Page 4 of Wicked Kilted Highlander

Lara pressed her ear to the cell door, listening as the two guards argued in hushed tones outside.

"Without the laird, who'll tell us what tae dae with the lass?" one guard asked.

"Damned if I ken," replied the other. "I’m nae acting without orders, that's fer sure."

They fell silent, and Lara retreated from the door, cursing her confinement. Even with Keir dead, she remained trapped, the guards too fearful to release her without orders from above.

Lara paced the tiny cell, fingers tracing the rough stone walls as she had countless times before. Though Keir NacNeil's demise brought her satisfaction, it changed nothing about her circumstances. Her freedom remained as elusive as ever.

The guards would not release her out of decency or pity, but only when commanded from above.

With a sigh, Lara sank down on the thin mattress. She closed her eyes and fell into a light slumber. She was awoken by a sound.

She stared blankly at the stone ceiling above her, not moving an inch as the heavy wooden door slowly creaked open. The grating sound of iron hinges turning echoed off the bare walls. Lara continued gazing upward, eyes half-lidded. She knew with dull certainty it was only the guards, come to bring her meal of stale bread and greasy meat.

The footfalls that entered the cell were heavy, booted—the tread of a large man—yet surprisingly stealthy. There was no reason to stir, no point in engaging with her captors beyond what was absolutely necessary. So Lara remained still upon the bed, hands folded limply across her stomach, as the steps drew nearer. She did not so much as turn her head when the figure almost reached her bed.

Then, a pool of light broke through her closed eyelids, forcing them open. Squinting against the unaccustomed glare of what she made out to be a torch, Lara’s heart clamored in her chest as she struggled to make out the stranger's features. She could tell only that he was tall, with a muscular build. His face was obscured by the shadows. But then he held the lamp higher, and his face was revealed in detail. Lara's pulse quickened, and she gasped at the sight which met her eyes.

A fearsome warrior stood before her, tall, broad chested, and looking as if he could break her in two with one hand. She scampered backwards, seeking protection against the wall, panicking as she took in the intruder’s long, curling fair hair which fell beyond his shoulders and was knotted by a leather strap. Thick, stray locks the color of ripe wheat fell over a pair of gleaming dark eyes that were fixed upon her.

For such a frightening figure, his features were surprisingly boyish, his lips firm and well-shaped, the planes of his face angular and perfectly symmetrical, with a strong chin beneath the stubble. Yet she saw that his handsome looks were somewhat marred by a tracery of scars that seamed his face.

Lara recoiled, her back pressing against the cold stone wall. This fearsome stranger was clearly no liberator. She trembled uncontrollably as he approached her where she cowered on the rotten straw, his hulking frame seeming to fill the cell.

He reached out a large hand, bent, and grasped her chin, forcing her to look up into his eyes, his touch surprisingly gentle. Lara choked back a scream, her mind flooding with visions of the unspeakable violence this disfigured giant could inflict upon her helpless form. As she stared up at him, heart hammering wildly, she realized with dread that her nightmare was only just beginning.

Lara's breath froze in her lungs. Was he here on MacNeil's orders, to drag her to some new torture?

The man let go of her chin and stood up. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Are ye all right, lass? What are ye doing here?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Lara's eyes snapped wide in surprise at the gentle tone. She studied the face hovering over her, noting the concern in his eyes. He was younger than she expected, perhaps only a few years her senior.

"Can ye stand? Here, let me help ye." He extended a hand cautiously, as if afraid she might startle and flee.

Lara hesitated, then placed her palm in his, allowing him to gently assist her to her feet. His hand was big and calloused, made for war, but the grip was tender, as if he was mindful of her frailty.

"What's yer name?" he prompted when she remained silent.

"Lara," she whispered, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

As the stranger helped her stand, Lara acted on pure instinct born of horror and desperation. With strength she didn't know she possessed, she wrenched away from him and made a frantic bolt for the open cell door. Freedom was so close, just a few strides away.

But the strange man moved with startling speed, catching her arm before she could escape. She cried out in dismay and whirled on him, claws extended to rake his face.

He captured her delicate wrists in his hands, firmly yet gently. "Easy, lass, I’ll nae hurt ye," he rumbled. Though he could have easily overpowered her, he did not force her compliance.

Chest heaving, Lara stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She trembled in his grasp like a captured bird. Slowly, he released her hands and stepped back, showing he did not intend to restrain her.

"Forgive me," he said, voice low and soothing. "I only wish tae help ye leave this place, but if ye run off, the guards will likely catch ye. Now, ye must tell me why ye’re here."

Lara hesitated, wavering between trust and fear. There was concern in the man's scarred face, and his touch had been free of malice. Perhaps she had mistaken his intentions. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

"Ye need nae be afraid," he murmured.

Lara sagged in defeat. Even if she managed to slip past this stranger, she knew the guards outside would recapture her at once. For now, the only hope of freedom lay in listening to what he had to say. And maybe telling him the truth about what had happened to her. But not just yet.

"Why should I trust ye?" she asked, eyeing him doubtfully.