Page 63 of Scot of Deception
“Get out,” he said, and his tone was so calm that it shook Blaine more than any shout could. “Get out afore I truly kill ye.”
“Bran—” Laird Stewart tried, but Bran shook his head.
“I dinnae wish tae hear it!” he roared. “Why must I show any sort o’ understandin’? Why must I forgive this man after everythin’ he’s done tae me lassie? Daes any o’ ye understand what this means?” he asked, as he snatched the note from Blaine’s hand, holding the paper up in the air for everyone to see. “Daes any o’ ye understand that me daughter is out there, held by me greatest enemy? Dae ye imagine how scared she must be? How alone? Did ye ever think about that?”
Fenella held back a sob at those words about her dear friend. Tears glimmered in Ilyssa’s eyes as she listened to her husband’s words. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to stop those tears from falling, as Bran threw himself back on the armchair, sagging in its embrace.
He was a broken man; Blaine couldn’t fault him for any of his words, not when the most precious thing he had in his life had been snatched from him so cruelly and so suddenly. He was only a father who feared for his child. He was only a man who wanted his daughter back safe.
“I’ll bring her back,” Blaine promised. “Ye have me word.”
“I dinnae need ye tae bring her back,” said Bran without sparing him another glance. “I’ll bring her back meself.”
“With all due respect, ye hired me once tae protect her, an’ I never once failed,” Blaine reminded him. “I’ve never failed a mission. Ye ken that. I am the best there is at what I dae.”
“He’s right, Bran,” said Laird Stewart. “Blaine could be o’ great use tae us.”
Bran remained silent for a long time—long enough for Blaine to get impatient, but he refrained from talking. If Bran insisted, then Blaine would go out there on his own anyway, searching for Kathleen. It didn’t matter to him either way; he was not going to sit back and wait for anyone else to save her when he could do it himself.
Earlier that day, Laird Stewart had claimed Blaine couldn’t fight the entire Campbell army on his own. And yet, Blainewas prepared to do so if needed—if only to make sure Kathleen was safe.
“Fine,” said Bran in the end. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to deflate, the fatigue of the past few hours catching up to him. “Fine. If this is what ye all want, let him help. But if ye so much as touch her again, I’ll kill ye too.”
As Bran turned to look at Blaine, their gazes meeting from across the room, he knew the threat to be true.
Kathleen struggled to open her eyes. Her lids felt heavy and her temples were pounding in time with her heartbeat, her ears buzzing so loudly that it made her splitting headache worse. It was cold and dark where she was, and when she tried to move, she found that her entire body was numb.
No, not only numb; she was also restrained, incapable of moving her arms or her legs.
Her eyes flew open in a panic, adrenaline kicking in and overriding everything else. Her breath came in short, panicked puffs as she looked around her, trying to make sense of her surroundings and remember what had happened. Memories came back to her in a flash, a flood of them pouring into her mind until she remembered it all—how she had left the castle to find Blaine, how she had come acrossLaird Campbell and his men, how he had rendered her unconscious so he could use her for ransom.
Now, as she looked around her, she realized she was in a clearing along with an army of Campbell men. Her wrists were tied behind her back, the skin rubbed raw from the rope, and her ankles were bound together with another length of it. The night’s chill had seeped into her bones and she couldn’t help but shiver, as no one had taken the time to so much as drape a cloak or a blanket over her.
She had always thought that if she ended up as an enemy clan’s hostage, they would at least have the decency to show her some respect.
Shifting to sit a little straighter, Kathleen felt the rough scrape of a tree trunk against her back. She cursed quietly under her breath. No matter how much Laird Campbell hated her clan, it was no excuse for him to treat a lady like this, but she had the suspicion that all her protest would go unheard even if she voiced them.
The only comfort she had was the thought that Laird Campbell couldn’t kill her, not if he wanted the gold. Surely, her father and Laird Stewart were already on their way there to save her.
Or perhaps her father would kill her himself after learning what she had done.
“Well, look who’s awake.”
It was a strange voice, one Kathleen didn’t recognize, but when she looked up, she recognized the face from a portrait. It was none other than Rory Campbell, Laird Campbell’s son, who resemble him as much in appearance as in personality. He, too, was tall and broad, towering over Kathleen as he stood in front of her, his bulk obscuring the glow of the fire the soldiers had built. Kathleen didn’t flinch as he approached, though; she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Can ye untie me, please?” Kathleen asked, in the most polite yet firm tone she could muster. “I cannae feel me arms. Or me legs. Or anythin’, actually. An’ I’m cold an’ hungry an’ I must relieve meself, so if ye’d be so kind?—”
“Where, exactly, dae ye think ye are?” Rory asked her, cutting her off sharply. “Ye’re a prisoner here. This isnae a castle. We’re nae yer servants.”
“I am a lady an’ ye will treat me as such!” Kathleen reminded him, her entire body jerking as she tried in vain to stand on her feet. It didn’t help her case that she sitting so uselessly on the ground. If she wanted to be assertive, she had to get out of those ropes. “What is the matter with ye Campbells? The least ye can dae after bringin’ me here an’ holdin’ me hostage is tae treat me with some respect!”
Rory looked at her with a confused frown, but before he could speak, his father stepped in, silencing him with a dismissive wave. He glanced back at Kathleen one last time, then turned and strode toward a cluster of their soldiers.
Laird Campbell fixed his stare on Kathleen. She noticed how much older he looked than her father — though they were likely the same age. It was as if cruelty had aged him faster. “Are ye always like this, lass?” He asked.
“Like what?”
“So… foolish.”
