Page 24 of Taken By the Exiled Laird

"Away an' leave me be," the washerwoman snapped. "Can ye nae see I'm workin'? If I dinnae finish this in time, the soldiers…"

She trailed off, but Briana knew there was no way she would respond to anything else Briana had to say. Though she longed to help more, she reluctantly returned to Theon's side, horrified and confused in equal measure. Theon took her arm more gently this time, and they walked on.

"I dinnae understand," she said finally, once the tree and the woman were out of sight. "These are MacFarlane lands. The people are supposed tae be rich. Prosperous."

Theon barked out a harsh laugh, though its harshness was clearly aimed elsewhere. "What do MacFarlane or his monstrous whelp care for a failed wee farmin' village at the edge of his holdin's?" he asked darkly, gesturing around them. "So long as the castle village flourishes, that's all that matters. Ye must ken that the border villages in yer own father's lands are the same."

Briana shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. "Ye're lyin'," she snapped, though there was no conviction to it. "The people are cared for."

"Believe as ye will," he said.

They walked on in silence, Theon brooding and preoccupied, Briana increasingly upset by the sights around her. These people were suffering, but how was it possible? Everyone knew that to be a MacFarlane, even the lowest member of the clan, was to be secure. That security had been part of the reason she'd allowed herself faint hope about her marriage. How could this village be in such a state?

"What does the village name mean?" she asked after a moment. "Clowg?"

Theon looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. "That's nae its name. It doesnae have a name, nae for at least a generation. And she didnae say Clowg. Did none of yer tutors ever teach ye Gaelic?"

Briana blushed and looked away. Her father had deemed Gaelic a dying language, a symbol of the uneducated that belonged in the past. He had punished her mother at even the suggestion of teaching it to Briana, and so she had been raised only on a mix of Scots and English. "I…"

"It's a nickname of sorts. A dark one. The few who remain here call it Cladh, the graveyard where they wait for the hunger tae take them." Theon smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "The only ones left are the elderly, the widows, the sick, the punished, those who have naewhere else tae go. The children born here will likely die here, and likely before they ever have bairns of their own. The village will be gone soon enough."

Nausea boiled inside Briana and tears burned at the corner of her eyes, though none fell. "This cannae… Surely Laird MacFarlane doesnae ken. If⁠—"

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the reedy sound of music played up ahead. Laughter echoed and voices even sang along, and smoke rose from a chimney at the end of the road. Briana stared, even more confused as the heavy scent of roasted meat and vegetables reached them and her stomach growled.

"What…" she started.

Theon's answering grin had a little more of himself in it. "It's an inn, lass. The local tavern. It's the only place in this pit with any life. Surely ye ken that every village must have one."

"But how can that be when there's nae life elsewhere?" Briana asked. "How, why?"

"We're Scottish, Briana, even if these lairds are doin' their best tae forget as much." He pulled her with surprising gentleness in the direction of the inn. "And even the dourest funeral deserves a wake."

They reached the inn and Theon's troubled spirits rose at the jaunty sound of the fiddle inside. He didn't know this village, but he knew many like it, and he knew the types who gathered in communities even when there was little left to hope for. These were his people, the people that the Broken Blades fought for. It didn't matter that they were born into the MacFarlane Clan, nor that they might think him a traitor or a criminal. They likely didn't even care about the games that the lairds and other nobles played. All that mattered to them was that they could experience the joy of life even when hope seemed impossible.

The letters burned in Theon's pocket.

This inn would be the perfect place to find a messenger. He'd just have to allow Briana to distract herself for a few moments, and then it would be done. But when he glanced down at her parted lips and astonished gaze as she stared through the grimy window into the inn, hesitance hit him like a speeding carriage, so hard it almost caused him to physically stumble.

Why had he brought her here? It had been foolish. What did he hope to achieve? And as for these letters⁠—

His thoughts were torn away as the inn door opened and two armed guards strolled out of the tavern, weapons in hand, the MacFarlane sigil emblazoned on their clothing. Theon felt the blood drain from his face. If they saw him here—and, worse, if they saw her here—it could be the end of them.

He didn't have a moment to think or to warn, and his instincts took over as he grabbed Briana by the arm and yanked her down the alley between the inn and the building beside it.

"What are ye doin'? Let—" Briana snapped, but he raised his hand to cover her mouth, and just in time.

The sound of footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, and Theon's heart hammered in time with them as he realized that they were turning this way, too. The alley led to a dead end. There was nowhere to go. Briana protested furiously against his palm, but he cursed, his eyes darting between her and the alley entrance, the soldiers' boots only getting closer.

The first guard turned the corner, and Theon acted.

He shoved Briana hard against the wall. Her eyes widened in panic and she gasped his name, but he did not give her a chance to speak before he pressed his body hard against hers, his hand tearing her skirt away and exposing her thigh. She let out a sound that was half a whimper, but the soldiers were still coming, and he had no time. He bent his head, their faces so close that their breath mingled, and his fingers wrapped around her now-bare thigh. She trembled at his touch and his body shuddered in response as he lifted her leg to wrap around his hip.

"Look what I found," one of the soldiers laughed, sounding so far away now even though Theon knew they stood close.

Theon's forehead pressed against Briana's, and she stared up into his eyes, her lips parted. He silently begged her not to break the charade. For a moment, time stood still. His pulse was thundering, his fingers pulsing where they touched her skin, and he saw her cheeks turn pink and her chest heave as her breath quickened. Then, achingly slowly, she wrapped her arms around him, her eyelids growing heavy as she did.

Theon's resistance crumbled. How could it not, holding her like this? With her looking at him that way?