Page 7 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
That had been Laird Murdoch’s answer when Rhys had suggested the trade. There had been no hesitation. No concern for his only child. Nothing.
Just cold disregard and adamant refusal. Rhys had not been expecting that. He figured the laird would try to negotiate. Argue a bit to save his pride. But outright refusal had not been one of the scenarios he had ever imagined.
“Rhys?” William asked quietly, shooting a glance at the lass to make sure she couldn’t hear them. She was still tied to the tree several feet away and Rhys barely refrained from wincing when he saw the pride and loyalty shining in her eyes. There was pain there, in the corners of her eyes, a deep and secret pain there that she carried.
Rhys shook his head. “The bastard refused to trade,” he answered in just as quiet of a tone. “Told me he dinnae care.”
Myles dropped the stick he’d been whittling away at. Unlike William, who looked concerned for the lass, Myles looked irritated and put out.
“So, the exchange?” Myles asked.
“Nay,” Rhys answered and ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “Ye daenae understand, man, he told me to kill her, he dinnae care, and he’s nay goin’ to give Finn back to us.”
“What?” William asked incredulously. “Surely he dinnae mean —”
“’Tis what he said… shouted it, even,” Rhys explained with disgust. “From the bloody wall, nay less, so that all of his clan could hear. He said she was nay use to him, and we could put a blade in her gut if we liked.”
William cursed under his breath, shooting a sympathetic look toward Amara. Rhys noted several of the leathers were looser than when he had left her, and she was still moving those devious fingers.
“Mayhap she’s brained him one too many times with a stray branch,” Myles grumbled.
Rhys shot him an irritated glare. Myles just shrugged and rubbed the side of his head where Amara had whacked him earlier.
“I kent Laird Murdoch was cold, but ‘tis soulless to nae even fight for his daughter.”
Rhys agreed, but there was nothing he could do about it. The older laird had been adamant. He’d been very clear that he couldn't care less whether he saw his daughter again. Whether she lived or died. He didn’t understand it, could not fathom a father who wouldn’t do whatever possible to protect his child.
He thought of his own daughter, Daisy. She was just six years old, and Rhys knew he would move Heaven and Earth to get her back in the safety of his arms. He missed her even now when he had gone just a matter of hours. The thought of never seeing her again… Rhys stopped the thought before it could fully form as a shudder ran the length of his body.
“What do we do now?” William asked.
Rhys’s gaze swept over Amara. She was watching them, probably trying to hear their conversation. She met his eyes squarely, barely blinking. She was strong and courageous.
Was O’Donnell intimated by that?
Rhys mentally shook his head. He found the traits fascinating and intriguing. He admired strength, even though those very same qualities were going to cause him trouble, he was sure.
“We ride,” he announced, loud enough for the lass to hear him. Her eyes widened and she looked in the direction of the castle, even though she couldn’t see it through the trees.
“And?” Myles asked, tossing a hand in Amara’s direction.
He felt the bitter taste sitting heavily on his tongue with the disgust he felt for Laird O’Donnell. Not able to mold his thoughts, Rhys simply sucked his teeth.
“What about Finn?” William asked. “Are we just goin’ to leave him with the Murdoch?”
Rhys mouth tightened into a grim line. “For now. We must.”
He strode over to Amara, drawing his dirk as he walked. Her eyes dropped to the blade and widened slightly before she tightened her lips and jutted her chin up defiantly.
Does she really think I would be so cowardly as to stab a lass bound to a tree? Any lass for that matter, bound or nay?
He continued to close the distance to her, adjust his hold of the sharp end of the dagger into his palm. The innocent confusion that played across her face made his core tighten.
Aye, she probably did, considerin’ the man she has for a faither. I wouldnae be surprised if the man had put his hands on her a few times.
An image of Amara’s pale, perfect skin being marred by a large red handprint formed in Rhys’s mind and he scowled and moved behind the tree.
After slicing the leather bindings on her wrists and around her waist he gathered the ends and moved back around the tree to face her. Her eyes found and watched him the entire time.
