“I be coming in.”
He lifted the bar, his ears still reaching for any sound. What if he found her lying on the floor? Head wounds, as he knew, could prove treacherous. And she’d been struck hard.
If she died, her sister would want his blood. Both of her sisters would.
The chamber came into view, filled with afternoon sunlight. Saerla MacBeith stood at the window, her arms wrapped around her slender body, and her hair a nimbus of red-gold.
By God, what a mane the woman had!
She turned when the door swung open and looked at him. Her eyes…
He got his first good look at them, her face flooded as it was with light. Blue they were, but not a deep blue like those of Leith’s woman. These were the color of the mist that gathered over the loch on a frosty morning. Framed by thick brown lashes, they seemed to look not at but into him. Past skin. Past bone. Past the man he presented to the world.
A breath whispered into his chest. At least he found her alive.
“Mistress.”
She finished turning toward him, one of her hands moving to wriggle inside her shirt. “Wha’ d’ye want?”
Her voice carried an edge, aye, and also a thread of something more. Longing, perhaps. Had she been standing atthe window wishing for home? He told himself he did not care. She was a commodity only. He had no time for soft feelings.
He stepped in and shut the door behind him. “I came to see whether ye ha’ benefited from your sister’s visit.”
“Aye.” She tipped up her chin. It was small and pointed. She looked like one of the magical beings from the old stories he’d heard when a boy—a fairy, maybe. Fairies, as he remembered, were often treacherous. “Will ye allow me to see her again?”
Rory did not know how he might prevent it. Rhian would make a terrible fuss. So would she, no doubt. Saerla.
“Saerla.” He said it aloud.
She raised her eyebrows, the expression in her eyes turning to ice.
“I will no’ keep your sister fro’ tending ye. The wound on your head—how dire is it?”
“Dire?” she repeated. “D’ye care, Master MacLeod?”
“Chief. I am Chief MacLeod. And to be sure, ye be a captive o’ some worth. ’Tis the other thing I came to tell ye. I ha’ sent a letter to the Chief MacBeith, stating my demands.”
“Your demands.”
“Aye. Wha’ I require in return for your release. I ha’ no doubt she will respond soon enough, and ye will be turned free out o’ here.”
“Wha’ demands are these?”
“That remains between the Chief MacBeith and me.”
She drew a breath that expanded her narrow chest. “And if she does no’ meet your demands?”
“She will.” For just one blessed moment, he let his gaze rove over her. The cloud of hair. The delicate face. “She will want ye back.” Anyone would.
“My sister, Master MacLeod, is devoted to her clan and will act for the greater good o’ all.”
“She will not.” The woman must be in a fine panic, having her sister snatched into the hands of the monster they all deemed him. He expected full capitulation by morning. Then he would send Saerla MacBeith away. He might see her again, aye, when he took possession of his new holdings. He might even live at MacBeith for a time in order to exert his control. Allow them to learn their places.
He would see her then.
“They say ye be a Seer.” It was not what he’d intended to remark. It just came out of him without warning.
She gave a hard, grudging nod.
