Page 16 of Taken By the Exiled Laird

He'd barely noticed her. The only shining moment in her life since her mother had died, the only moment that had given her joy in a time of darkness, and he'd simply thought of it as a moment in passing. Briana felt more foolish and more hopeless than she ever had.

"I…" she started, then gulped as her throat burned. "I…"

Theon's forehead creased. "Ye were just a wee lass. Ye couldnae have been more than thirteen, fourteen, far younger than any of the women that I took notice of at that age. I never thought I needed tae." He smiled wryly. "I thought a lot of things back then. I thought I'd be wed tae a nice lass and have a few bairns. I thought I'd inherit me father's title and take care of me clan with Keir as me advisor. Now look at me. Look at us all." With a shrug, he said, "I'm surprised ye even remember a moment so insignificant."

Briana managed to push out words even though they tasted like poison. "I barely remember either," she lied, knowing that her actions had already betrayed her.

Before she could see his reaction, she turned in the bed so her back was to him and let out a shaky breath. She knew that she shouldn't be hurting from his words, but her chest was sore with an ache as painful as any of the cuts and bruises all over her skin.

Theon whittled at the thick branch, his little knife working hard as he carved. He wasn't sure what shape the final product would take just yet, but it wasn't about that. He often passed his downtime this way, finding that the action of working with his hands helped keep him calm.

It had been more than an hour since Briana had last spoken, and he had been left unsettled by her words. The way she saw him and the other Broken Blades, and even more the way she spoke of his family, it irritated him more than he could understand. He was used to being branded a criminal, a thief, a kidnapper, and a murderer. Some of those things were even true. He was even more used to hearing the MacKenzies spoken of as traitors, but he'd never been able to accept it. Outwardly, he was able to keep more calm than Keir about such things, but inwardly, it boiled his blood. But there was something about Briana's certainty around it all that bothered him even more, and he could not settle the disquiet that remained.

Her even breathing mixed with the sound of the knife against the wood and the heavy rain pattering against the roof. He stilled his hands, placing the project to the side and reaching underneath his shirt. Theon drew out a pendant, a small silver shield bearing the symbol of two foxes prowling by a riverbed. He ran his thumb over it, though it had been worn smooth over the years. His heart clenched as he heard his father's voice echoing across the years.

This is our sigil, Theon. We are MacKenzies. Always remember, the fox always returns tae his den. Promise me ye'll never forget that. Promise me ye'll always care for yer brother, nae matter what.

Theon clenched his fist around the pendant. He'd promised then, never knowing just how soon he'd have to keep that promise. He'd lost everything—everything except Keir, who had needed Theon to look after him in the worst moment of their lives. But now, at long, long last, Theon truly might have a chance to get it back. He just had to make sure he didn't waver.

"No…"

He looked up at the sound. Briana was facing him again, still asleep, but her forehead was creased and her face was tight with pain. She tossed and turned, muttering words under her breath that he could only slightly hear.

"No, please… please," she mumbled.

Theon let out a breath and stood. He hesitated for just a moment, then approached the bed, reaching down to pick up the heavy blanket and drawing it over her shoulders. As he went to move away, she clutched his hands, gripping him tightly without waking.

He paused for just a moment, then, with a small sigh, sat down on the bed beside her. Without thinking, he ran his thumb over her hand in a tiny soothing gesture as she clutched at him, and he watched her face and the fear in it and tried not to feel anything in response.

She was leverage. Just leverage. He had to remember that.

But still, he sat by her side until she calmed, and he never once let go of her hand.

Chapter Seven

The ceramic jug flew from Laird Niven Cameron's hand at speed, smashing into the wall in time with his furious yell. The manservant by the door flinched, and the maid let out a little cry before quickly covering her mouth, but the only other person in the room stood still and did not react at all.

Iain Cameron, the heir to the lairdship, was used to his father's rages, though even he had to admit that this time was particularly disconcerting. Though, given the circumstances, he couldn't say he was surprised.

"How?" Laird Cameron snarled. "How could we have lost her? This is a disaster!"

Iain knew better than to suspect his father's concern was for Briana's safety. He quashed the part of himself that was still worried about things like that, but he was curious as to what his sister was doing now. Was she alive? Was she injured? It had been a long time since he'd shown her any love or care, but he could not help but wonder.

"The driver never returned either. They never found either of their bodies or the horses. Just the carriage and a dead man beside it. That's what the reports say, and naebody in the village claims tae ken anythin'."

"Out!" Niven bellowed at the servants. The maid and manservant quickly hurried out of the room, leaving the Laird and the heir alone. He slammed his hand down on the table, sending a plate clattering to the floor.

"Where is she?" he demanded. "Who'd want that useless whelp of a woman enough tae steal her? The MacFarlanes will take this as an insult, mark my words. Never mind the fact that Laird MacFarlane's own nephew's corpse was found rottin' where his daughter-in-law should have been! Yer whore of a sister could destroy this alliance!"

Before he could stop himself, Iain said, "It was reckless tae send an unescorted unwed lass through the McDonell lands. There's nae kennin' what happened. I doubt that she⁠—"

"Are ye questionin' me, lad?" Niven demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously as he stood up. "Do ye think ye ken more than yer father?"

Iain straightened up, chiding himself. Of course it was Briana's fault. She was a fool to allow herself to get captured, or killed, or whatever happened. The only thing that mattered was the strength of the Cameron Clan, no matter what the cost.

"I'd never question ye. Forgive me," he said hastily. "But what will we do now? The MacFarlanes are already furious because of Neil MacFarlane's death. I think⁠—"

"I never asked ye tae think," Niven hissed. "Go. Get yer men. Find her. Bring her back. Kill anyone who stands in yer way, understood?"