Page 8 of Sins of a Scot
Soirsche gasped.
“Tell me who ye really are and what ye really want?” he growled.
“I dinnae ken what ye mean,” she cried, clearly terrified.
“Ye ken exactly what I mean,” he spat. “How did ye get me friend tae go and get another drink when he had one right there beside him?”
Just as she was about to reply, Owen heard the sound of crunching stones, and turning, he saw Daire rounding the corner.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” he spat.
The lass struggled to get away, but Owen held her fast against him, the dirk pressing deeply into the soft flesh of her neck.
“Stop struggling, or I swear, I’ll slit yer throat,” he hissed. Turning to Daire, he continued. “We’re going tae the castle immediately.”
“What?” Soirsche cried, her eyes flying wide open. “But why?”
Bending his face close to hers, he whispered, “Because ye were silly enough tae try and steal from the laird’s son, Soirsche. If that is even yer real name. Yer seduction very nearly worked. But now, the dungeons are awaiting ye.”
CHAPTER THREE
The man who called himselfMaskfinally dropped the dirk from her throat, and grabbed her wrists, pulling them behind her back.
“Move,” he barked, pushing her ahead of him.
There was no point in struggling. He was already holding her so tightly that if she did move, she would cause herself a great amount of pain. A moment later, his friend arrived with two horses, and not missing a step, Mask grabbed her by the waist and flung her onto the black beast.
“Me mare,” Iseabail cried. “What about me mare?”
Mask looked at his companion, and then glared back up at her. “Why dae ye care?”
“It is me horse,” Iseabail said. “O’ course I care.”
He heaved a sigh, and then mounted the horse behind her. “We will go and collect yer mare,” he spat.
The three travelled back to the rear of the tavern, and after Iseabail had pointed out her horse, the Mask’s companion untied it and led it beside him.
They left the village then, and as the sounds of the tavern waned, Iseabail began to worry about what might become of her. The man’s words from a moment earlier came back to her, and still reeling from the swiftness of her capture, Iseabail struggled to get her head around it.
Because ye were silly enough tae try and steal from the laird’s son.
She was on Clan Sinclair’s lands, and thus, the man who sat behind her on his huge beast, must be a Sinclair. But why the devil would the heir of the clan be fighting in such a dreadful way. His mask now made more sense, however, for clearly, and for whatever reason, he did not want anyone to know his true identity.
It still did not explain why he was fighting. Surely, he did not need the coin. The Sinclairs were a wealthy clan, she knew that much. So why was he doing it?
Dinnae ye think ye need tae be more concerned with the fact that ye are now captured, and thus, can nay longer look fer yer crystal?
Of course, she ought. Her plan had failed miserably, and now, she was a prisoner.
I will be fine. I’ve got this far. I’m sure I can find me way out o’ this mess… somehow.
The moon hung high in the sky, lighting up the trees and fields as they approached the castle. The huge gates loomed up ahead, and with a strange cry from Sinclair’s companion, they slowly yawned open.
Several guards stood and nodded at them as they entered the courtyard, and then the gates slowly closed again.
There will be another way out o’ here. There has tae be.
Even with that thought, her hope of escape waned when she saw the many guards that sauntered about the huge courtyard. Other people moved about too, some hurrying, looking as though they had some place to be, others were strolling, while some were stood together in groups talking.
