Page 11 of Desire's Ransom
“Sit,” she said. “Stay.”
“What’s your name?” a woman asked.
“Temair.”
“Temair?” said one of the men. “Not the chieftain’s daughter?”
She gulped. What was the best answer? Maybe if they knew she was the daughter of the O’Keeffe, they’d leave her be and send her on her way.
“Aye,” she said cautiously.
The man’s lip curled up in a way that made her wish she hadn’t told the truth. “She can’t be the one then, Orlaith. But ’tis our lucky day. No doubt the O’Keeffe will offer a handsome reward to get his daughter back.”
Temair doubted it. Cormac O’Keeffe clung to coin like moss to an oak. Besides, why would he pay to get back the daughter he claimed had the devil inside her?
The older woman, Orlaith, was watching her carefully. “Ye don’t believe that. Do ye, lass?”
Temair shook her head.
“’Tis only fair,” a man sneered. “The filchin’ cur has bled us dry.”
“Aye,” another chimed in. “’Tis time the scales were balanced.”
A third man added, “If he doesn’t pay the ransom, we’ll take it out o’ her flesh.”
Temair wasn’t exactly sure what the man meant, but it didn’t sound good.
The silver-haired woman whirled to them in fury. “Are ye so blind? Can’t ye see he’s already done that?”
The woodkerns fell silent.
When Orlaith turned back to Temair, her eyes had softened. “Ye don’t want to go back, do ye?”
Temair swallowed and shook her head again.
“Ye’re runnin’ away?”
Temair supposed she was, although it hadn’t occurred to her before this moment that she probably would never return.
The woman spoke quietly. “He beats ye, doesn’t he—your da?”
Temair blinked. Nobody had ever said it aloud before. As the silence between them lengthened, the stark words seemed to hang in the air like snowflakes. As if the merest breath might melt them away like they’d never existed.
She was afraid to respond. Afraid and embarrassed. This woman had dragged the truth out of the shadows, exposing it for all to see.
No one had ever done that.
The servants always tended to her cuts in silence. Theclannsmenfrowned but didn’t breathe a word. Her sister never mentioned the abuse they both suffered. Even Temair didn’t like to talk about it, because she half believed she deserved it.
“’Tis all right,” Orlaith cooed. “Ye’re safe with us.”
Something deep inside Temair shuddered dangerously like a wall threatening to crumble.
She dared not let it fall. God only knew what vulnerable thing it protected. And it took all her strength to keep that barrier intact as the woman murmured words of comfort. Words that Temair’s hungry soul had been starving to hear.
“Ye can stay as long as ye like,” Orlaith gently told her, coming forward. “Ye’ll be safe here.” She took Temair’s trembling hand in her own. “And your da?” The woman locked eyes with the woodkerns, one by one, as if securing each one’s loyalty. “As long as we’ve breath in our bodies, I swear he’ll never lay a hand on ye again.”
