Page 2 of A Bride for the Kilted Beast

“Wheesht, boy, what dae ye mean, an auction?” the laird demanded to know, an edge to his voice.

“’Tis like this,” Odhrán said. “We invite these impoverished lairds tae take part in an auction where they can offer their daughters for sale tae the highest bidders as potential brides. They’re in such poor straits financially, they’ll have nae choice but to partake. They’ll be happy enough tae make some money out of it and have their lassies wed tae a laird, but we’ll take our cut o’ the money paid for the lassies tae.”

Rather than crushing the notion out of hand as Odhrán had half expected he would, his father considered his words in silence. Feeling optimistic, Odhrán continued.

“I aim tae get as many high clans as possible involved in the auction, each bidding fer one o’ the lassies. It’ll maybe give us the chance tae improve relations with some o’ those clans who are nae already opposed tae us.” He sat back in his seat and looked at his father, secretly praying he would agree. Hope sprang up in his breast when the old Laird nodded.

“Aye, ’tis nae a bad idea, laddie, nae bad at all. As ye say, it could work in our favor with the other clans. It’ll make people realize how powerful Clan Lennox really is, and get ye a blue-blooded bride tae boot,” he said, his sour face brightening. Odhrán could tell he was envisioning the outcome he so fervently wished for. “Go ahead, lad, and get it set up as soon as ye can,” his father instructed, already looking at the parchments on his desk.

Odhrán stood up, sensing dismissal. He was both pleased and relieved at his father’s acceptance of the plan. It had taken him a lot of thought and a lot of work to come up with the idea and do the necessary research. He made for the door, eager to leave, for he had other pressing business elsewhere to attend to.

“Wait, boy,” came the terse command. With another skip of his heart, Odhrán halted and turned.

“Aye, Faither, what is it?”

The laird did not even look at him as he asked, “That Kincaid lass we have stowed in the dungeons, what are ye going tae dae about her? ’Tis maybe time we got rid o’ her, eh?”

Odhrán froze, his mind scrambling for the right words. His fists clenched at his sides, fighting to remain calm as he turned back to his father.

“I ken ye want tae further yer vengeance against the Kincaids by killin’ her, Faither,” he said reasonably. “But as I’ve already told ye, she’s worth more alive than dead at present. She could come in handy as a bargaining chip.”

“Aye, I suppose ye’re right,” the laird grunted, clearly disappointed. “All right, off ye go then, and go about yer business,” the laird ordered him with a wave of his hand, not looking up at Odhrán as he left the study, closing the door firmly behind him.

His heart beating fast, he leaned his back against it for a few moments, relief and rage flowing through him by turns.

T’was a narrow escape, and but a temporary reprieve. I dinnae ken how much longer I can put him off. I’m going tae have tae act sooner than planned if I’m tae be laird and have the freedom tae dae as I wish. ’Tis the only way.

When he felt sufficiently composed, he pushed himself from the door, pulled himself up to his full height, and strode off down the hallway, towards the exit of the great stone keep. Once outside in the cobbled courtyard, he skirted the wall of the keep until he came to a heavy wooden door, covered with fearsome looking ironmongery.

Opening it, he sped down the interior stone staircase, descending into a murky gloom pierced only by a few flaming torches. The stench of collected human misery made him cough as he stepped into an area off which several thick doors led, each with heavy locks on the outside and a barred grille high up. Gripped by anxiety, he went to one at the end of a row of four.

“Maddison, ’tis me,” he whispered through the grille, holding his breath in fear. “Are ye all right?” He tensed when he heard a light rustling from within. When a small, pale face dominated by a pair of large, sad, dark eyes appeared in the dim light beyond the grille, he breathed out. Small, grimy hands clutched the inside of the bars.

“Odhrán, ye’ve come,” came a low, croaking voice that suggested it was rusty from lack of use. “Aye, I’m all right.”

“Och, Maddison, ye dinnae ken how sorry I am that I dare nae let ye out, but they’d kill us both if I did,” he told her apologetically, his heart aching for her, silently cursing himself for being a coward.

“I ken it well,” she replied sadly, staring at him through the bars until he thought his heart would burst with shame and anger. And love.

She hesitated before asking, “Is there nae any news about me braithers?”

He shook his head despondently. “Naething,” he told her, hating himself for lying to her. He knew very well her brothers had been scouring the highlands for her since her disappearance a twelvemonth ago.

“Oh. But I ken they’ll nae give up lookin’ fer me,” she responded with a deep sigh of disappointment that cut him like a blade. “That they’ll come and free me.”

“I’m sorry, lass. I wish I could dae more fer ye, but ye ken Laird Lennox’s army outnumbers that of any clan in these parts. ’T’would be certain death fer anyone tae try tae mount an attack on the castle tae free ye,” he told her with genuine regret.

“I ken the laird wants me dead, just as he murdered me faither, maither, and braither, and I’m grateful fer all ye dae fer me, Odhrán. But I dinnae ken how much longer I can stand this place. Sometimes, I think ’tis worse than bein’ dead. And what would I go home tae, with naething left o’ me family?”

“Ach, dinnae say so, lassie.”

Her despondency pained him in ways he was unused to, for he had never felt himself capable of ever loving anyone before setting eyes on Maddison Kincaid as his father’s prisoner. The old man had drummed into him that love equaled weakness and was something to be beaten out of a boy with a rod. A Lennox had no use for love.

Yet slowly, over the months of her captivity, Odhrán had felt himself falling in love with his beautiful, gentle, brave captive, though it had taken him some time to realize that was what was happening. And there was no stopping it.

But he dared not tell her so, nor even whose son he was, for what lass could love a man like him? If she ever found out he was Odhrán Lennox, son and heir to Laird Murphy Lennox, she would instantly despise him. She would see him as being just like his father, her captor, a brutal monster who wanted to slit her throat, just as he had those of her parents and brother, a man who would go to any lengths to get what he wanted.

Wishing he could show her he was different from his father and desperate to give her some hope, he reached up through the bars and caressed her cheek gently with his fingertips.