Page 7 of Taken By the Ruthless Highlander
“Aye, but what does that matter when the man was a monster?” he grunted.
The malice in his tone shattered Morgana’s resolve. She opened her eyes to study him.
Was he seriously unaffected by the murder of his father?
It broke her heart to wonder what horrors he must have been through. After all, what sort of father would banish his son? And what sort of relationship breeds such hatred that one would be gleeful at their parent’s passing?
Morgana’s heart ached as her thoughts drifted to her family. What would they think once she was gone? Would they blame her for their woes? Surely, they’d mourn for her.
“What are ye doin’?” she asked as she noticed the Laird squeezing the excess water from a rag.
“Ye should get yerself cleaned up,” he answered.
Morgana froze as he placed the cool cloth on her neck. The warning Cohen gave her seemed to be as hollow as the old Birch tree near the loch by her parents’ home.
“Why, if all ye’re goin’ to do is kill me?” she asked as she tossed the rag back into the bowl.
The Laird pressed his lips into a tight line and shook his head. “The way I see it, ye have three options. One, I’ll allow ye to stay here in the castle as my faither’s widow. Although, after hearin’ the council, that wouldnae be very wise. Ye’ve made enemies here, more than I ever did, so there’s that.”
“I swear I didnae kill anyone.”
“Oh, I believe ye, lass. Ye’re the size of a flea. There’s nay way someone like ye could have killed my faither. Which brings me to point number two. I’ll allow ye to go. Ye can pack yer things and never step foot on these lands again.”
“And what of my family? My braithers and sister are in the dungeons as we speak. What of them? Will ye banish them as well?” Morgana asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“They’ll be permitted to stay here, under my protection. But ye’ll never be able to see them again,” the Laird answered.
Morgana turned to face the fire. The choices were too overwhelming.
Sure, she could stay there as the former Laird’s widow, but for how long? She’d have to watch her back every minute of every day. How was that a dignified life?
But she’d be able to see her family. She’d be able to at least protect them until someone killed her.
Chewing on her lower lip, she mulled over the second option. An icy finger trailed down her spine as she thought of being banished. Never stepping foot on Scottish soil again was a harsh punishment, but more so knowing that she’d never see her brothers or sisters again. She’d be out there alone, and what would stop her enemies from coming after her?
“Ye mentioned a third option,” she blurted, trying to push aside every scenario that involved her saying goodbye to her family.
“We marry.”
“What?” Morgana gasped.
“From where I stand, it’s the only way to keep ye safe. The council wants ye dead. They’re lookin’ for justice, vengeance, or maybe just blood—I really dinnae care. But they want me to marry and carry on the legacy,” the Laird explained as he moved to his desk. “I can keep ye safe here, under my protection as my wife.”
“That still doesnae answer my question. Why would ye do this? Ye dinnae ken me. I have never heard about ye, and ye want me to be yer wife? Ye do ken that I married yer faither.”
“And the night ye were supposed to consummate yer marriage, ye found him dead, is that right? So, there was nay consummation, which means ye’re free by law and rites to marry.”
“There is a mournin’ period to honor.”
The Laird’s eyes narrowed on her. “And do ye?”
“What?”
“Grieve for the man ye married? Have ye actually mourned for him?” he asked, studying her intently.
“I barely ken the man,” Morgana mumbled.
“See, there were nay feelings between ye and him,” the Laird said, jerking his head toward the portrait. “Then what’s the problem?”
