Page 18 of Tair

“I wouldn’t want your food to get cold,” Lucy said, smiling back at him.

Another one who looked like a red-haired tank pushed the first aside. “I’m done eating.” He smirked at her thighs. “Give us a peek at your quim, aye? We wish ken if you’re golden there, too.”

“A jug of the finest says she’s bare as a bairn,” a third called out, making all the men utter gloating laughs.

You’re well in it this time, Lucia, Sir Anthony would have said. Chin up and carry on, then.

“If you lot can’t be courteous to a visitor, then be quiet,” Lucy said, making all the men fall silent. She ignored the angry expressions around her and gazed around the hall. Where was Tair?

“You dare command the MacRune, wench?” one of the tallest men present demanded as he stomped over to her.

He had dressed in crudely-sewn furs like some caveman, and had a huge battle axe strapped to his left shoulder. The black scar that slashed across his face from temple to jaw looked frightening but also a bit odd, as if it had been drawn on his skin with an indelible marker.

“Actually I’m looking for someone.” Lucy said, and then smiled. “What’s your name, chum?”

“Beinn MacRune.” He leaned down, giving her a ferocious scowl that rippled his scar. “We dinnae welcome visitors in our stronghold.” He pointed toward the arch. “Leave.”

She watched as a dribble of sweat ran down the side of his broad face, as if he were very hot—which she imagined he was, swaddled in all that fur. When he wiped it away on his sleeve, the end of his scar smeared.

Oh, you great plonker.

“If you dinnae go, I shall drag you back to the dungeons,” Beinn promised.

“You needn’t bother. Have your brekkie. Lovely to meet all of you.” She reached out and patted his shoulder, making some of the men around them utter incredulous sounds before she walked around him and kept looking for the laird.

That’s the way to deal with this lot. Treat them like ill-tempered sprogs.

Despite the mob and their lack of good manners, the atmosphere in the great hall was surprisingly comfortable, as if it were the medieval Scottish version of an all-you-can-eat buffet. On the trestle tables the women from the kitchen had put out dozens of platters and bowls of steaming food that smelled just as good as what the cook had given her. The men also appeared as if they’d washed and changed before this gathering. They wouldn’t have bothered to tidy up if they’d been ordered to hack her to pieces—or so she hoped. Beinn was still glaring her way as if he wanted a rematch.

“Make room, you mangy bastarts,” a melodic tenor voice called out.

Lucy turned around as the clansmen shuffled back, sniping and swearing as they jostled and collided with each other. A tall, well-built dark man strode toward her through the gap they made. For a moment she thought it was the very scary guy who had tossed her in the dungeons. She relaxed when she saw this version had shorter black hair, blue eyes and a cleft chin. A brother, maybe. The men all looked a little afraid of him but were trying to hide it. The newcomer also seemed expert at hiding his emotions, judging by the mask-like set of his pleasant expression.

Absolutely do not trust this one, she thought, remembering how Justin used almost the exact same fake look.

“Fair morning, Mistress.” He stopped a few feet from her and bowed as if she were an honored guest instead of a prisoner. “I’m Sgathan, the clan’s seneschal. I trust you slept well.”

Handsome, polite and concerned for her welfare. She hated him already. “I’m Lucy Brooke. You’ve misplaced your trust.”

He didn’t seem half as scary as the other guy who looked like him, so why had everyone in the hall cleared a path for him? There had to be more to this man than she was seeing. If he tried to mess with her, Lucy decided, she’d kick him up to a falsetto.

“Where’s your gaffer? The laird?” she added when he frowned.

Sgathan gestured toward a short series of steps leading up to a curtained partition at the other end of the big room.

“Ta.” Lucy ignored the stares and snickers as she crossed the hall, climbed the stairs and stopped in front of what looked like a thin black curtain pulled in front of a huge throne.

She needed to establish more authority with the laird, she decided. “You having a kip in there, MacRune?”

A huge hand jerked aside the drape, and Tair suddenly towered over her. Today he wore a swath of black and gray wool plaid over his shoulders and a wide leather strap sheathing an impressive array of knives slanted across his massive bare chest. More hung in sheaths from his wide belt, and he’d even strapped one to his left forearm. The big brute had also bathed, judging by his still-dripping black mop and the clean scent of soap coming from his body. When she glanced up at his face she saw something gold flash in his dark eyes, which seemed to be a sign of his anger, if that were possible. Then again, everything about this situation was clearly impossible.

I guess he’s not chuffed that I got out of the dungeons, Lucy thought, internally bracing herself. “Got a minute to chat?”

He inspected her for a long moment, his gaze lingering with interest on her breasts and hips—too much interest. “What do you want now, wench? Food?”

He leered a little too obviously to make it convincing; he only seemed like he was spoofing himself. Funny that he didn’t ask how she’d escaped—as if he’d been expecting she would. She thought of Beinn’s obviously fake scar, and how nearly everyone had been threatening but no one had actually laid a finger on her. How much longer should she play along with this silly scam?

“I’ve eaten, thanks. Since I’m your guest, you could provide me with some hot water, soap, and clean clothing,” Lucy said as politely as she could. “A room instead of a cage, and a bed that isn’t dirty straw to sleep on would be brilliant, too.” She leaned over to peer through the gap in the curtain. Behind it he’d been sitting on the oversize chair, which had a giant silver goblet and a corked jug on a table in front of it. “Unless you’re too busy getting pissed, of course. If that’s the case, could that seneschal bloke help me out?” She gestured back vaguely in Sgathan’s direction.