Page 80 of Sins of the Highlander

She wiggled quickly out of the borrowed finery and draped it with care on the ornately carved trunk to which it would be returned. Shivering, she slipped on the fresh chemise that Aileen had left draped across the foot of the bed next to a warm bed shawl.

The linen was frail and the lace at the bodice yellowed with age, but it would serve.

She had no desire to climb into the thick feather tick yet, though it looked inviting. The room smelled much sweeter since the linens had been changed and the mattress aired. The window was still propped open slightly, but the glowing braziers weren’t keeping up with the cold that rushed in with the fresh air.

Elspeth wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, walked over to the window, and looked out, hugging herself against the breath of winter. Fires from her father’s encampment dotted the plain beyond the curtain wall, hundreds of men intent on freeing her from Rob’s imprisonment.

Of course, some of the men were Lachlan’s, but she wasn’t sure why he was even here. He couldn’t claim to love her. He didn’t even know her. Drummond could have arrayed his fighting men against Rob only out of a sense of insult to his own honor, not hers.

But even after all that had happened, her father was here because he loved her. She was surer of that than of the beating of her own heart. Her longing to see someone she was certain loved her made her chest ache.

Even if Albus would allow her to leave her room, she wondered if she’d be brave enough to slip into the chapel, pry up the flooring under the altar, and steal out through the secret entrance to Caisteal Dubh all alone.

Hamish was right. The only way to resolve this crisis short of bloodshed was for her to leave.

Which was why Rob put her under guard, she realized. Just in case she should decide to flee. He wanted the coming fight, and he wouldn’t be denied. There wasn’t a pinch of forgiveness in him.

“Ye bloody-minded man,” she muttered.

She looked into the bailey at the cobbles far below. Her belly clenched at the sheer drop. Fiona MacLaren had willingly taken just such a long fall, never knowing what her action would set in motion.

What misery drove her to that awful choice? Elspeth wondered if Fiona repented that last step as she fell to her death. Did she cry out for mercy as the ground rose to meet her? Or did she fly into eternity with her lips closed and her eyes wide open?

Elspeth’s heart pounded. She wouldn’t make the same choice. She may have behaved stupidly with Robin MacLaren, but she’d not compound the pain for her parents by adding to their grief. She stepped back from the window and closed the wooden shutters tight, blocking out the night.

Maybe Fiona thought taking her own life was the only way to prove Lachlan Drummond had raped her. Or maybe she couldn’t bear to live with the memories of what had happened to her. Or had she gone mad and was incapable of choice?

There was no way to know what had buzzed in her brain at the last. Perhaps that was why Rob was so obsessed with avenging her. He didn’t know why. Could never know why.

And killing Drummond seemed the only way to still his wife’s ghost.

Her head ached. She wondered if that meant she was about to be visited by her Gift or if she was just tired of thinking so hard.

She padded to the big bed, drew back the coverlet, and climbed in. The linens were icy, and there was no one to place heated stones at her feet. She might ask for whatever she pleased, Rob had said, but not if she was no better than a prisoner.

She curled into a tight ball and covered her head, trying to warm the space with her own breath. Between breaths, she heard a soft scraping sound, like stone moving on stone. She peered over the top of the coverlet to see the tapestry on the wall opposite her bed bulge out. The corner lifted, and a figure stepped from behind it, exposing a dark opening in the stone itself.

Her breath hissed over her teeth.

“Hush, leannán,” came a whisper. “’Tis only me.”

She sat upright. “Rob?”

“Who else were ye expecting, lass?” he whispered back. Rob walked toward the bed, peeling off his plaid as he came. “I wasn’t sure the doorway from the laird’s chamber to this one still worked. It hasna been tried since my father’s time, ye ken, but the workmanship was solid, and the lever still moved the stone.”

“What are ye doing here?” She lay back down and pulled the covers up to her nose.

His smile flashed white even in the dim light of the braziers. “That should be obvious.” He pulled off his boots and stockings, unbelted his kilt, and let it drop to the floor. He stood by the side of her bed in just his thigh-length shirt with his hands fisted on his waist. “I’m come to bed my beloved.”

“No,” she hissed, mindful of Albus outside her door.

He frowned down at her. “What d’ye mean ‘no’?”

“I mean unless ye intend to tie me down, there’ll be no bedding, my lord.”

“That sounds like a good game. We’ll use the cords holding back the bed curtains, aye?” He pulled down the coverlet and climbed in with her. “Ye surprise me, lass. I didna think ye were so adventurous.”

“D’ye want me to scream?” she asked, shocked that he didn’t seem the least deterred.