by Ceri Bladen
“Perhaps not, but I’ll nae be a Laird that doesn’t listen before reacting.”
“Dae ye think that wee laddie will ken anything?”
This time it was Kameron’s turn to shrug. “Nae, but if I give him a fright, maybe he’ll talk, and I can send him running back tae Ackergill Tower with a tale tae tell his future wife in bed.”
“Aye,” said Donald, taking another spoonful of porridge, before adding, “Dae ye want me tae come with ye? I put him in gaol last night.”
“Nae, it’s only a young laddie. He’ll be greetin’ as soon as I stand in the cell, no doubt.”
The men laughed.
“Och, well, dinnae be tae hard on the laddie,” said Angus, having a sibling around the same age.
“He’s a MacAlpin. They deserve a lashing,” Fergus interrupted.
Kameron hesitated for a moment before replying, “The older warriors and the lairds themselves, possibly, but not a youngster. He has no say in what he’s asked to dae.” He turned to go.
“Tae soft on him… He’ll be fighting us when he’s older,” Fergus said under his breath.
Kameron’s eyebrows knitted together before he pulled his shoulders back and looped his thumbs in his belt. “Are ye questioning my judgment, Fergus?” He continued to stare him in the eyes, even when he noticed him swallow and redden.
Fergus shook his head. “Nae, laird.”
Kameron nodded deliberately before jutting his chin out. “Good, ‘cause I wouldn’t want any of my men tae find me an unjust leader—” he looked around before his icy gaze landed back on Fergus, “—’cause then I might start treating my men differently, be stricter towards them.”
“Point taken,” said Fergus quietly, picking up his spoon.
“Good.”
“Good luck,” said Angus.
“Aye, piseach!” echoed Donald.
Kameron snorted, he did not need good luck. He was only going to be talking to a young laddie. He stepped off the dais and made his way across the hall, in the direction of Wynda. When she spotted him, she nodded, aware of their routine. Although most knew of their dalliances, Kameron preferred to keep his personal life quiet—as quiet as he could be living within the walls with so many people. He sensed her follow him out of the hall, towards a small store room off to the left—barely big enough for the two of them.
When he entered, he turned, reaching around her to shut the door—and the normal formalities—behind them.
Wynda smiled and put her arms around his shoulders. “Good morning, Kameron.”
“Madainn mhath, to you, too.” He leaned forward to claim her lips. There was little time in their relationship for tender declarations—it was purely physical. For him, anyway—he’d never asked her. He pulled away to kiss her neck. “Wynda. Are ye ready?” He asked, his tone fiercely low and urgent.
“Aye, I am, Kameron.”
He couldn’t see her face in the dark room, so her verbal consent was enough. With lips and tongues entwined, she removed her arms from his shoulders and reached for the front of her tunic to hoist up, while he fiddled with raising his kilt. Within seconds, she had her legs wrapped around him, her back against the closed door.
Once spent, Kameron placed her feet back on the floor. “I’ll leave ye tae sort yourself out.”
“Aye, Kameron.”
He began to open the wooden door and stopped when she grabbed his arm—an unusual thing for her to do. He turned marginally to look at her face—highlighted by light from the open door—and sighed when he saw the look on it. They had been having a physical relationship for a couple of moons, so he expected this was the time she would ask more of their relationship. Mayhap I have spent too much time seeking her company?
“Will I see you tonight, Kameron?”
He gripped the door harder, his features impassive. “We’ll see, Wynda. I have matters tae see tae. I’ll get a message tae ye when I want ye to visit me chamber.” It was the best he could promise.
When the laird arrived at Aileana’s cell door with the gaoler, she pushed her chin into her chest as she blushed at the memory of last night. Watching wearily from under her lashes as the cell gate was unlocked, her hands gripped her hard bed. She’d experienced a difficult night on the scratcher, for many reasons, but it was pointless complaining. She was in here for being a murdering MacAlpin, comfort was not required. When the large gate squeaked open, the laird entered. Laird Kameron MacMahon. She’d never met him, but she knew his name well enough—she’d heard her brothers spit it out often.
Ignoring her experience of seeing him undressed, even with clothes she could tell beneath the leather doublet he wore over his shirt, he was cut with hard muscles. His dark-black hair, which was dry today, brushed his broad shoulders and a single braid ran along his face to keep it out of his eyes. His strong jaw was darkened with a small beard, but he was too far away to check out the colour of his eyes under his dark eyebrows. Aileana stayed seated, her face stayed averted towards the mossy, stone wall.
“Right, laddie. I’m here tae find out why ye were on MacMahon’s land. Why were ye left, laddie? Did ye fall off yer horse?” His voice was deep and, as yet, calm.
“Stand up for the Laird, laddie,” commanded the gaoler from behind Kameron, a pinched expression on his ragged face.
Aileana stayed seated although she watched him through the corner of her eye,
Kameron crossed his arms. “I asked ye why ye were left, laddie? Ye need tae speak up, so ye might go home tae yer ma and pa.” When he noticed the boy’s shoulders tense, he suppressed a smile. Just as he suspected. This shouldn’t take long—unlike the usual hardened men they had in gaol. The young laddie showed all the signs of being scared—not looking him in the eyes, white knuckles clutching the bed, and a tense body. Kameron glanced at the boy’s feet—uncovered and red. It wasn’t an unusual sight—it was why Highlanders were so often called redshanks, but he sighed deeply at the discomfort for one so young. A muscle twitched in his jaw because he couldn’t seem soft. He was a Laird who’d been wronged by this boy’s clan. “Ye need tae speak tae me, laddie. I haven’t got time tae waste on the likes of ye.”
“Aye, speak tae the Laird otherwise I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug,” said the gaoler, squaring his shoulders.
Ignoring the guard’s threat of slapping the boy’s ears, Kameron stepped nearer. “If ye dinnae speak up, ye can stay in this damp cell for as long as ye want.” His eyes narrowed. “Or mayhap, spend time in the square’s stocks?” Kameron didn’t want to keep him—he was an extra mouth to feed in the harsh winter—but he wanted him to talk, to glean information on the MacAlpin’s tactics. “Were you left tae draw us towards the boggy land?”
The boy stayed quiet, so Kameron puffed his chest out and put his hands on his hips. He might have to use physical violence to make the boy talk—words and threats weren’t working. “I’m asking ye questions, I want answers. Don’t think I won’t get them out of ye, one way or another—” he was pleased to see the lad flinch, “—did the MacAlpins ask you tae be a decoy?”
Aileana couldn’t answer for fear he would hear her feminine voice, so she said nothing.
“Explain, laddie, otherwise ye’ll be sorry.”
Aileana detected frustration in his tone. No one else might catch the rise, but she’d learned to become attuned to annoyance in its early stages—it saved a backhand to her cheek many a time.
Kameron turned his head to look at the gaoler, but he shrugged—the MacAlpin evidently hadn’t said anything to him, either. “Ye need tae start talking, laddie.” He reached forward and grabbed her arms, hauling her nearer to him. “Ye were warned.”
Aileana bit down a scream. Her toes were barely on the floor as he brought her up to his level. She watched, holding her breath, as his gaze searched her face. His glare granted her no mercy, so she averted her eyes and concentrated on the visible tension in his neck. She couldn’t escape him.
Kameron shook the tiny frame. “Well?” His gaze n
arrowed as his bright blue eyes keenly observed her. Under the mud, her features looked feminine. Surprise flickered on his face. His brows came together before his gaze whipped around to the guard. “She is a lassie.”
“She cannae be,” the gaoler said leaning forward to get a better look.
Kameron cast him a side-glance, raising his eyebrows, before turning his piercing gaze back on her. “Well, she is.”
Now her ruse was up, Aileana stuck her chin out and tried not to flinch under his scrutiny. She looked directly at him—daring him—and didn’t lower her eyes in case he mistook it as a weakness. She was scared, but she couldn’t let him know.
Grunting, Kameron placed her down and let go of her arms. He took a step back and glared at the slip of a woman in front of him. She glared back—challenging him with her whisky coloured eyes–something his men or even enemies would not dare. He grunted as he rubbed his beard. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting to find, and the new complication put him in a foul mood.
“What dae ye want tae dae, Laird?” asked the gaoler. “Who is she?”
Kameron didn’t answer him. Can this day get any better? How do I interrogate a woman? Force cannot, with good conscious, be used, so where do I start? What information can be gained by only conversation? He was confounded and didn’t warm to the feeling, it was so unfamiliar to him. He considered her for a while before asking, “Who are ye?”
Aileana stared at him. This was good news, he hadn’t suspected who she was. If she could make him think she was insignificant, she might just be sent back to Ackergill Towers. During the night, she decided this laird could be more trouble to her—in more ways than one—than her brothers.
Kameron stepped forward, hoping his size would intimidate, make her fear him, but she stayed firm. “I said, who are ye? Why were ye on MacMahon land?”
Aileana kept her rigid posture and fought against clenching her hands. She remained quiet.
Kameron crossed his arms across his chest and tapped his foot on the filthy floor, watching her carefully. She was scowling at him—she was a wildcat all right. In the loneliness and staleness of the cell, Kameron knew her defiance couldn’t beat him forever, but he didn’t want to wait that long. He unfolded his arms and put them on his hips. “I’ll ask ye again. Who are ye? And tell me why did the MacAlpin’s leave a woman behind? Were ye supposed tae be there?” She said nothing. It both irritated and intrigued him. He rubbed his beard as an idea formed in his mind. “Surely those bastards of hoors dinnae allow their women folk tae fight?” As she didn’t respond to him damning her kinsfolk, he took it to mean she didn’t care for them. That was interesting. In most folk it was ingrained to defend your clan, whether you liked them or not. “Will they be looking for ye? Come here searching for ye?” She flinched. Is that sadness I see on her face? To his amazement, he felt a small stab of sorrow for her. He pushed his soft thought away. She was from the enemy clan and while, if she was a servant, she was of little value to him, he still wanted to know why they would use a woman in a raid. It didn’t make sense.
“Answer the Laird,” the gaoler said, stepping forward menacingly. “He hasn’t got time to waste on the likes of ye.”
Aileana didn’t fail to notice the flick of the Laird’s hand to keep the guard back. She knew she had to say something as she didn’t want the guard to be left to get information out of her. “Nae, no one will search for me for I’m of no consequence.”
“So, yer a servant?” She didn’t respond. Kameron looked her up and down. She was a slight bundle underneath the bulky male clothing, and now he looked at her properly, her almond shaped eyes, little nose, and rose-bud lips, which were pulled into a tight line, definitely belonged to a woman. His eyes narrowed on her. He was no fool. Her words didn’t not trick him. She was too defiant to have grown up in a subservient role. His interest in her increased, but to his amazement, it wasn’t only because she could be a bargaining tool with his neighbours. He tore his eyes away from her mouth and grunted. It wouldn’t harm to let her think he thought she was a servant, until he found out who this redhead was. “So yer keeping quiet, lassie?”
Aileana continued to stare at him, afraid that if she backed down, her fear would surface, and she would break down.
Kameron looked around the sparse cell, spotting what must have been her food to break her fast. It was untouched—but he couldn’t blame her. He doubted even the rats would want the mouldy cheese and stale bannock. His gaze narrowed back on her as he decided what to do with her. Whether she talked or not, and regardless of her station in life, he couldn’t leave her inside the gaol. He pushed aside the niggling sense of needing to safeguard her. He would do the same for any woman. Aside from the fact the conditions were harsh—even for a villain used to slumming it—he didn’t fully trust the safety of a female in the cells, after dark, without any protection. He didn’t want lack of safety on his conscious, so he decided that she’d be fed a proper meal and then he had one of his men to deposit her near the MacAlpin boarder. He whipped his head around to talk to the guard before he changed his mind. “She cannae stay in here.”
“Aye… um…” the gaoler stuttered, not sure what to say.
“What’s yer name?”
“Hamish, Laird.”
“All right, Hamish, she cannae stay here. I’ll arrange for her tae be moved.”
Aileana looked at the interaction between the two men. They didn’t know what to do with her, but she sensed the laird’s weakness at her being a female. She took a step forward, taking a chance. “Let me go home, then.”
Kameron turned back to look at her. She was brave, to be sure. He suddenly, and unexpectedly, laughed—a huge belly laugh. Yes, this lassie had spirit. Despite his earlier intentions to let her make her way back to Ackergill Tower, now, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, he wanted her to stay. “Nae, you cannae leave. You are my prisoner.”
“But I’m a woman.”
His eyes narrowed. “Aye, a woman who had no right tae be involved in battle. I’ll ask again. Why were ye there?”
She bit her bottom lip and shook her head.
“Hmmm. If ye cannae tell me that, what is yer name?”
She remained tight lipped, even when she heard the frustrated breath he took.
He indicated for Hamish to come forward.
“Laird?”
“She needs water tae clean her face and hands.” His gaze whipped back around and studied her from head to toe.
Aileana fought the urge to cross her arms, his gaze was so intense.
“A bucket will suffice, so she can clean. Then I will send the women to take her to bathe.”
Aileana stepped forward. “Nae, I’ll stay here.”
Kameron bit back on a reprimand. It was a brave spirit to go against the Laird’s wishes. “Ye won’t,” he said, tersely. “Ye’ll be washed and put into women’s clothes so there is no dispute about your sex.”
She scowled at him. What did it matter what sex she was? In her clan she was treated worse for being a woman. In fact, regardless that she was doing wrong in the eyes of the church dressing as a man, when she donned men’s clothes to act as a decoy, she felt strangely liberated—apart from the smell of them!
“I’m the Laird here and ye’ll be wise tae dae as I say. If ye dinnae ye’ll find yourself in the stocks in the yard.” Kameron didn’t want to do that to her—but he would if he had to. No one could be seen publicly ignoring the laird without consequences and she would have to remember that while at Calder Castle.
“Aye—” she hesitated, “—Laird.”
Kameron didn’t fail to notice the rise of an eyebrow as she pulled her shoulders back. Something in him stirred, and it was starting to irritate him. He could admit that her character interesting him, and he found himself changing his initial plans for her to keep her around. He snorted before he gave her a final look. What is wrong with me? She is a prisoner of Calder castle. Nothing more. “Aye, remember, lassie.”
Late aft
ernoon…
Hours later, Aileana looked up when she heard footsteps near her cell—it was her gaoler carrying a bucket of water. She assumed he had forgotten his Laird’s instructions—he’d certainly forgotten to feed her today. She stayed seated while he unlocked the cell door and placed it down.
“Here’s the water the laird requested,” Hamish said, studying her intently.
She looked away from him and nodded, wishing him gone—he gave her an uneasy feeling.
“Get up and use it now, lassie. I’m not going tae be waiting around for the likes of a MacAlpin.”
She turned her head and scowled at him. “Ye dinnae need tae stay.”
He gave a snort. “I’m nae leaving ye a pail so ye can use it as a weapon against me.”
Her eyebrows puckered. What did the large lump of a man think she could do to him with a bucket? She gave a large sigh before standing. “All right but turn around.” She motioned with her hand, but he shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest.
“I’m staying right here.”
Knowing she didn’t have a choice, Aileana took a step forward and peered into the bucket. The water was brown and had floating debris in it, but at least it didn’t smell. She pulled her bonnet off and paid no attention to the look on the gaoler’s face when her hair fell out. She knew it pulled looks with its glorious colour—but, not for the first time, she wished it didn’t. Ignoring him, she leaned forward and washed the dirt off her hands and arms before cupping some for her face. She hadn’t been given anything to wipe herself with, so used the end of her kilt. It was a dark brown weave, so wouldn’t stain with the mud, besides she had a feeling she wouldn’t be permitted to wear a MacAlpin knit around Calder Castle. As she wiped her face, she glanced at the gaoler. She didn’t like the look on his face, especially when he took a step nearer.
“Ye’ll need tae get more of the mud off.” A grin hit his lips. “I’ll help ye.”
“Nae, ye will not.” She took a step back, but with little space, the back of her leg hit the scratcher.
