Page 16 of Captured by a Laird
“Take them to the dungeon,” he ordered. “I shall decide their fate later.”
And now, it was time to tell the lady of the castle hers.
***
Alison’s head throbbed from the clank of swords. And yet she had been unable to tear herself away from the window until Wedderburn defeated every Blackadder warrior willing to raise a sword against him. What in heaven’s name was the point of that display?
Admittedly, she felt some satisfaction when she first looked out of the window and saw Wedderburn fight Walter, the huge, black-haired warrior who refused to deliver her message, and defeat him with lightning speed. The Hume laird exhibited a violent grace with his sword and never showed any sign of tiring, though he fought man after man. He must have grown warm from the effort, however, because after a time he removed his tunic and shirt.
Alison continued watching him as he rinsed off with a bucket at the well in the courtyard. Though he was a vile brute, she understood why other women might sigh over the sight of him shirtless. How different his lean, muscled torso looked from her husband’s. She shuddered at the memory of Blackadder’s sagging belly and his barrel chest covered with gray hair. Praise God she would never have to see her husband’s flesh, feel his touch, or hear his voice again.
She shook off the bitter memories and joined her daughters, who were playing with their rag dolls on the bed as if this were a day like any other. She brushed their hair back from their foreheads and kissed them.
“Did that man hurt you?” she asked them again.
“No, Mama,” they said in unison as they continued their play.
Her children believed the danger was past. They did not understand that they were now at the mercy of a violent man, the Beast of Wedderburn.
When word of their plight reached her brothers, they would come to her rescue with so many Douglas warriors it would not matter how well Wedderburn fought. They would drive him and all the Humes out of Blackadder Castle.
Alison’s task was to make sure that she and her daughters survived until then.
At the sound of the broken door scraping across the floor, she spun around. Alarm shot through her with the force of a lightning bolt as Wedderburn entered her chamber without knocking, as if he had a right to. He looked even more dangerous with his shirt plastered to his damp skin and molded to the muscles of his chest.
His gaze traveled over her slowly, from her head to her toes and back again. “I see you’re feeling better.”
His remark might have seemed civilized, but his eyes had the feral look of a hunter.
“’Tis best we discuss our business alone,” he said with a glance toward Beatrix and Margaret, who had forgotten their dolls and were staring at him wide-eyed.
By “business,” she assumed he meant ransom. She did not want to discuss her daughters’ worth in front of them, so she did not argue.
“I brought the nursemaid,” he said, nodding toward the door, “though I can’t see that she’s much use.”
Alison saw the skirt of Flora’s drab gown through the splintered door.
“She’d be fine if ye hadn’t frightened the poor soul half to death,” Alison said, startling herself with her boldness. “Girls, go with Flora to one of the other chambers.”
Beatrix and Margaret looked at her over their shoulders as they trailed out of the room. Alison attempted to give them a reassuring smile, then swallowed hard when Wedderburn shut the door behind them with a thump.
She was alone with her captor.
CHAPTER 7
Wedderburn’s unwavering stare made Alison feel like a rabbit caught in an open field beneath a circling hawk. When she realized she was still sitting on the bed and leapt to the floor, Wedderburn stopped staring at her long enough to carry a chair from the hearth and bang it down in front of her.
“Sit.”
She had an overwhelming urge to run, like the rabbit when the hawk drops from the sky with its talons out.
“That was not a request,” he said. “We must talk, and I can’t have ye fainting again.”
Escape was impossible, so she sank into the chair and folded her arms across her waist. He pulled the other chair up and sat facing her, uncomfortably close. She scooted back to keep her knees from touching his. If he was trying to intimidate her, he had succeeded.
His silent scrutiny strained her nerves until she had to speak.
“Since ye haven’t murdered me and my daughters, I take it you’ve decided to hold us for ransom.” She licked her dry lips and prayed that he had not merely delayed murdering them. “My family will expect ye to treat us well until the ransom is paid.”
