Page 36 of Secrets of a Kilted Seduction

John’s miserable visage suddenly brightened. “She’s here?”

“Aye, and she daesnae have a very high opinion of ye fer abandonin’ her and her maither all those years ago,” Blaine said, gloatingly.

“But I didnae abandon them! Ye ken well I’ve been searchin’ fer them fer years,” John cried.

“I told her that, ye old fool, but I dinnae think she believed me. She thinks ye banished her maither when ye found out she was expectin’ yer child.”

“Oh, Lord, that’s nae what happened at all,” John cried in obvious distress. “I need a chance tae explain things tae her, tae make her understand she was wanted by her faither.”

Blaine ignored this and said bluntly, “Oh, and another thing; yer old mistress died these two years past it seems.”

John gasped; fresh pain etched on his ravaged face. “Ella is dead?”

“That’s what I just said. Are ye deaf?” Blaine retorted irritably.

“Well, that’s a great blow. God bless her soul, may she rest in peace kennin’ that I truly loved her,” John said mournfully. But his look of sadness soon turned to one of eagerness as he asked, “What about me daughter? What about Alana? What’s she like? Is she well?”

“She’s very well. And she’s right bonny too,” Blaine replied. He taunted his father with a lascivious grin as he made an obscene gesture with his hands, sketching a shapely woman’s curves in the air. “In fact, she’s such a beauty, ’tis hard tae believe she’s yer blood, ye ugly old fool.”

“I need tae see, her, tae talk tae her. Let me see her!” the laird begged.

Blaine scoffed. “Now ye ken that’s nae gonnae happen. ’Tis tragic indeed, but

she’s never gonnae meet her faither. But since she’s lived without ye all these years, I dinnae suppose she’ll miss ye too much.”

John’s face creased in fury. “Curse, ye, ye evil, ungrateful wee bastard. When I get out of here, I’ll hang ye mesel’ from the battlements,” he snarled, clenching his fists and throwing himself at Blaine.

But he was weakened by his incarceration, and despite their difference in height, it was easy for Blaine to kick him in the belly and send him sprawling to the floor once more. He lay there, groaning in pain and clutching his midriff. When he could breathe again and dragged himself to a sitting position, he rasped out, “Dinnae hurt her. Swear tae me, ye’ll nae hurt her.”

“I’ll swear naethin’ tae a dead man. Anyway, why would I want tae hurt her, ye old dummart? I’m gonnae marry her,” Blaine told him, pleased to see the shock on his father’s face.

“Marry her?”

“Aye, of course. Who is tae say that if ye ever found yer daughter, that ye would nae change yer mind about me bein’ yer heir if ye were nae locked away in the dungeons? Yer adopted son marries yer illegitimate daughter. What could be more perfect? Her blood will legitimize me new position as laird around here. Ye should be happy. Yer succession is solid. Me sons will rule after me, proudly continuin’ the line of MacIvers intae the future.”

“Ye bastard. Ye intend tae use her tae consolidate yer stolen lairdship?”

“What good is she fer anythin’ else?” Blaine asked scathingly. Then he added ruefully, half to himself, “There’s a small fly in the ointment though.”

“What are ye talkin’ about. What fly?” his father asked, struggling to stand.

“She already has a husband. Or at least they claim tae be wed. I ken they’re lyin’ though.”

John gave a hissing laugh. “So, ye cannae wed her then if she’s already wed tae another man. That’s put an end tae yer evil scheme, eh?”

Blaine looked at him and laughed. “Ye really have lost yer wits, old man. ’Tis a cryin’ shame fer yer lassie that she’s never gonnae meet her faither, and she’s soon tae become a widow too.”

“Ye mean tae kill her husband, is that it, ye fiend? I’m ashamed that the man I raised would stoop so low,” John cried in obvious disgust.

“Of course. Was it nae yersel’ who taught me that when there’s an obstacle in the way, ye remove it, Faither?”

“I didnae mean cold-blooded murder, ye poisonous snake in the grass,” John shouted.

“Thank ye, comin’ from ye, I take that as a compliment. Anyway, I must leave ye now. I’ve many better things tae be doin’ than stand here gossipin’ with an old fool like ye. Wooin’ Alana fer one.”

He rummaged in his coat pocket and pulled out a small package wrapped in oiled paper. He threw it down on the straw. “There’s some scraps in there fer ye. Enjoy yer supper.”

Turning his back on his father, he strode out of the cell, slamming and locking the door behind him. “Goodnight tae ye, Faither. Sleep well,” he called over his shoulder. Enjoying his own wit, he retraced his steps back up the secret staircase to his chambers, pleased with the way his plan was going.