Page 40 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

His hair was greying, and he was nothing like the tall, broad Malcolm McTavie. Laird Stewart was all angles and sharp corners, no softness about him at all.

A cold feeling crept over Pippia. She glanced up at the castle, now looming over them and blocking out the sky, and knew that it would be her tomb. She would never leave this place.

Arran pulled Edward to a stop and swung himself down from the horse’s back. Gripping Pippia around the waist, he gently but firmly pulled her down. Pippia found herself leaning against his chest once again, and her fingers scrabbled at his chest. She knew that she must look pathetic, pleadingly staring up at him.

Arran’s eyes were flat and unreadable. He gently pushed her away from him and turned her to face Laird Stewart.

Stewart’s face was alight with glee. “Well, well, well. Pippia McTavie. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said mockingly. “I daresay your father has noticed your absence by now.”

Pippia raised her chin, trying to look defiant. “He will. Your days are numbered, Stewart.”

He let out a bark of laughter, turning to share a smile with Jimmy the steward, standing behind him.

“D’you hear that? What spirit! I’m impressed, Pippia. I’m glad to see our dear Arran hasn’t broken your spirit on the way here.” Stewart leaned close enough for Pippia to smell his stale breath and spot the white hairs in his beard. “I want to do that myself. Take her, Jimmy.”

Stewart tossed a purse of clinking coins at Arran, not waiting to see if he caught it before he turned and began to walk back up the steps, waving at his steward.

Jimmy stepped forward, his hands closing in a vicelike grip on Pippia’s arms. She had been quite willing to walk along with them up the stairs, but it seemed as if that option would not be offered to her. She was half-dragged up the steps, legs bumping and scraping painfully against the hard stone, and Jimmy’s grip digging into her arms.

Pippia twisted around somehow, glancing over her shoulder. Arran was still standing at the bottom of the steps, reins in his hands, staring at her.

His face was blank and expressionless. He had completed his task, and perhaps that was all he cared about. He caught Pippia’s eye and immediately turned away, leading Edward away and walking away from the castle.

A lump caught in Pippia’s throat. She swallowed furiously, determined not to cry in front of her enemies. Hadn’t Arran said all along that this was simply a task to him, that he had to bring her here? What had she expected? Had she truly believed that she had come to mean something to him?

He meant something to me, Pippia admitted to herself, tears pricking at her eyes. I cared about him. I felt sorry for the hard life he’d endured. I was a fool.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Pippia stumbled over the top step, landing heavily on the hard stone.

“Get up, woman!” Jimmy snapped, grabbing Pippia’s arms and hauling her up. She was pushed into the castle itself, and the door slammed behind her. It was dark inside the castle, and Pippia’s eyes barely had a chance to adjust to the darkness before another door was opened and she was thrown inside. The door closed, and she heard bolts shooting across and a key turning in the lock.

“We’ll be back,” came Stewart’s mocking voice, and Pippia heard footsteps retreating away.

She was alone.

She blinked, eyes gradually adjusting to the dim light, and Pippia realized with a sinking heart that she was in a cell.

The door was narrow, made of heavy wood and iron, and there was no window in it. There was a window in the room itself, a tiny, narrow window that was hardly wide enough for Pippia to squeeze her arm out of. Essentially, the window was perfectly placed to let in the cold, rain, and wind, but it let in almost no light at all.

There was a straw mattress thrust into the corner, with a dirty blanket thrown on top, and that was all. There was no chair in here, no desk, no chamber pot, no comforts at all.

This was what Arran had willingly abandoned her to. Hadn’t he had countless opportunities to set her free? He hadn’t because he didn’t care.

Pippia sank onto the straw mattress, dizzy with exhaustion and misery, and let her face fall into her hands. The tears finally came, dripping through her fingers and landing on the dusty stone floor.

She was alone, after all.