Highland Captive. Hannah Howell

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      “Ye dinnae think something ails her, do ye?”

      “I never thought on that. I will ask her brother,” Parlan said even as he strode from the room.

      While he was gone, Lagan studied the girl. She was flat on her back with her legs and arms flung out. Her long fingers were lightly curled toward her upturned palms in a soft childlike gesture. Nearly obscured by her mass of hair which seemed to fill each empty space on the bed, her face was turned sideways. Lagan had reached the decision that she really was quite lovely when Parlan returned.

      “When he could stop laughing, Leith said she does this when she has overworked herself.”

      “Ah. Weel, she certainly had a busy day yesterday. I have never seen a woman sleep in such a position.”

      “Nay?” Parlan frowned in thought. “I have never noticed.”

      “Ye need to sleep with them to notice how they sleep,” Lagan drawled. “Once ye are done ye send them on their way.”

      Not really sure why he had not done the same with Aimil, Parlan made no comment. “Weel? What is odd about the way she sleeps?”

      “Aside from the fact that she looks as if she was dealt a sound blow to the jaw? Women tend to sleep on their sides, curled up a wee bit.”

      Shrugging, Parlan began to dress, murmuring, “She is betrothed.”

      “I am little surprised by that news. Are ye saying there will be an enraged fiancé coming to face you?”

      “Nay, I doubt this man will come to face me though I would sore like it if he did. She is to wed Rory Fergueson at summer’s end.”

      Lagan whistled softly, aware of Parlan’s hatred for the man. “Pity. He will break the spirit of the lass.”

      “That bastard will break more than that. He will kill her in the end. I cannae let that happen. Aye”—he held up a hand when Lagan began to speak—“I ken the problems. Her brother and I chewed them over verra weel last night.”

      “I would have thought all that lad would wish to say to ye is how and when he is going to kill ye.”

      “Aye, but he is a practical lad and nae hotheaded. He also cares for his sister and doesnae want this marriage. For that goal, we have formed an alliance. I have given much thought on how to make the ransoming take a long time. I shall ask for coin, only coin and a lot of it.”

      “There is a fair shortage of that. Aye, it could take a long time, a verra long time for it to be gathered. During which time?”

      “I cannae be sure. T’will give the lad time to speak with his father and Rory Fergueson time to expose himself for the beast that he is.”

      “Depending on how strongly he wants the girl or the marriage he could come after ye.”

      “God’s teeth, I hope he does, but the man is a low coward. He scampers into a hole at the first scent of danger. He kens that I willnae risk outlawry by killing him without just cause.” He looked down at the sleeping Aimil. “I cannae knowingly hand him a lass, not when I ken what he does to them.”

      “I feel the same, Parlan, but ye arenae her laird and ye cannae hold her forever. She is a Mengue.”

      “I have no real quarrel with the Mengues. Weel, not until now.” He flashed a grin at Lagan who laughed and shook his head. “I could mend that and keep her from Rory Fergueson at the same time,” he continued slowly. “I could wed the lass.”

      “Dinnae tell me ye love the lass?”

      “Nay, but, at least thus far, I like her and there hasnae been a woman I could say that about for more years than I care to ponder. She is of good family and nae hard to look upon. She was a virgin. I will have Old Meg take note of it before I decide to take that route. I will have none question it.”

      “It seems a drastic step to take.”

      “I must wed someday and I have met no other I even wanted to consider. I am eight and twenty, and many another my age has been wed a few years with a family started. In truth, the decision may already be made for I may have already begun my family.”

      “Jesu,” Lagan whispered, shocked, for Parlan had always been as careful as a man could be in preventing such a thing. “I am not sure that was verra wise,” he ventured after a moment.

      “I wasnae concerned with wisdom. Nay, I didnae have a thought in my head save to go the full length. ’Tis another reason the idea of wedding her came into my head. For months now I have found little pleasure with the ladies and wenches.”

      “But ye found it here?”

      “Aye. Tenfold. I will wait though to see if it wanes.”

      “It could be that she was untouched. Being the first can make a man feel verra possessive.”

      “I ken that. ’Tis another reason I will wait to see. I am not so old I must rush to wed and I willnae tie myself to a lass who neither interests me nor pleasures me. I will suffer no empty marriage. Have ye seen Artair?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

      “Aye, I saw his back as he rode out of the gates with three men for escort.”

      “Do ye ken where he hies to?”

      “Aberdeen. I think he means to hole up there until he feels your temper has cooled.”

      “’Tis best. Curse it, I have failed with that lad.”

      “Nay, he has failed by his own doing. He is but twenty. He may yet get set upon a straighter course. Many a youth has seemed lost only to turn to the better as age sharpens their wits. The lady stirs.”

      Aimil’s eyes opened suddenly giving both men a start. She was not awake yet, however. The heaviness of her exhaustion still clouded her mind and weighted her limbs. She looked about in sleepy confusion.

      “What are ye doing in my chambers?” she demanded in a voice husky with sleep.

      “These are my chambers,” Parlan corrected with a soft laugh.

      Rubbing the sleep from her eyes in a childlike gesture, she looked around again. “Oh. What am I doing in your chambers?”

      “Ah, how quickly they forget,” Parlan mourned, casting a laughing glance at a grinning Lagan.

      Bright color flooded her cheeks as memories of the night rushed into her mind. “’Tis easy to forget the little things in life.”

      Lagan clamped a hand over his mouth but it did not stifle all of his laughter, and Parlan sighed. “Ye wound me sorely, mistress.”

      “I doubt much can pierce that thick hide,” she grumbled, then grimaced over the small discomfort her introduction to passion had left her with. “T’would it be possible for me to have a bath?”

      Parlan astutely guessed the cause of her grimace. “Aye, I will have Old Meg see to it and to restoking the fire in here.”

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