Page 24 of How to Woo a Highlander

A stranger would think he’d caught a young man doing something stupid and was now dragging him inside for a scolding. Jane knew she was certainly in for a thorough telling off.

He was silently fuming as they climbed the stairs. She could understand his anger; she had made a grave mistake. Never did she consider that her escapade that evening would end in such a way.

In the room, there was nothing to show he’d been there, except for a tankard of ale. He let go of her arm and walked to the desk, pouring himself a drink and downing it in one.

She stood fidgeting by the door, watching him drink. He was furious; she could tell. He was drinking from the cup as though it offended him, and he set it down with a loud clatter.

“How did ye get in trouble with those men?” He began his interrogation. She swallowed with some difficulty.

“I went gambling with them, and I won, but they did not take too kindly to it.” Her voice was small with embarrassment. Alastair tapped the table with a lone finger.

“Gamblin’. Ye mean to tell me that ye were out this evenin’, and ye were gamblin’?” His voice strained with evident anger.

She nodded her head, feeling like a child.

“How did ye get out of the castle?”

“I sneaked out in disguise,” she muttered and heard him heave a heavy sigh.

"And where did ye get the clothes?" This question she could not answer. She looked to the side, thinking of poor Andersen, who had been so kind and caring. She did not want to put him in trouble, and could only imagine how horrified the boy would be if he knew what she had been through.

It looked like Alastair's patience was running thin as he stepped towards her, taking her hand and leading her to the bed to sit down. She huddled into his cloak to avoid his gaze.

She heard him take a shaky breath, trying to temper his rage. He squatted in front of her, checking her face as though trying to read her emotions.

"Are ye alright? They didnae touch ye before I arrived, did they?" His voice shook as concern fought with his rage.

"I saw ye running through the window, and I saw that ye fell. I only came down because I ken that they would beat ye to death. Dae ye ken how much danger ye were in just now?" Alastair was gripping his hair in frustration. She could understand his frustration. She was still in shock and had not yet realized the gravity of the situation.

"If I had chosen to mind me business, ye could have been beaten to death. They were going to lay waste to yer body, Jane. Dae ye ken how serious this is?" he yelled.

"I know!" she shouted back, her emotions surging forward. "Thank you for saving me, but you don't have to yell! You're not helping!"

The fear she’d felt when she’d huddled against the wall in the alley, the shame she felt from Alastair's judgment, and the frustration that had made her go out in the first place suddenly hit her. She wanted him to stop scolding her; it only made her feel worse.

Tears sprang up in her eyes, and she wiped them angrily. She hated crying and hated it even more for anyone to see her. Whenever she made mistakes, she bore the burden on her own as her father taught her.

"If you had not come, I would not have let them do as they pleased with me. I might have gotten hurt, but I would have hurt them and found a way to escape."

Alastair looked surprised by her outburst, and he gave her a disbelieving look.

"Ye want me to believe that ye could have dealt with all those men on yer own?" He asked, sounding angry again.

Chapter Twelve

Jane stood and pulled out the short sword sheathed beneath her kilt, revealing the sharp edge.

"I had this. I could have stabbed one and escaped into the street while they were still surprised. I'm fast; you saw it," she said, sitting back down.

Alastair was indeed surprised and looked at the small short sword.

"Dae ye ken how to use the thing, Jane? Have ye ever cut someone before? Have ye seen blood?" He asked, taking the short sword from her hands.

"I know how to use a short sword, my father is a Captain, and I grew up without my mother. What else would he teach me?" She sniffed, purposely ignoring the rest of his questions.

"Have ye cut someone before?" He asked again, causing her to look away.

"No, I have not," she admitted. It was true that knowing how to use a short sword and using one was very different. Her father had drilled the same thing into her head with his lessons. She knew that it would be traumatic to draw blood, but at the right moment, she knew she could do it.