remain undefended, then so be it. Send no urgent missives begging me for help when someone lays siege to this place."
"Have no fear of it."
After one last smug smile, Sleat turned and strode away, back down toward the shore, his glowering men following.
If anyone were to attack, 'twould no doubt be Sleat himself. And when he did, Neacal had to make sure his clan was ready to fight.
***
Anna Douglas descended the stairs and entered the great hall of Bearach Castle to break her fast, noticing immediately the servants and MacDonald clansmen were in an uproar. As one of the traveling minstrels who'd arrived a fortnight earlier, she was not a member of the clan and had no right to pry into their business. But she did wonder what was afoot.
Taking a seat on the bench beside Jules, a ginger-haired lad of seventeen who traveled with them and played the flute and other instruments, she asked, "What is happening?"
"The laird disappeared," he whispered. "They wondered if he was taken hostage and were organizing a search party when some other chief named Sleat arrived."
"An enemy?" Anna asked.
Jules shrugged.
"What about the laird?"
No sooner had the words left her mouth than the entry door opened and Chief Neacal MacDonald strode in, his long black hair damp. She could not help that her gaze devoured his tall, lean and muscular form in the belted plaid. He had to be the most beautiful man she had ever seen, despite the jagged scar which marred one side of his face… and his infuriated expression.
His large, shaggy brown dog followed. Clansmen surrounded the chief, asking a hundred questions at once. He answered a couple of them before impatiently moving through the crowd. His stark, blue-eyed gaze darted to Anna and burned into her. Her breath halted. She felt trapped, her secrets and her soul laid bare.
Not stopping, he disappeared up the steps.
"Heavens, he's a strange one," her fellow singer, a matron named Harriet, muttered on her other side.
Anna frowned, her breath slowly returning. "I think he is simply misunderstood," she murmured. No one knew what secrets lurked behind those haunted blue eyes of his. The servants whispered that he'd been tortured by an enemy clan, but she did not know the details.
One part of her craved knowing everything about him, while the other urged her to pack up her meager belongings and leave immediately. Something about him frightened her. 'Twas not that she feared he would physically harm her. Nay, it was in the way he watched her intently when he thought she didn't notice. With those perceptive, intelligent eyes, he might see beneath her surface… he could discover the secrets she hid that no one could ever find out if she wished to live. Her stomach ached so severely she didn't think she could eat, but she forced down a few bites of the porridge.
The mysterious chief had barely spoken to her since she had arrived at Bearach. But why would he? She was naught but one of the five traveling minstrels, hoping to sing for their room and board. Not much better than beggars, in truth, but at least they provided a service wherever they stayed—entertainment. They made people laugh, clap and dance. She was glad to bring people joy, even though she experienced little of it herself.
The laird might order them to leave at any time and they'd have no choice but to do as he bid. They depended upon his hospitality and generosity. She didn't even know whether he enjoyed their music or not. Often, he arose from the table and left the room whilst they were playing, saying not a word to anyone.
At other times, she noticed him staring at her while she sang, his deep blue gaze sharp as the dirk he carried at his belt. He seemed a lethal blade himself at those moments. And his look of raw anguish distracted her so much she had to look away and focus on someone else in order to remember the words of the song.
When she'd sung at his sister's wedding feast a fortnight ago, she'd become aware of
"Have no fear of it."
After one last smug smile, Sleat turned and strode away, back down toward the shore, his glowering men following.
If anyone were to attack, 'twould no doubt be Sleat himself. And when he did, Neacal had to make sure his clan was ready to fight.
***
Anna Douglas descended the stairs and entered the great hall of Bearach Castle to break her fast, noticing immediately the servants and MacDonald clansmen were in an uproar. As one of the traveling minstrels who'd arrived a fortnight earlier, she was not a member of the clan and had no right to pry into their business. But she did wonder what was afoot.
Taking a seat on the bench beside Jules, a ginger-haired lad of seventeen who traveled with them and played the flute and other instruments, she asked, "What is happening?"
"The laird disappeared," he whispered. "They wondered if he was taken hostage and were organizing a search party when some other chief named Sleat arrived."
"An enemy?" Anna asked.
Jules shrugged.
"What about the laird?"
No sooner had the words left her mouth than the entry door opened and Chief Neacal MacDonald strode in, his long black hair damp. She could not help that her gaze devoured his tall, lean and muscular form in the belted plaid. He had to be the most beautiful man she had ever seen, despite the jagged scar which marred one side of his face… and his infuriated expression.
His large, shaggy brown dog followed. Clansmen surrounded the chief, asking a hundred questions at once. He answered a couple of them before impatiently moving through the crowd. His stark, blue-eyed gaze darted to Anna and burned into her. Her breath halted. She felt trapped, her secrets and her soul laid bare.
Not stopping, he disappeared up the steps.
"Heavens, he's a strange one," her fellow singer, a matron named Harriet, muttered on her other side.
Anna frowned, her breath slowly returning. "I think he is simply misunderstood," she murmured. No one knew what secrets lurked behind those haunted blue eyes of his. The servants whispered that he'd been tortured by an enemy clan, but she did not know the details.
One part of her craved knowing everything about him, while the other urged her to pack up her meager belongings and leave immediately. Something about him frightened her. 'Twas not that she feared he would physically harm her. Nay, it was in the way he watched her intently when he thought she didn't notice. With those perceptive, intelligent eyes, he might see beneath her surface… he could discover the secrets she hid that no one could ever find out if she wished to live. Her stomach ached so severely she didn't think she could eat, but she forced down a few bites of the porridge.
The mysterious chief had barely spoken to her since she had arrived at Bearach. But why would he? She was naught but one of the five traveling minstrels, hoping to sing for their room and board. Not much better than beggars, in truth, but at least they provided a service wherever they stayed—entertainment. They made people laugh, clap and dance. She was glad to bring people joy, even though she experienced little of it herself.
The laird might order them to leave at any time and they'd have no choice but to do as he bid. They depended upon his hospitality and generosity. She didn't even know whether he enjoyed their music or not. Often, he arose from the table and left the room whilst they were playing, saying not a word to anyone.
At other times, she noticed him staring at her while she sang, his deep blue gaze sharp as the dirk he carried at his belt. He seemed a lethal blade himself at those moments. And his look of raw anguish distracted her so much she had to look away and focus on someone else in order to remember the words of the song.
When she'd sung at his sister's wedding feast a fortnight ago, she'd become aware of
Similar Books
Smoke and Mirrors
Ella Skye
Hold Love Strong
Matthew Aaron Goodman
The Chocolate Book Bandit
JoAnna Carl
Stitches and Stones
Chloe Taylor
All Things Beautiful
Cathy Maxwell
What Binds Us
Larry Benjamin
Up Your Score
Larry Berger & Michael Colton, Michael Colton, Manek Mistry, Paul Rossi, Workman Publishing
When I Kill You
Michelle Wan
Riding the Black Cockatoo
John Danalis