Adam didn’t like that answer. It seemed like the Lyalls would get off too easily when they deserved so much worse.
“But her mother an’ father are at Burrach. Her health is not my concern, but theirs.”
“Adam, remember the curse? Her parents must be dead if she is here. She has no one to go back to.”
“As I’ve said before, I do not believe in curses.”
“Adam?” Alister appeared behind Lachina, giving him an odd look.
“What is it?” Adam asked.
“I think your guest is tryin’ to leave.”
He took a step towards his cousin, furrowing his brows. “What do you mean?”
“We found her in the entrance hall demandin’ to open the doors. I figure if she’s that adamant about leavin’, we’d check with you first.”
What is that lass thinkin’? “Is she still down there?”
“When I left, MacKenzie had her in one of his death grips. She’s not goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”
Adam turned to leave.
“Adam,” Lachina said. “That girl has naught to do with what happened to your father an’ Una.”
Adam stopped, but did not face her. “Yes, but she comes from the same ilk as that bastard, Malcolm,” he growled. “I canna forget that.”
“But…”
Lachina’s words were interrupted by a high-pitched screech coming from the entrance hall.
He quickened his pace around the corner, with Alister following behind. He almost ran into his clansman, MacKenzie, who was holding the shoulders of the squirming woman.
Adam felt a brief flash of annoyance at how closely Mackenzie was holding Lady Lyall, how his face was just a breath away from hers, and the disgusting smile plastered on his lips.
He’s enjoying this, the bastard.
He thought he saw fear flashing in Lady Lyall’s eyes, but her expression quickly darkened to anger when she spotted Adam. “Get your hands off of me, you brute! Let me out of this castle at once!”
“MacKenzie,” Adam barked. “Let her go.”
The man released Lady Lyall, who stumbled back to lean against the wall. Her chest was heaving quickly, and her skin looked pale—much too pale.
Still, those stormy blue eyes were fierce as she glared up at him. “Let me leave this castle, or else,” she demanded.
Adam wanted to laugh at the feeble threat. “Or else what, Lady Lyall? Where are you plannin’ to go to in naught but your shift?”
Lady Lyall’s face flushed a delicate scarlet. He knew she hadn’t an answer.
And what am I supposed to do with you, then? “Fine,” he decided, giving MacKenzie a nod. “Open the door for her.”
Both MacKenzie and Lady Lyall looked at him in surprise. “Did you hear me?” he asked sharply. MacKenzie shrugged and lifted the hatch to the door.
As the door yawned open to reveal daylight and fresh air, Lady Lyall took two steps outside. Adam watched her as she craned her neck left and right as though seeing the Highlands for the first time.
The weather did not look promising; a few dark clouds were heading their way and he already could smell the rain in the air. She took two more steps away from the castle and fell to her knees. In a pitiful attempt, she pressed her hands into the grass and tried to push herself back up, but the effort was futile as she collapsed yet again.
Adam swore an oath under his breath. I canna leave her out there. Lyall or no, what kind of man would I be to let a woman die like that?
MacKenzie was laughing at the girl’s plight. Adam shot him a look that quieted him instantly, then stepped out of the castle and over to the woman. “You aren’t going anywhere, lass,” he told her.
Her face was pale. She managed to get back on her feet, but she was swaying as though she was inebriated. He was easily able to scoop her off her feet like she was a bairn, but once she was in his arms, she began to squirm relentlessly.
“Let me go!” she cried, kicking her heels hard into the side of his ribs.
His jaw clenched tightly. “Well, you still have some fire in you, don’t you?” he asked through gritted teeth. That would most likely leave a bruise.
“I demand you let me go.”
“Do you really want to die that badly?” Adam asked her. “Tell me the truth, lass.”
The question quieted her as he carried her back to his bedroom. She sure picked the right time to be here, Adam thought as his guests poked their heads around corners and doorways to see what the commotion was about.
He didn’t fail to notice Mary’s eyebrows almost disappearing to the top of her hairline as he walked past her room. The men gave him lewd remarks and laughter. He half-expected the men to start chanting “consummate, consummate!” like he was leading her to the marriage chamber.
To hell with the lot of them.
He wanted to drop her unceremoniously on his bed and leave her, but knowing that even a small jostle could make her head injury worse, he instead took care to lay her down gently. Damn it all. Perhaps he was too kind. She glared at him like he was the devil incarnate.
“You’re staying put,” he told her firmly. “You are now a ward of Dunaid Castle, which means my men will make damn sure you don’t leave these stone walls. I’ll get Lachina to fix the bandage on your head.”
“A ward?” Lady Lyall asked angrily. “Why don’t you just bind me in fetters, then, if I am to be your prisoner?”
“I did not say you are a prisoner.”
“I am being trapped here in this godforsaken castle out of my own will. I believe that is being imprisoned.”
He took a deep breath to quell his anger. “You have no idea what it’s like. Here, you will have food, warmth, an’ a bed to sleep in. You get none of those things if you were actually imprisoned.”
“Well, I had those things at Burrach and I still felt like a prisoner.”
He knew not what to say. He wanted to ask her questions, but nay. He shouldn’t care what she had lived through while being isolated at Burrach with a mad father.
“You are staying here,” he said definitively, then turned around to leave. He thought he heard her begin to cry, but he didn’t dare turn around to see.
Word had spread like wildfire that day of Dunaid Castle housing a cursed Lyall. His guests left quite hastily. Although Adam found their reasoning to be ridiculous, he was relieved to have his castle quieted. All he wanted to do was to have a good, long sleep, even though it was not quite the middle of the day. He ordered Lachina and Isla’s maid, Hilda, to move Lady Lyall to a now vacant guest room.
Adam closed his bedroom door and let out a sigh of relief. He was finally able to have some time to be alone, although the day’s events still replayed through his mind. So, Lady Lyall was a ward of his castle now? The decision had been sudden, surprising even Adam himself. She was not just staying at Dunaid until she fully recovered, but she was to stay until Adam deemed it fit.
He remembered the sound of her crying as he left her, the same sense of despair he remembered not too long ago during his time in England. How was that not taking her as a prisoner?
Nay, he would look fickle if he changed his mind. And he would not let Lady Lyall’s feminine wiles distract him from what was right and just. Her family betrayed his, and as such, certain consequences must be made. Who was to say that her father did not train her to be a deceitful, dangerous wench?
With her now gone and with fresh blankets adorning his bed, Adam collapsed on top of it, pleased to finally have his own space where he did not fear anyone would come in to intrude. But much to his chagrin, he thought he could still smell the woman’s presence in his room, an intoxicating concoction of herbs and wildflowers.
Her dagger was still tucked in his boot and he took it out to study it in finer detail. It was expertly made, but definitely not from any craftsmen from Scotia. Perhaps a French design? He traced his fingers along the corded molding on the hilt. Of the limited knowledge he had of the Lyalls, he knew Malcolm used to trave
l in his younger years with Adam’s father.
Indeed, they used to be good friends, and that made what Malcolm did almost unthinkable.
Then why, indeed, did Malcolm do it?
He leaned back against the pillows, remembering Lady Lyall lying asleep in this same bed naught but this morning. For a reason he could not fathom, the thought made him uneasy, unsettled.
Sighing, he sat up in bed, took the dagger from its sheath, and with careful precision, threw it across the room. As it hit the wooden door, the hilt vibrated with a resounding hum.
Chapter 5
Nellie was made to rest in bed for the remainder of the day. However, it was neither Adam nor Lachina who cared for her, but Lachina’s assistant, Elspeth. She was a girl just shy of womanhood with a nervous laugh and unsure mannerisms.
Nellie was fed soups and given endless hot tea until she thought she may burst, but the natural, wholesome goodness of the food made her feel stronger. Just as well. The quicker I gain strength, the quicker I can find a way out of here, she figured. She would obligingly take what help was offered to her and remain reticent for the time being, although her patience was almost to its limit.
By the fourth day at Dunaid Castle, her malady was gone. Elspeth told her that she’d no longer need to assist Nellie, then handed her a dress and a breacan, stating that it was from Laird Maxwell. Resting on top of the dress was a comb and a mirror.
Nellie received it, unfolding the garment. The dress was only slightly less plain than the shift she wore, and was dyed a saffron color. The wool breacan was a lovely white like her old one. She changed into the dress and smoothed her hands down the linen fabric, feeling a wee bit more civilized than she had in days.
Her hands reached up to touch her hair. The bandage came off her head yesterday, but her head was still tender where she had hit it when she fell. She took the comb and carefully brushed her hair. She had neither pins nor ribbons to tie up her hair, so she let it fall past her shoulders down to the narrowest part of her waist, a river of gold.
Slippers lay beside her bed and she put them on. Everything was still a bit too big for her, but she suspected she’d have all the time in the world to make alterations.
Nellie walked over to the window and looked out. Ivy nearly covered the entirety of the window, thus blocking most of her view. However, it was a clear enough morning for her to notice the rocky hills in the distance. Tucked in those hills, well out of sight from Dunaid, stood Burrach Castle, and her mother and father still inside.
She wished she had the strength to bury them before she left, but perhaps she would be able to visit at another time and do it then. She knew just where to bury them: under the ancient oak tree where her father proposed to her mother so long ago.
Nellie dashed away tears as she turned away from the window and assessed her body. Healing bruises still covered her body, but her legs felt strong and she did not feel quite so winded. She made a few practice circles around the room before deciding that it would be feasible to explore the castle. She was a ward, not a prisoner, as Laird Maxwell very much wanted to reiterate to her, so she wasn’t by any means confined to the bedroom.
In the brief moments that she’d walked through the castle days before, she’d noticed what a stark difference Dunaid Castle was from Burrach. Indeed, as she now stepped out of her room and wandered down the hall, it was still very much apparent. There were lit fireplaces and food, but there was no warmth in Dunaid; it was like everything was covered in frost.
Despite the conditions at Burrach, especially during the hard winter storm, there was always laughter and happiness. She would always help her mother to make sure Burrach was clean and inviting, even if it was just the three of them living there.
It was what made living in a curse bearable. It also was proving to the leannan sith that they could find happiness in the face of all odds.
Perhaps it did not help that Dunaid was by the sea, where the fog would creep in on most nights and settle across the shoreline for most of the morning. It made the whole place somber and devoid of color, like it was Dunaid that had been cursed, rather than Burrach.
What this place needs is a garden. Have they a courtyard? The prospect of getting some fresh air quickened her pace.
The castle was quiet, save for a few sounds of pots and dishes banging about from a room downstairs. It sounded familiar, reminding Nellie of a time when Burrach had its own cooks and a seemingly endless supply of food. She followed the sound down the stairs and through the great hall, glancing along the way at the old tapestries that adorned the walls, frayed at the edges. The sconces were lit, but still housed cobwebs and dust.
It is as though I am in a castle haunted by spirits, Nellie mused. She stopped by the door to the kitchen and peered inside.
She was noticed almost immediately by a woman of middle years standing over a fire pit. She had singes on her apron and sweat glinted off her skin. She wiped her forehead and gave Nellie a smile.
“My, but you’re a bonny one!” she exclaimed.
There was another woman who stood by the pantry who gave her a decidedly unwelcoming look. “That’s Malcolm Lyall’s get,” that other cook said boldly, placing a suckling pig on the table.
The kindness of the first cook disappeared instantly and the woman turned her back towards her quickly, as though Nellie was not standing there.
Stunned, Nellie turned and walked away, but not before she heard one of them ask, “Am I goin’ to be cursed, too, since I set my eyes on her?”
Nellie wasn’t quite sure whether to cry or laugh at the thought of people believing she was a walking curse. Mayhap, she wondered blithely, she could use it to her own advantage, as a weapon of some sort.
She walked through the entrance hall, noticing a sleeping man—the same brutish man who held her so unbecomingly when she had tried to escape—sitting on a stool in front of the entrance door.
Well, I can’t get out that way. My God, there must be a way to get some fresh air without technically leaving the castle.
She thought about waking the man to ask him, but decided she would probably be better off if the man stayed asleep. She hastily turned a corner and walked by an open door to another room.
Two young women that she’d seen peering into her room from time to time when she was still bedridden were sitting by the window in the bedroom, chatting. One woman had beautiful auburn hair being braided by a maid. The other had her head bent over some needlework, her dark, almost black hair hiding her face like a veil.
This room was perhaps the most cheerful of the castle. The window was east-facing, like Nellie’s, but not obscured by overgrown ivy. The floors were swept and the flowers in the vase on a table gave the room a fresh and welcoming scent.
The women quieted when they noticed Nellie standing by the door. One of them must be Isla, Nellie thought. Elspeth had told her about a woman living in the castle who was about her age, perhaps in an innocent attempt for them to become friends. Nellie wasn’t sure who the other woman was.
“Good morning,” she said to them. “Am I intruding?”
She did not miss the stiffness in their bodies when she asked the question. The woman with auburn hair finally stood up and gave her perhaps the second warmest smile she’d yet to receive at Dunaid, save for Lachina.
“Nay, not at all! Good morning. You’re feelin’ better, I presume?”
“Quite better, thank you.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’m Isla Maxwell. This is my friend, Mary Tod. It was my maid, Hilda, who found you outside and sent the call to let you in.”
“I thank you very much for your help,” Nellie told the maid.
Hilda blushed and ducked her head. When Isla sat back down, she continued braiding her hair with dexterous fingers. Nellie couldn’t help but notice Mary rolling her eyes. Ach, yet another person in the castle who despised her. At least Isla seemed amicable.
“Can you tell me how to get outside, perhaps to a courtyard or a
parapet?” Nellie asked them. “I need some fresh air.”
“The parapet? Why, are you plannin’ to jump off it?” Mary asked snidely.
Isla jabbed the woman in the ribs. “Mary, hush. It’s over yonder,” Isla said, pointing down the hall. “The parapet is up the stairs to the right. It’s cold out, I should warn you.”
“Thank you. I should be fine.”
“You have very lovely hair, by the way,” Isla said. “It is becomin’ with your facial structure.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed as she lowered her head back to her embroidery. “It’s a shame she’ll have a hideous scar to ruin it all.”
“Well, it looks as though Laird Maxwell and I have another thing in common, besides being mortal enemies.” Nellie told them. She plastered a smile to her lips, trying in vain to remain the gracious lady her mother brought her up to be. “Good day to you both.”
Just as with the cooks, she heard the women whisper fiercely to each other when she turned heel and left. No one wants me here, but that is okay because I don’t want to be here, either. Perhaps Laird Maxwell will set his mind right and realize the fact and let me go.
That is, unless he is planning to do something even more insidious. Isn’t he partly fairy, after all?
Nellie decided not to give in to her vast and unwieldy imagination and instead, walked up the set of stairs Isla had pointed to. The stairs were that of a winding turret, narrow and dizzying, without any barrier between her and the ground below. She kept one hand against the wall as she ascended to the top, where a door stood ajar. She pushed it open.
A blast of cool, salty air made her inhale deeply, but that breath quickly caught in her throat. Laird Maxwell was standing along the wall, staring out into the ocean. From her position, she watched him close his eyes and lower his head, as though in a prayer or in a rumination of a sort.
Feeling like she was very much intruding on something private, she almost turned to go back downstairs, but he had already noticed her. His hair was tussled from the wind and his face looked tired and melancholic. Why did his gaze unnerve her so much? The shiver she felt was not just from the chill.
Lady Nellie: Highland Magic Series (Scottish Paranormal Romance) Page 4
