Page 8 of Trapped By the Exiled Bastard

The footsteps stopped. “I’m nae here tae hurt ye.”

Surprise rushed through her as she recognized the voice, and her muscles sagged with relief.

It was him.

Keir MacKenzie was still alive.

Not only that, but those men were somehow with him. She couldn’t make sense of it, but it didn’t matter at that second, because she was too delirious with the knowledge that her worst imaginings were not about to come true.

Then he spoke again. “Yer arms must hurt.”

The delusional moment of relief shattered at those words and she tensed again, though this time not in fear. She wanted to laugh in his face, but instead she spoke with as much reproach and irony in her tone as she could muster. “Ye bound me who kens how long ago and yer thugs have only made it worse. Congratulations on yer brilliant use of logic.”

He stepped closer. She could not see him, but she could hear his footsteps, and more importantly she could feel a strange current between them as his body approached hers. “I had nae intention of ye gettin’ hurt,” he insisted in a voice that was almost soft. “Hold out yer arms.”

She scoffed. “Why? Are ye gonnae let me go as ye promised?”

The floor creaked and she could tell he had lowered himself in front of her. With her eyes covered, her other senses were alight as he knelt at the side of the bed, his body lightly leaning against her thighs in a way that made her skin warm through her thin skirt. The air around her prickled with his closeness, and the scent of medicinal herbs mixed with smoke and blood and something deep and woodsy threatened to distract her entirely. He gently raised her arms and she did not pull away.

“Nay,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I cannae let ye go. But I can at least help.”

Slowly, he removed her bindings, and her wrists, arms, and shoulders sang with sharp relief and pain in equal measure as the blood rushed back into them and she at last could move out of that awkward, unnatural position. She moaned in relief, and his body tensed against her for just a second. Then he moved again, gently running his fingers and hands up and down her arms, helping return warmth to them and work out the stiffness. It felt… she didn’t know how it felt. She didn’t want to think about how warm he was, or how natural his touch felt against her skin, so different from the demanding touch of Eamon. She didn’t understand why he left goosebumps in his wake that had nothing to do with the cold, or why, when he stopped, he left an aching feeling in her heart that just wanted to urge him to continue.

There was a long silence between them.

“I am sorry,” Keir said at last, and his voice did sound genuinely full of regret. “Takin’ ye was never the plan. Ye nor that horse, though I can assure ye at least that Nightwind is settlin’ just fine in our new wee stables. He’ll be made a fuss of here, never fear.”

That was strangely comforting. Eamon often left her behind with his horse when they rode together and he had someone to speak with, so she had grown fond of the stallion throughout their dalliance together. She did not let that show in her expression or her voice, however, as she wryly asked, “Is Nightwind wearin’ a blindfold as well?”

Keir let out a low chuckle. His hand brushed her face as he reached up to untie her blindfold, and it was all Elin could do to hold in the traitorous gasp that threatened to escape her. He loosened the material and it fell away. Elin blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted, then she focused on the blue-eyed man before her.

He still wore no shirt, though he was cleaner and less pale than before. His wounds had been properly dressed and the blood washed from his face and torso, and though she did not want to admit it, Elin’s eyes lingered on the athletic build before her, so different from what she’d seen before. Keir wasn’t particularly broad, but he was toned and muscular, and she could imagine him as a hunter or a lithe fae trickster ready to strike at any moment.

What would it feel like to brush that chest with her fingers? Would it change his mind about keeping her here? Would it be so terrible to try?

“If ye’re so sorry,” she whispered, her hand moving closer but not quite touching, “Why have yer friends nae let me go?”

He shook his head. “We cannae. I cannae. I’m sorry, but ye recognized me, and now ye’ve been here. Ye’ve seen too much. Ye willnae be goin’ anywhere until I can figure out what to do with ye.”

He may as well have doused her with ice water. Elin jolted and clenched her fist, pulling away from him as far as she could go without sliding back onto the bed. “Ye promised. Ye swore ye’d let me go once we left Grant lands.”

“I did. And I meant it. But things have changed,” Keir told her. He looked and sounded truly earnest, and that only made her heart grow colder with every word. She’d seen too many men with false honesty to believe this act now. “Believe me—”

“Believe ye! Ha.” She shook her head, allowing the ice to flow into her veins, relishing in the way it dispersed the ludicrous thoughts that had overtaken her only moments before. She let it engulf her, removing any disappointment and replacing it with cold, hard hatred. She made sure it showed in her face. She wanted him to know how much she despised him—how little he was truly worth. “What kind of idiot do ye take me for that I would believe ye in anythin’ ye say?”

“Elin—”

She scowled at his use of her name. “I can tell yer father was a MacKenzie, traitor. Yer word is worth as much as the dirt under me feet, just like every promise yer family ever made.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Dinnae.”

But she would not relent. “Though ye’re nae even that, are ye?” she snarled. “Ye’re nobody. Just a maid’s son with a noble’s name. Nae wonder ye’ve come tae this.”

The words struck home. She’d intended them to be cruel, and they were. Something seemed to shutter over his eyes, and his expression settled into something cold and neutral. She’d hoped he would grow angry, but instead he just shook his head and spoke to her in a voice devoid of emotion.

“Believe whatever ye want. It doesnae matter. It doesnae change anythin’,” he told her coldly. He stood, staring down at her. “Ye’ll stay here in this hut. If ye try tae flee, I’ll bind ye again. If ye fight, ye’ll be punished. But ye’ll understand that ye are mine now until such time as I let ye go. I might be nae Eamon Grant, but I’m what ye have.”

Her body tensed. “So ye intend tae use me after all.”