Page 41 of A Sinful Night with a Scot
Elsie eventually gave him something akin to a smile but not quite, and then turned back to Michael, returning to the conversation he had interrupted. He listened as Michael spoke to her about the history of the clan, and how far the lands spread. The councilman then encouraged her to talk about herself.
“Dae ye have braithers or sisters, me lady?” Michael said.
Elsie shook her head. “I am an only child.” That same sadness in the cave tinged her voice again. “Much tae me faither’s chagrin.”
“I dinnae understand,” Michael said, sounding confused.
But Alisdair arriving at Keane’s side distracted him from Elsie’s reply. It didn’t matter, though. He already knew what she was going to say.
“Well, me friend,” Alisdair grinned, “a fine turnout fer yer special night.”
“Indeed,” Keane said. “As expected.”
“Naething less fer our esteemed laird,” Alisdair declared dramatically with a smirk.
Keane cocked an eyebrow and lifted the corner of his mouth. “This night was fer Elsie, ye idiot.”
“Och, aye. Yer beloved new wife. And what an impression she has made.” Alisdair looked out into the room at all those gathered, joyfully continuing the celebrations. “I couldnae help but notice how proud ye yersel’ looked at yer grand entrance. The two o’ ye were a picture o’ the perfect noble couple.”
Keane gave his companion a sideways glance, his eyes narrowed, regarding him skeptically. “Ye’re playing a dangerous game, me friend.”
Alisdair smirked as he looked him directly in the eyes. “Nay, Keane. I think that is ye.” He lowered his voice. “When I feel fer a woman, I make certain she kens it. That way, I dinnae lose her, or worse, play with her heart.”
Keane scowled at Alisdair. “I’m nae playing.”
“Aye, but daes she ken that?” Alisdair said, jerking his head past Keane’s shoulder.
Quite some time later when Keane noticed Elsie stifling a yawn.
“Ye are exhausted,” he said. “It is time that ye retire.”
Elsie didn’t argue, and nodding, she pushed her chair from the table. “I am. If ye dinnae mind, I will.”
Keane swiftly stood and pulled her chair further back. “I’ll join ye.”
Panic flashed across her face at his words, and Keane couldn’t hide his smile. Bending to her ear once more, he murmured. “Dinnae worry. Ye have ye own chamber. Remember?”
An expression he struggled to read flashed across her face, part relief, part something else. And then, she managed a weak smile. Bidding goodnight to Michael and Alisdair, he led her through the great hall, those they passed, bowing and murmuring good night greetings.
The corridor was far quieter. Even more silent, given that neither of them said a word all the way to their bedchamber doors. When Elsie came to a stop, her hand resting on the door handle, Keane stood beside her.
“Goodnight, Elsie,” he said, bending down and lightly brushing her cheek with his lips.
“Goodnight,” she breathed.
A second later, she had stepped inside her room and closed the door. For a long moment, Keane stood and stared at it. He had no idea why. It wasn’t as though he expected her to fling it open and beg him to join her. She would eventually, he would make certain of that, but not tonight.
Once inside his own room, he stripped quickly and climbed into bed, the soft mattress bending to support his muscular frame. He was utterly exhausted, and no sooner had he closed his eyes, than sleep swept over him.
The bars of the cage were unyielding, no matter how many times Keane pulled them back and forth, his screams echoing around the filthy dungeon.
“Let him go! Let him go, ye bastard!”
Kneeling outside the cell, bleeding, bruised and battered, his father looked weary, worn down, and hanging on to life by a thread. The sight before him terrified Keane, for his father had never looked so beaten, and he feared he would not suffer another session of agony and survive.
After their capture, Laird Gunn had brought him and his father to some stronghold. Keane had no idea where they were, for he had been knocked unconscious in the ambush. When he woke, he found himself locked in the very same cell he now occupied. In fact, he had not yet left it. He wished he could say the same for his father.
Laird Gunn had dragged Hamilton out of his cell every day, and had tortured him for hours, delighted that Keane had been able to hear his piercing screams of agony. It had now been four days, and by his father’s dreadful appearance, it was evident he would not be able to take much more of Gunn’s evilness.
