The Highland Laird's Bride. Nicole Locke
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is wrong with you?’
A hesitation. ‘Nothing that your absence wouldn’t cure.’
She lied. There were dark circles under her bright eyes, the natural angle of her cheekbones sharply exposed because of the hollows of her cheeks.
‘I’ve given you food,’ he said.
‘I took your food.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘But you haven’t eaten it.’
‘What is it to you what happens to it?’
‘Have the others eaten?’
‘Again, I ask, what is it to you what happens to it?’
Too much. He never would have been waiting outside the gates if he thought anyone inside was suffering. ‘Answer me.’
She crossed her arms around her midriff, which outlined the smallness of her frame and...her ribs?
He cursed. ‘You little fool, you haven’t eaten.’
‘Fool? Better a fool than what you’ve become. You didn’t participate at Dunbar. You’re a traitor. So, too, what of your acts for this clan? You probably knew your sister would run away and endanger my father!’
Traitor. He was no traitor, but he’d have to get used to being called one.
‘I could not prevent your father’s death,’ he said instead.
‘I’ll never believe you! Without him, without his protection, just look at what has happened here!’
‘What do you mean what has happened here?’
He knew it. Something worse than poor management had caused the damage here. For the first few days, he questioned the villagers, but they ignored him and his clansmen. So he observed them instead. Their homes were in tatters; the crops were burned. It was too early for the crops to be burned. He thought...he hoped...they harvested early. That the winter supplies of food were locked safely inside the keep. But Lioslath stole food from him and she looked half-starved. She had no food inside the keep. There could be no food anywhere.
This year, he committed more wrongs than he could ever mend. Irvette had died and he’d broken his trust with his sister Gaira. He was committing treason, but not because he hadn’t fought at Dunbar, as Lioslath or any of his fellow countryman believed. Still, he paid the shaming price of it. Now, with the jewel in their hands, his family held another secret and this was far more dangerous than he, than any clan, than a king, could prepare for.
Whilst Malcolm carried the jewel with him, the thought that Bram wasn’t there to protect him weighed heavily on him. And that didn’t end the list of his wrongs.
Although he hadn’t killed Lioslath’s father, Busby would be alive if they hadn’t made their alliance. He might not be able to bring her father back, but he could help this clan prepare for winter. He bore too many wrongs. For once, he would make amends and he would do that here with this clan.
‘Answer me,’ he bit out. He wouldn’t be able to hold back his anger much longer, and if he did, he’d lose control entirely. He never lost control in negotiations.
Something seemed to snap in her as well. ‘Answer you? The all-mighty laird wants me...depends on me...to answer him. You doona deserve my answers.’ Swaying, she unfurled her arms and clenched her fists.
‘You’re not dependable, you doona honour your vows. You want to make amends? You’re too late to make amends!’
She raised her fist. Her intent clear. She didn’t have a dagger, but she would hurt him. She took two steps before her eyes suddenly closed, her legs crumpled beneath her and he rushed to catch her fall.
Jostled, and held too tightly, Lioslath woke. With long strides Bram carried her through the Hall.
He was too close. She noticed the shades of red in his hair, the blonde tips of his eyelashes. She could smell the scent of leather, of outdoors...of him. It was almost as jarring as him carrying her.
‘Put me down.’
‘Nae, you little fool. How long have you been like this? How long did you think you would last?’
Bram cradled her against him as if she was no more than a babe. She shouldn’t have felt him through the layers of clothing, but she did. She felt the hard planes of his chest, and the grace and strength of his legs. His arms had no more give than the rest of him, and yet he held her gently.
She couldn’t remember if she had ever been carried or held like this. He was Laird Colquhoun and his holding her should have felt uninvited and unwelcome. At the very least it should have felt foreign. Instead, he felt...warm.
Fighting the warmth, she turned her head and saw the light through the Hall’s doors. A spike of fear woke her up. ‘Put me down,’ she ordered again.
The keep would wake soon. She didn’t need her two brothers seeing her. At six and five, they would ask too many questions. Her sister, Fyfa, at eight, would think it romantic. Lioslath knew that would be worse.
Brows drawn, Bram didn’t look at her, but she felt the flexing of his fingers against her arm and leg. ‘Not until we reach your bedroom.’
She was too weak to fight him, but she wasn’t too weak to hold herself rigidly. She felt the tightening of his hold and saw his frown, though he ignored her tiny defiance. When he laid her on the bed, she sat up, and his frown deepened.
‘Stay there.’
She wouldn’t take his orders. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘You fainted.’
Forget the room or her siblings, her fainting was the most embarrassing bit of all of this. Worse, because an enemy had seen it and carried her. ‘I didn’t faint—’
He quirked an eyebrow.
‘Or if I did, it’s over with. It’s daylight. The keep will wake soon.’ Her eyes darted around.
‘Your dog stayed in the kitchens. Shouldn’t he be protecting you?’
‘As if you were a threat?’ How did he know she wanted Dog and why wasn’t Dog protecting her? The edges of her vision wavered and she put a hand to her head. ‘You need to leave or you’ll be discovered.’
‘We’re in your room. I’ll take the tunnel.’
By now the platform by the gates would be manned. ‘Someone will see you.’
He tilted his head, studying her. ‘Worried for me?’
Looming over her, he was everything arrogant and domineering. His red hair waved loose to his shoulders, but it didn’t hide the broadness of his jaw or his eyes, which were grey, like the colour of the sky before a storm broke. His sun-browned skin highlighted the soft dusty colour of his lips. His jaw was broad and square. His nose looked as though it had been broken and straightened many times, but it didn’t disfigure his face. In fact, she found this part of him...interesting. It gave him a certain fierceness she wasn’t expecting of the weak-kneed Colquhouns.
Like this, Bram looked like the warrior he was reputed to be.
She felt a fluttering in her stomach and her skin flushed. But was it from hunger or fear? It couldn’t be fear. Her father had been a giant of a man and had ruled the keep with intimidation and punishments. When he loomed over her, never once had she felt this sort of helpless breathlessness before. It must be from hunger.
Bram shook his head. ‘Not worried for me. You’re worried for your tunnel. Why is there a tunnel and room beneath your bedroom?’
He didn’t need to know about the tunnel, or the empty storage room beneath. He didn’t need to know this wasn’t her bedroom. All he needed