Page 62 of Highlander’s Captive

She studied him, his straight jaw working on the bread, the thoughtful eyes looking far into the distance. There was always a hint of sadness behind them, something dark he’d been hiding. She wanted to know his depths, what made him the man he was. And then she remembered why he hated the MacDougalls.

Craig had said, I dinna wish for ye to feel what my sister felt. That must mean the MacDougalls had locked her up.

So locking people away was in her family, she thought darkly. Her father locked her up. Her ancestors locked up Craig’s sister.

“I overheard someone saying that was where your sister was kidnapped,” Amy said.

It was a bit of a gamble, to assume she was kidnapped.

Craig stopped chewing and seemed to hold his breath, then glanced at her, frowning. “Aye. Right near the castle. She went out with her maid to gather flowers. The maid came back alone, screaming.”

Pain shot through Amy’s chest as it tightened. She shook her head. “Poor girl, your sister.”

“’Tis why I canna understand why yer father let ye go wandering with just one man to protect ye and then alone. Because fair maidens walking alone in the woods tend to be snatched away by the boorish.”

Amy inhaled. What barbaric times.

“What’s her name, your sister?”

“Dinna ye see her while she was at Dunollie?”

Amy cleared her throat. She’d have to pretend again. “No.”

“Marjorie. Were ye not there when we freed her? I remember climbing into yer mother’s room, and there were several lads and lasses—were ye not among them?”

Amy looked down. “No. I was in Ireland.”

“Aye. Well. ’Tis good ye were not there. Are ye not angry I killed yer brother?”

Craig had killed Amy’s brother… She swallowed. The Amy MacDougall from this century would have known that.

“Was he responsible for the kidnapping?” she said.

“Ye truly dinna ken anything?” He narrowed his eyes.

She shook her head.

He sighed. “I suppose ’tis nae something a family is proud of. Alasdair didna just kidnap her, Amy. He held her prisoner and raped her. All because she refused his hand in marriage.”

Cold shock covered Amy’s body from head to toe. Raped…held prisoner…

By one of the great MacDougall ancestors her grandfather was so proud of. A pride he had instilled in her as a child. She now understood why Craig hated the MacDougalls so much. Shame ignited her cheeks and neck. Poor girl.

“Aye, I killed Alasdair when our clan came to free Marjorie. Yer father surely revenged him two years later by killing Ian.”

“Ian?”

“Aye. My cousin. Yer family killed him when our clans were in a battle and never gave us back the body. Were ye absent for so long? I sometimes think ye dinna ken these things at all, and yet I’m sure yer clan seethes from hate and fury at us. Nae?”

Amy exhaled. “Like I said, I’m not your enemy, Craig. I haven’t done any of those things.”

“Aye. True. Ye havna. ’Tis still hard to believe ye turned out so different from yer father. From yer brother.”

Her father… She surely hoped she didn’t have anything in common with that man. Maybe the Amy MacDougall who was really from this century understood what Amy felt. A father who could allow his son to kidnap and rape a woman—he was as guilty as his son.

“I understand a little of how your sister must have felt,” she said.

“What?” Craig’s head shot up, his eyes blazing. “Ye were raped? Who—”