Page 61 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
Lachlan frowned. “Need to see?”
Callum was quiet for a moment and then let out a long, slow exhale. “Who is in the hunting cabin?”
Lachlan frowned. “The hunting cabin? It’s nae the season for anything big, so I’d say nobody. Nobody should be there.”
“Huh. Well, there are lights on in the windows.”
“Eh?”
Callum leaped nimbly down from the parapet and heard the relieved exhales of the soldiers as his feet touched solid ground again.
Lachlan raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Get me horse,” Callum instructed.
* * *
Ava might have dozed for a moment or two. After all, with the blindfold around her eyes and nothing to hear besides the crackle of the fire, there wasn’t much to do besides sleeping.
The creak of the door opening shocked her out of her doze, and she sat bolt upright, her heart hammering.
“Who’s there?” she asked, not quite able to quell the painful hope that it might be somebody to save her.
“Just me, lass,” came the familiar but not-familiar voice, and she sagged in her seat. “It’s almost dawn outside. It’s a pity ye cannae see it.”
“I could see it,” she tried, “if ye would let me go. Whatever it is ye think I ken, whatever ye think I have seen, I willnae tell anyone.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
She heard a metallic sound, something that sounded suspiciously like a knife sliding out of a sheath, and fear clamped its fingers around her throat. She tried to shrink back in her seat, but, of course, the unforgiving wooden chair wouldn’t allow that.
“Sir,” she tried, “please, dinnae do this.”
“I must. Ye dinnae understand.”
“Talk to me, then. Make me understand.”
There was a pause, and then the man gave a long, rattling sigh. “Aye, well, I suppose ye do deserve to ken the truth.”
She heard the rustle of his clothes as he leaned forward and sensed a figure leaning over her. Ava held her breath, expecting her throat to be cut at any moment, but instead, there was a tug on her blindfold, and then the fabric fell away.
She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the glare of the firelight, an orangey, buttery glow that jumped and flickered, throwing everything into deep shadow. The figure leaning over her moved backwards, sitting into a chair that was double hers, although without the ropes to bind him to it.
She squinted, willing her eyes to put a face to the figure. As her eyes adjusted, the figure’s features slowly became clearer, and she gasped.
“Marcus,” she managed hoarsely.
Marcus, Callum’s uncle, sat loose-limbed in the chair, looking exhausted. He looked every one of his years and then some, an old man nearly at the end of his strength.
In one hand, he held a long-handled hunting knife, the blade curved and wicked, the steel glinting in the firelight. He smiled weakly at her. “Surprise, lass.”
“Iamsurprised,” Ava managed. “Why are ye doing this? Do ye nae want Callum to marry? Are ye trying to have Duncan claim the Lairdship?”
The man shook his head tiredly. “Nay, nay, nothing like that. Suffice to say, I’ve spent me life repenting for a great sin, and I love Callum like me own son.”
Ava paused, licking her dry lips. She wanted some more water and thought that if she asked for some, Marcus would likely give it to her, but she didn’t want him and his knife near her.
“And where do I come into this? Ye kidnapped me from the road and brought me here for what? To kill me? Why wait so long?”
