* * *
The words hung in the cool air between them. The girl believed them wholeheartedly, Darragh realized as he studied her. Their rescue didn’t seem like one to her; it was simply an intrusion.
Taking a small step back, he tried again, asking, “What do they call ye?”
“Who are ye to ask?” she retorted, unflinching despite the bags beneath her eyes or the straw at her feet that had been flattened from sleepless nights.
“Ye’re correct, lass,” he said after a beat, realizing that he had no right to claim he was here for her safety. This had been the tower that he’d delegated to his men weeks ago when the hunt ended. “Ye daenae ken who I am.”
The girl stared up at him with poorly concealed contempt. Her chin was held high as though she were challenging him. She said, “It’s rude to ask for someone’s name without givin’ yer own.”
“I am Laird Darragh Fraser of Clan Fraser,” he said, his voice steady. “I am the chief of these lands.”
The expression on her face didn’t falter. If anything, the clear distrust deepened, her grey-green eyes narrowing. She exhaled harshly, blowing a strand of unkept brown hair from in front of her face.
“I will see ye cared for now,” he told her firmly, a promise to both the girl and himself. He’d make up for inadvertently prolonging her suffering. “I’m removin’ yer chains now. I’m goin’ to take ye somewhere with food and water and a bed that’s nae made of dry straw.”
He didn’t wait for a response, knowing that he wasn’t going to get one anyway. Grabbing a loose stone he’d spotted when he walked in, he positioned himself next to the anchor on the wall. In one precise, powerful strike, he dislodged the iron piece.
Almost immediately upon being freed, she lurched forward. Darragh was ready for it, though. He grabbed onto the chain, feeling nearly as bad as the men who’d put her in this place when he stopped her flight. As he rushed to her side, steadying her to keep her from falling, he dropped the iron. It fell to the floor with a resounding clatter.
For a long moment, the only sound was the nameless woman’s labored breathing. She glared at the ground, her disdain palpable, but she didn’t try to free herself from his hold even though he was sure that she had at least one more attempt in her. Her energy was animalistic, feral. He’d seen trapped prey perform feats that seemed impossible.
“I told ye that I would be overseein’ yer care,” he said firmly, though not unkindly. “I cannae do that if ye run off. And even if ye did manage to get away, how would ye get those cuffs off yer wrists?”
“I would find a way,” she said, her tone guarded, her expression unreadable. “Or perhaps I’d just live with them.”
“Aye, I’m sure ye would,” Darragh said as he began to walk her toward the door, inclining his head at his gathered guards, wordlessly instructing them to get out of the way. “But me men have tools that will get them off. I’m sure that ye’ll be much more comfortable without those.”
She made a sound of acknowledgment, her feet dragging with each step they took. Her chin remained high, her back straight, as they passed the guard who remained on the stairs. This, it seemed, was the closest he’d get to agreement from her.
“Ye will,” Darragh said, his voice barely audible above the sound of the chain dragging behind them, “tell me yer name eventually, lass.”
“I will tell ye what I wish to tell ye,” she said, clipped, but Darragh noticed there was a lightness in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
I daenae think it’s trust, but if she’s brightened up at the prospect of a hot meal and a bit of relief from this place, that’s a victory.
“One of ye,” Darragh said, turning back to the guards who were stationed at the top of the tower’s stairs, “send word to Laird McGowan. One last woman has been found, and I’ve ensured that the land is now clear. There are nae more remnants of the hunt here.”
Chapter Two
Once the rescue camp came into view, the girl at his side began to walk faster. Her eyes were locked on the orderly rows of tents and the efficiency with which Darragh’s men were working. If he were to guess, she was motivated by the savory scent of stew and fresh bread wafting from the center of the camp.
“I ken ye want to get yer meal,” he said, his hand tightening on her shoulder where it had been resting the entire walk here, “but we’ll be makin’ a quick stop to get these cuffs off of ye.”
“I can eat with them,” she argued, desperation in her eyes, her body seeming even more frail in the moment.
“It’s on the way,” he promised, already guiding her toward the blacksmith’s tent. The man had come along to lend a hand in restoring stability to the area and had the wherewithal to bring his tools along. “If these arenae off of ye within three minutes, I will let ye eat first.”
The girl didn’t answer, but the grimace that affixed itself to her lips spoke louder than any words. She was allowing this, but she would hold him to the three minutes he’d allotted.
She’s probably already countin’ them in her head.
The blacksmith worked quickly, having already pulled out the snips when he caught sight of the two of them walking forward. His work lacked finesse, though. The solid metal pressed into her wounds, making the woman hiss with discomfort. Notably, she didn’t complain, taking her wrists back as soon as she was free.
“Thank ye,” Darragh said before leading her away.
They attracted glances as they walked through the camp. No eyes lingered too long, all of them seeming to sense that Darragh would not allow any distractions. If they had questions, they could raise them when he wasn’t escorting an emaciated woman toward their makeshift mess hall.
