Page 33 of Wicked Kilted Highlander

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

The cool wind whispered secrets in Lara's ears as it danced around her, the scent of heather and grass mingling with the earthy musk of their horses. She shivered slightly, pulling her woolen shawl tighter around her slender body. Her heart fluttered like a captured bird as she rode behind Quinn, her younger brother, who seemed blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil. His laughter, as free and wild as the wind itself, carried across the open moorland, doing nothing to soothe her frayed nerves.

Ahead, their father, Harris MacLean, cut a grim figure, his posture stiff and unyielding like the ancient oaks that stood sentinel over their ancestral lands. The weight of his authority heavy over them all, a storm cloud threatening to unleash its fury at any moment. Darragh MacDonald was tied up, a captive forced to endure the sway and bump of Gil's horse.

God and all yer angels, how can I get Darragh out of this?

"Faither," Lara began, but before she could utter another word, Laird MacLean raised a hand, silencing her without a word. The lines etched into his weathered face spoke volumes. His relief at having her back was palpable, but his joy was a pained one—a joy that held no place for Darragh.

"Nae now, lass," he said, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "There'll be time enough for talk when we reach home."

Quinn, catching her eye, flashed her a bright smile and dipped his head to press a gentle kiss upon her forehead, a forgotten sunbeam amidst the brewing storm. It was a gesture of affection that felt hollow, tainted by the sight of Darragh bound and ignored. Lara yearned to mirror Quinn's happiness, but the shadows in her heart allowed no room for such light.

"Ye're safe now, Lara," Quinn whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her cold skin. "We'll take care of ye."

But Lara knew it wasn't herself she needed to worry about. It was Darragh, the man who had risked his life to save hers. The man who had fought against all odds to protect her. The man she found so alluring, the first man she had ever kissed. He deserved more than to be treated like a common criminal, yet she could find no words to voice her protest, her thoughts ensnared in a labyrinth of fear and betrayal.

"Quinn," she murmured, the name slipping from her lips like a prayer. "I cannae bear tae see him like this."

"Faither will do what is best fer us all," Quinn replied. "He always has."

Lara nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. She knew her father's love for her was fierce, a raging tempest that would not rest until every perceived threat had been vanquished. But it was a love that could also blind him to reason, to the possibility that Darragh might not be the enemy he believed him to be.

The ancient stones of the castle cast shadows across the verdant fields as the party drew closer. Lara's brothers and father, their spirits lifted by the sight of home, began to sing songs of old, their voices blending with the wind that rustled the grass beneath their horses' hooves. The harmonious melody was a stark contrast to the chaos within Lara's heart; her gaze never strayed from Darragh, bound and beaten, his proud countenance marred by pain and humiliation.

"Och, the tales we'll tell of our battles won," her father boomed. "And the memory o' those we've lost shall live on in our hearts forevermore."

Lara bit her lip, tasting the copper tang of blood as she fought to quell the storm of emotion threatening to consume her. She longed to join her family in their song, to lose herself in the camaraderie that spoke of unity and strength. But her tongue seemed to be bound by the same ropes that held Darragh captive.

As they passed through the castle gates, the clang of iron on stone reverberating like thunder around them, her father turned to the guards who rode alongside them. "Take the prisoner tae the dungeons," he commanded. "He'll stay there 'til I decide what's tae be done with him."

"Faither, nay!" Lara protested strongly. Darragh had saved her life, and she couldn’t let him suffer."Please, ye must listen tae me! He is nae our enemy!"

Laird MacLean looked upon his daughter with surprise and concern, but it was Quinn who responded first. "Sister, we ken ye care fer him, but he is a MacDonald. We cannae trust him just like that."

"Quinn, I swear tae ye, he saved me life!" Lara insisted, her eyes pleading with her brother to understand.

"Enough!" her father exclaimed, silencing them both. He turned his stern gaze upon Lara, searching her face for any hint of falsehood or deceit. "What is it ye wish tae say, me child? Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Lara took a deep breath, the air cold and sharp in her lungs. She mustered every ounce of courage she possessed. "Faither," she whispered, trembling beneath his scrutiny, "Darragh is nae our enemy. He fought by me side against those who sought tae harm me, and he has suffered for it. Please, let me tell ye our story, and ye shall see there is truth in what I say."

The laird studied her for a moment longer before nodding slowly. "Very well, Lara. We shall speak in private and weigh the merits of yer tale." With a final wave of his hand, he dismissed the guards.

In that instant, Lara knew she held the power to save Darragh or doom him as she followed her father into the dimly lit study. Everything had changed while she had been away, yet nothing had changed. The same scent of aged leather and ink filled her nostrils as before, mingling with the lingering warmth of a dying fire. Shadows danced along the well-worn bookshelves as they always had, casting eerie specters upon the stone walls. Almost overwhelmed by being home again but knowing she had another battle to fight, she had to swallow hard, fighting down the anxiety clawing at her throat.

"Father, I beg ye tae listen." Lara's voice trembled, soft and pleading. Harris MacLean's stern gaze flickered over her face. He stood by the fireplace, arms folded across his broad chest.

"Speak then, lass," he said sternly, "but ken that my patience wears thin."

Lara nodded, gathering her thoughts and her courage. She could not afford to falter now, not when so much was at stake.

She straightened her shoulders, meeting her father's stormy gaze.

"Father, I was abducted and locked in a hidden cell at MacNeil Castle for six months. Darragh found me and saved me," Lara began. "Without him, I dinnae ken what would have become of me. He gave me food and water, tended tae me injuries…" her voice trailed off as Harris MacLean snorted derisively.

"Ye expect me tae believe this MacDonald acted out of the goodness of his heart?" her father asked. "I dinnae think so. He wouldnae risk his neck tae aid ye save in exchange for something he wants. Gold, I expect." Harris MacLean loomed over Lara, his dark eyes flashing angrily in the firelight.

Lara continued desperately. She wrung her hands together, willing her father to see reason. If Darragh died because her father was too bull-headed to listen, she would never forgive him. "Darragh risked himself tae help me time and again, not only when he rescued me from the cell, but also during our travels to bring me back here safely."