Page 16 of Sins of a Scot
Owen threw a glance toward Daire, who watched him intently but did not deny Owen’s story.
“When will ye ever learn?” she said. “Why can ye nae find yersel’ a decent woman and settle down.”
“It will never happen, me dear Lilidh,” Owen said, standing and gesticulating dramatically. “I am a free spirit and I intend tae remain so fer all o’ me days.”
“Aye, well,” Lilidh replied, her eyebrows raised, “if ye’re nae careful, yer spirit might truly be free when someone knocks it out o’ that arrogant arse o’ yers.”
Owen burst into laughter, and then, all three of them were laughing.
When the chortling eventually waned, Owen said, “It is a little late fer ye tae still be up, isnae it?”
“I was a little restless. Besides, I was waiting fer ye both tae return from the tavern.” She then gazed at Daire. “I was actually looking fer ye, Daire. I dropped me earring and it has fallen under me dresser. It is far too heavy fer me tae move mesel’. I wonder if ye wouldnae mind coming tae help me?”
“O’ course,” Daire said, standing as he spoke.
Owen couldn’t help but smile as an unspoken thought ran through his mind.
Aye, o’ course, indeed. Ye’d hardly give up a chance o’ spending time with the woman that ye’re besotted with.
“Well, I will bid ye both good night, fer it is time I retired,” Owen said as he moved across the room. “Though I think I will head down tae the kitchen first. There’s bound tae be something left over from supper, fer me stomach feels like me throats been cut.”
“Ye’re always eating,” Lilidh teased.
“Aye, well, I’m a growing lad,” Owen countered with a wink. Passing them on the way to the door, he gave Daire a knowing grin. “Be good.”
Swiftly, Daire lifted a huge hand a clipped the back of Owen’s head.
“Ow,” Owen said, grinning back at him.
“If ye’re nae careful, it’ll be me who removes yer spirit from yer body,” Daire growled as Owen walked away.
“Aye. But ye’ll have tae catch me first,” he called back without stopping.
As he continued out of his father’s study and down the corridor, he could hear Lilidh giggling at their antics. He didn’t know if his aunt was aware how Daire felt about her, but she was an astute woman. He would be surprised if she didn’t. It was a bit of a shame that neither of them had made any moves toward the other. They were so good together and would make a fine couple.
Their voices faded as Owen reached the top of the grand staircase. He swiftly descended the stone steps, wondering what he might find in the kitchen. At the bottom of the staircase, he took a left, but voices echoing through the corridor up ahead suddenly halted him in his tracks.
Straining to listen, Owen could not make out who they belonged to. They were just too far away. It could be anybody, but he was not about to take a chance of bumping into his father. Lilidh had believed his fairy tale of a skirmish with a disgruntled husband, but he doubted he could explain away his bruises to his father. Madigan would not be so naïve.
The laird had a way of eliciting the truth from him, and Owen knew he would end up blurting everything out. But that could not happen, he did not want Madigan to know what he had done. His father, being the loving, kind, and focused man he was, would immediately procure the money needed to save him and he did not want his father’s help. It was his own doing, and thus, he had to take responsibility for it. He would find the money his own way.
Turning on his heels, Owen ducked under the grand staircase. Lifting a burning lamp from its metal frame, he slipped through a narrow door in the wall. Once inside one of the many tunnels that ran through and under the castle, the tunnels he had spent much of his youth exploring, he ventured forth, the glow of the fire casting long dark shadows on the walls around him.
He knew the way with his eyes closed, and taking lefts and rights, he eventually descended a small set of steps. The kitchen was not far now, and as he could feel his mouth watering at the idea of cold meats and breads, Owen swiftly turned a corner.
“Och, me God!” a woman squealed, as the two crashed into each other.
Lifting the torch high, Owen could hardly believe his eyes.
“What the devil?”
His prisoner, Iseabail, was about to turn and run, when he grabbed her by the arm. “Och, nay ye dinnae,” he growled.
With her now in his tight grip, he pulled her in close. “How? How are ye down here? How did ye escape?”
She did not reply, and only looked up at him with terror in her eyes.
“Fer the love o’ God,” he spat.
