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9
Murdoch stepped forward to pick up the bow, and Keira backed away, assuming that he was going to aim it at her, but instead, he laid it on the ground, then broke the arrow in half before picking up the quiver and setting it aside. He produced a flask of ale from his backpack and offered it to her.
“You look very pale,” he observed, then he twitched a smile. “I do not know which of us is more shocked.”
For a moment Keira hesitated, then she took it from him, nodding her thanks. She had not realized how thirsty she was until that moment. She drank a few mouthfuls, then passed it back to him.
Murdoch sat down opposite her, drinking the ale, then he spoke again.
“You are an enigma to me, mistress.” His voice sounded puzzled, and he was frowning but avoiding her eyes. “You give off the impression of being so calm and collected, yet when you use your bow, the look on your face tells me that you have passionate depths. In fact, you look as if you are trying to kill someone. Moreover, when you look at your father, it seems as though you hate him. Is that who you are murdering in your mind?”
“My father has given me plenty of reasons to hate him,” Keira replied bitterly. “He is the most selfish and dishonest man I have ever met, and he…he…”
She was about to tell him about the death of her mother but decided to keep it to herself for the moment. She hardly knew him, after all. She stuttered into silence.
Murdoch did not push the point. “You certainly are a good archer,” he observed. “Who taught you that skill?”
“I have been doing archery since I was ten years old,” she replied. “One of the guards took pity on me because I had no playmates, and he began to teach me. He put up that old target there.” She nodded toward the tree. “He was killed in battle, but I was able to carry on practicing by myself. I pride myself on being quite skillful now.”
The whole story was a work of fiction, but it was convincing enough for Murdoch to believe.
At that moment, a shaft of sunlight broke through the trees and illuminated Keira’s neck and shoulders, which he had not been able to see in the dappled shadows. Now a pattern of bruises that exactly matched the spacing of four fingers and a thumb was clearly visible. Shocked, Murdoch bent forward to look more closely at the injury, and instinctively he knew whose fingerprints had been responsible for the marks. It was obvious that someone had been trying to choke Keira, perhaps to death.
“Who gave you these bruises, mistress?” Murdoch demanded angrily, glaring at the marks. “Whoever it is, they should be horsewhipped. Tell me and I will make sure they pay for their cruelty.”
All his life, Murdoch had despised men who used violence, especially violence against women, to settle their scores. To him, the fact that men were bigger and stronger made it his duty to protect women, not harm them.
“I was not aware of any bruises.” Keira touched her neck, then gave a groan of pain. She flushed with anger again as she realized that the staff and the guards would be able to see the telltale marks. How would she be able to explain them away? Yet perhaps the truth was already obvious to them and they were keeping quiet out of respect.
She sighed. “My father gave them to me. He was angry with me about some…situation. This is his way of expressing himself. You are right. He should be horsewhipped.” Her voice was bitter.
Murdoch was aghast as he stared at the bruises. They were still faint, but in a few days they would become deep purple and very difficult to hide. He felt helpless, and his first instinct was to find the laird and beat him senseless.
“Any man who strikes a woman is not a man at all,” he growled, then tried to think of something practical. “Is there not some cosmetic you can use to hide them?” he asked. He knew little about such things.
“Of course,” she replied quickly. She did not want to delve into the matter any further because it was too upsetting. “I have many such preparations. Don’t worry on my behalf.”
“I must tell you something.” He looked away from her into the forest. “There is a rumor that your father killed your mother. Have you heard about that?”
“I would rather not speak of it!” she snapped angrily. “It is my family’s business.”
“I understand.” He nodded slowly. “Forgive me for upsetting you and making your day worse. It was not my intention.”
Keira was staring at her hands, trying to wish herself into a peaceful place where only she and her mother existed. No one else in her world had ever meant so much to her, not even Moira.
“Mistress?” Murdoch’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up, straight into a pair of leaf-green eyes. He looked as if he had been about to say something, but now he seemed mesmerized as though something about her had captured his attention and would not let it go.
For her part, Keira stared back, looking just as stunned as he did. What was this current that kept passing between them? She did not have enough experience of men to understand, but her body knew. Every nerve in her body was tingling, and her secret place was throbbing in a way that she found unsettling but delightful.
She wanted him. Moira had explained the way desire worked on a woman’s body, what everything meant, and where it led. What would it be like with this man who epitomized the word masculine? It was in the depth of his voice, the power in his body, and his roughly drawn but extremely handsome features.
“Being with yer husband can be the most wonderful thing in the world, hen,” Moira had said as she brushed Keira’s hair one morning. “Or the most miserable thing if ye are wi’ the wrong man.”
“Like Adaira and my father,” Keira had said gloomily. “I pity that poor young lady every day.”
“But it doesnae have tae be like that wi’ ye an’ the man who is lucky enough tae marry ye.” Keira could hear the smile in her voice. “Me and my Alec were happy for thirty years before he passed, an’ I still miss him.”
Keira put her hand over Moira’s. “I hope I find such happiness,” she said sadly, because she knew of no one in the upper classes who had been so fortunate. Most ladies merely did their duty and produced baby after baby for the clan. A few even loathed their husbands.
