Page 13 of Kidnapped By her Highland Enemy
“Whynae?” he asked. “Do ye nae trust a ruthless dog that has nay compassion, care or remorse?”
She notched her head up. “Yer saying that is what ye are then?”
He shook his head, “Forget I asked. I’ll be leaving ye now.”
As soon as he got to the door, she said, “If I agree, will I have yer promise nay to harm me?”
Looking over his shoulder, he saw that her face was red—in what, shame?—and he chuckled, making her face go even warmer. Heat coiled in his chest, leaving behind an odd sensation he did not fully understand. “Aye little lass, I give me word.”
She huffed. “I am far from little.”
Stepping close enough that forced her to crane her head up to him. He smirked. “To me, ye are.”
Her eyes narrowed and fire flashed there. “Are ye going to keep teasing me?”
“I’d like to,” he shrugged. “Yer reactions are humoring. But I do want ye to come with me to the seaside and get ye some fresh air, eh?”
“Very well,” she nodded. “Shall we?”
With a bow, he gestured to the door and then followed her down to the steps, past the front room and out into the open. Even before they got to the seaside, the bracing breath of the sea air was all around him. The sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline enlivened his senses, and his step was light.
For several moments, he and Maisie walked in silence, each occupied by their own thoughts, and even if they did speak, their words would have been stolen by the wind and drowned out by the crashing of the sea.
Maisie stood from the banks, the brisk wind fluttering the tails of her dress and hair. She gazed out at the water with a hint of longing on her face, as if she wanted to see the far shores beyond and Lucas began to wonder why that was.
A gust had the hasty knot of her hair unraveling and the wind fluttered long, lustrous hair into the air. Lucas’s fingers twitched by his side with the urge to thread them through the tempting mass.
Lucas found himself on unsure footing— possibly the first in his life—with this lass. He had known women in the past and had even loved a few of them. Or so he had thought at the time. But he had never felt so thrown as he did now while he gazed at her. The honey tones of her eyes that flashed with amber fire stirred something inside him, something deep and long buried.
Still, she spoke not a word, her eyes fixed out on the sea as if searching for something.
“Why do ye stare out at the sea?” Lucas asked gently.
Slowly, Maisie shook her head, “It’s amazing to me eyes. Believe me or nae, I’ve only seen the seas in passing. I’ve never been on a boat, but I have kent about seeing the far shores, seeing other lands an’…”
“And what?” he came to her side and gently nudged her.
Maisie shot him a look before going back to face the waves, “…escaping.”
Her one word had him rocking back on his heels—escapingwhat? Lucas grit his teeth, was there something horrible going on at her home? Was she under pressure at home? God forbid, was she being abused? His keen eyes ran over her and he did not see any signs of bruises on her body, nor had she walked with any sort of limp.
What in heaven’s name can she want to escape from?
“Have ye been across the waters?” she asked.
“I’ve been to the shores of Ireland, and I have, aye, I have touched the shores of France,” he said, watching her face.
Bereft longing stained her face, and he began to fear for the unknown. What was the lass battling that he knew nothing about? “I only want to…see more than what I already ken.”
Somehow, Lucas knew she was telling him a half-truth. Yes, she did want to see other lands, but why so desperately? Coming closer, his arm brushed hers, but he kept his sights on the rolling sea as well. “One day, ye might.”
Clan Barclay
“Laird McKenna is here to see ye, sir,” a guard bowed before Cinead MacCormack.
Seated at a table in his meeting room, Lucas’s father lifted his goblet at the other laird. McKenna was like a one-finned mackerel swimming between sharks. The man was as toothless as simpering men came, only adding one thing to Barclays’ wealth—their coal mines. It was the only reason Cinead suffered the man’s simpering presence.
“Let him in.”
