Page 8 of Kidnapped By her Highland Enemy
“Daenae allow them to see each other yet,” Lucas warned him. “I havenae doubt that the lass and her will contrive some plan to escape and give us a headache to constantly watch and then stop ‘em.”
Laughing, Oliver said, “She’ll be an eejit to try and escape that room.”
“Do we ken who sent that note?” Lucas asked. “And has anyone acted on the threat yet?”
“Nay to me knowledge, sir,” Oliver said. “But it will be clear by now that ye are nowhere to be found. If anyone was foolish enough to try something, they would have been nabbed. However, I am sure when Eilidh comes, she’ll have some news. If nay, I’ll go and check in the next day or so.”
“Good man.” Lucas clapped Oliver’s back. “Now, what about dinner?”
The wind was whistling and whirling against the brick walls, brisk and cold but it paled in comparison to the frantic thoughts swirling through Maisie’s mind. Being captured and kidnapped by her father’s arch enemy had been the last thing she had expected while going for her morning bath, but now that she found herself in McCormack’s clutches, she had to find a way out of them.
The gall of him!
Seething, Maisie looked again for any way to get out of the room, without letting the men know. Glancing at the door, she stood and inched her way to it. Was there any hope that no one was minding it and she could slip away?
As she neared the door, she heard the stomps of boots and scurried back to plop her bottom back on the cot just before another man came into the room. She had never seen him before, but he looked older, and his dark red hair was a shock to her.
“Good eve, lass,” he said while settling a tray with a trencher of warm, flaky bread and a bowl of lamb stew before her. “Eat up before it goes cold.”
Warily, Maisie eyed the food. How easy would it be to have them add something to it to kill her.But then…if he wanted to kill me, wouldn’t he have done it already?
Still, she shook her head. “Ye eat some first.”
Oddly, he did not look taken-aback and genially broke a hunk of bread and dipped it into the stew. Promptly, he ate it and even went back for a second before Maisie blurted, “Ye daenae have to.”
He smiled. “I reckon ye’ve never seen me before, aye? Me name is Oliver Jamieson, and I am his lairdship’s man-at-arms. Yer a smart lass, but ye dae need to ken we wouldnae poison yer food.”
Taking the tray, Maisie began to eat. “I daenae ken what to expect from ye lot. Ye are Barclays after all. Where is hislairdshipthis evening?”
“Out,” the man said succinctly.
While eating, Maisie felt his eyes latch onto her and a quiet, disconcerting silence began to stretch long enough that she grew uncomfortable. An embarrassed red was creeping up her neck and warming her cheeks and ears, but she could not find any words to say.
Putting the tray down with her empty bowl, Maisie wrapped her arms around her and hunched over slightly. “What does he want with me, or from me?”
Instead of giving her a definitive answer, Oliver propped a hand on his thigh. “What do ye ken this is all about?”
She worried her lip. “I suspect it’s about the feud we have amongst us. Is he tryin’ to prove something to me faither? That ye are the strongest and smartest? Why bother because the last five skirmishes we’ve had with ye, ye won. There is nay need for all this antagonism anymore. Ye’ve proven ye are the best.”
A flickering smile curved Oliver’s top lip. “It’s a bit more than that, lass.”
“How much more?” Maisie asked, her brows crinkling.
“That,” he said while getting to his feet, “I cannae tell ye. But be assured, ye willnae die at our hands, or at all if we can manage it.”
His words were somewhat comforting, but they did not fully quell the upset still resting in her chest.
“Are ye cold, lass?” Oliver asked, “I can give ye more blankets.”
She quirked a brow, “Are ye not afraid I’ll use them to let meself out the window?”
“Ye have more sense than that,” he said. “By now, ye’ve seen that there is nay way ye can escape without mangling yer body on the sharp rocks below there.”
Maisie’s eyes shot to the window then back to him. “I have enough blankets, thank ye.”
“Good,” he nodded, “Take care then, lass, and daenae ye worry yerself too much.”
When he left with the empty tray, Maisie could only draw her knees up to her chin and rest her head in the cradle of her arms. She had no other choice but to ponder what Mister Jamieson’s cryptic words meant. What was more to this than the Barclays deciding to show how wretched and pitiful her clan was…again.
