's, though, who smiled faintly at her.

"Well, mistress..." His voice trailed off, and McLeod raised his eyebrow in question of her name. The laird's eyes connected sharply with Scott's. Scott glanced at her.

"I'm sorry, I've nae caught yer name, miss," said the laird. He was now staring intently down at her, his dark eyes unblinking and hard.

"I am the maid o' Duncan," said Aileen simply. But inside, she was not sure what the laird was thinking. Watchfully, she waited for him to respond.

"Well, um, Mistress Duncan, I am pleased to meet ye. Perhaps we can discuss—"

But before the laird could continue, Scott cut in. Softly, he coughed in McLeod's ear.

"Sir, I suggest we give the lass time to recover afore questioning her," he said. There was a moment as Scott and his laird stood whispering in the front of the room, as Aileen looked on.

As she sat, waiting, her eyes went around the room. From the paintings lining the walls—mainly clan portraits, plus one or two pastoral scenes—and the lavish candelabra, it was clear this was a castle of substance. The striking black and gold frame of the pictures and the silver goblet by the bed only confirmed this.

Taking a look about, Aileen could be forgiven for feeling intimidated.

But that was not her style. Fiercely, she followed his eyes as they darted between her and Scott. As they conferred, she wondered about Scott's role. Judging by his dress, he was the laird's guard—maybe a close one. Either way, he seemed to have his master's ear. Literally, in this case.

Finally, the thickset laird turned toward her. For the first time, Aileen got a sense of the man's height. He was tall—not quite as tall as Scott, but large nonetheless. But unlike his guard, he was immensely heavy to boot. He wore his weight well, but the years had turned brawn to flab.

A mane of oily blond hair belied his addled brow, and his skin was rough and sun-bitten.

"Alright, wee doll," said the laird briskly. "I shall leave ye to rest...Scott." He turned to Scott, who watched attentively.

"Look after the wee mare, an' make sure she has everything she needs, an' send my physician to see her..." were the laird's parting words as he turned around and stomped out of the bedchamber, without so much as a glance at her. "Come on, McFadden!"

The laird vanished as abruptly as he had appeared. Following him, Scott paused in the doorway.