Highlander’s Broken Love by Fiona Faris
Chapter Four
Elisabeth had been trying for some time to see what was going on, but, from her position in a cage pushed to the far side of the camp, she had a poor view. She had watched with interest the ruckus that had occurred with the incomers, yet, with half of what they said being spoken in Gaelic, she hadn’t understood what had passed.
All she could really gather was that the new arrival used to belong to this clan, and may even have a claim to the lairdship, but he no longer wanted it. That didn’t explain why he was dressed in rags though.
She kept darting her eyes back to the tent where he had gone with three other men, plus the balding man he had arrived with. When they eventually did reappear, it was to sit round a fire. The two guards that had seemingly attached themselves to the incomer bore sad faces as they took their seats by the fire. The incomer selected food from a plate he was offered, then he lifted his eyes to her.
Just as before, when his eyes found hers, she nearly flinched at the power of his glance. Even at this distance, she could tell that he had dark eyes and that there was an intensity in them. He must have spoken of her, for he pointed at her and talked to some of the men around him. There were a couple of minutes of conversation, then he picked up a second plate and added some more food to it. After that, he began to walk toward her.
He didn’t take his eyes off her, the entire way. She mirrored the strength of his gaze and clutched the bars of her cage a little tighter. When he arrived in front of her, she was breathing a little heavier than normal.
Up close, he was even more handsome than she had first thought. He had cleaned up, too. His chestnut brown hair was damp from being washed. There was no longer any trace of dirt on his skin, and he wore smart clothes that he must have borrowed from someone else. His legs were clothed in dark tartan trews, and his torso was wrapped in a black shirt, covered by a deep brown waistcoat.
She didn’t say anything as he stopped in front of her, just stared at him through the bars of the cage. To her surprise, he raised his eyebrows at her.
“Ye stare a lot,” he remarked. Feeling ashamed, she leaned her forehead on the bars and looked down.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “there isn’t much else to do here.”
“English?” he asked.
“Yes,” she nodded and lifted her head to him again.
“Who are ye?” he asked. Elisabeth hesitated before answering. She was already hated around here because of who her father was; she found the name dying on her tongue.
“A general’s daughter, that is all. They took me from near the border.”
“Then ye have had a journey. Ye best eat somethin’.” He pushed the plate toward her, just stopping beyond the bars.
Elisabeth froze in surprise. So far, no one had shown her any kindness, and no one had offered her food. She looked between him and the plate.
“I didnae do anythin’ to the food if that’s what ye think,” he said quietly.
“It’s just…” she paused and looked away from him. Across the camp, outside the largest of the tents, she could see Laird Grier beside a fire, watching them intently. “I do not think he’ll like it if you give me food.”
“Who’s he?”
“The Laird,” she pointed toward Laird Grier. The stranger turned away, following her gaze before turning back and offering a small smile.
“Then it’s a good job he doesnae frighten me,” he pushed the plate toward her once more. “Come on, eat somethin’.”
She reached beyond the bars and took the plate. It was small enough that if she held it at a slight angle, she could pull it through the bars, just managing to keep the food on the plate. It consisted mostly of bread, ham and cheese, and she tucked in, so ravenous that even though the food was common, it seemed to her to be the most delicious meal she had ever tasted.
After eating a few hunks of cheese, she looked up, seeing he was now leaning on the bars nearby, watching her.
“What is your name?” she asked. When he looked startled by her question, she hurried to explain herself. “I’d like to know who it is I should be thanking for the food,” she spoke so quickly that she felt she was prattling. She blushed with embarrassment, hanging her head a little.
“Ian,” he explained. “And yours?”
“Elisabeth,” she answered and looked up again. “You do not know who I am then?”
“Nay,” he said, concentrating on his own food. “An English hostage me uncle has taken. That is all I ken.”
“Then…” she paused and held up the plate. “Ye didnae do this to appease me?” she asked, gesturing at the food. It was a thought that struck her hard. If she ever got out of this place, her father would want to punish those who harmed her; she didn’t doubt it. Perhaps Ian was just being kind to her in order to curry favor.
“Appease ye?” he looked confused by this. “Listen, I daenae ken who ye are, lass, but ye looked hungry. I merely brought a hungry lass some food.” He explained and bit into another bite of bread.
Elisabeth relaxed a little for the first time since she had arrived. She leaned on the other side of the bars nearby to him, eating the pieces of ham he had given her.
“What happened earlier?” she asked, noticing how his eyebrows knitted together. “I do not understand Gaelic. When you arrived, it seemed to cause quite a stir.”
“That it did,” he agreed. “Let’s just say, me uncle is nae pleased to see me back.”
“Why not?” she asked, her eyes flicking to Laird Grier, whose eyes kept turning in their direction.
“I could claim the lairdship if I wanted to,” Ian said, drawing her gaze back, “but I daenae want to.”
“Why not?” she asked again, only this time he stopped eating and stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Ah, I am sorry. That was a little too personal to ask, wasn’t it?” To her surprise, he chuckled. The sound was strangely warming. It was such a stark contrast with the sharpness of his features, that it rather lit up his face. She found herself leaning into the bars, the better to hear him chuckle. “What did I say to make you laugh?”
“It’s just,” he shrugged, “ye are trapped in a cage, and ye are worried about askin’ impertinent questions? Forgive me for sayin’ so, but the preoccupation with politeness is rather English.” Realizing he was teasing her, she flashed a smile that made his heart skip a beat.
“Is it so wrong to be polite?”
“Are ye bothered about bein’ polite in this situation?” he gestured to the cage.
“You have a point,” she agreed with a nod. She finished her last slice of bread and looked down at the empty plate, somewhat disappointed to find it empty so quickly.
“Here, take this,” his hand came through the bars, and he deposited more food onto the plate.
“You don’t need to do that.” She tried to pick up the bread and return it to him.
“Ye are hungry.”
“Aren’t you?” she asked. “I heard earlier someone say something about you having come from a prison.”
“Aye, and I am hungry,” he agreed. “But I can go back to the fire and ask for more. Ye cannae.” His hand took hold of hers through the bars as she tried to return the bread. He had a firm grasp, yet it was warm too. Elisabeth held her breath as he touched her. “Keep it.” When his hand released hers, she missed its warmth.
“Thank you,” she smiled and lifted the bread to nibble at the edges. She watched his face for a minute as he looked around the camp, his gaze shifting between the tents. As it was clear that he didn’t know who she was, he must be doing this for her out of true kindness. This simple fact made her warm to him even more. In a place such as this, kindness was not something she had expected to find.
She remembered just how many times she had heard her father rant on about the Scottish. He called them brutes and savages. After her abduction earlier that day, she had been ready to believe that he was right, yet the man before her now was showing that perhaps that wasn’t always the case.
She turned her eyes away from Ian, toward the fire he had left. There were four men sitting there, one of whom was waving in their direction, trying to get his attention.
“I think your friend wants you back,” she nudged Ian’s arm, then instantly retracted her hands back through the bars. His arm had been surprisingly strong through the black shirt sleeve, as though her fingers had pressed nothing but hard muscle. He followed her gaze, looking to the fire.
“I’ll go in a minute,” he said. “I want to make sure ye eat up the bread first.” The simple statement made her smile a little. It suggested he was looking out for her. Far beyond just giving her a little food, he was ensuring that she was all right. She sought to change the topic, to stop the heat from filling her cheeks and creating a blush.
“Who are your friends?” she asked, pointing around the fire.
“The baldin’ one is English. Came from the prison with me,” he explained, now that he had finished his own food. “The one dressed the best is a good friend of mine. Laird Alexander of the MacPherson Clan.”
“The MacPherson’s?” she repeated in shock. She had heard much of them. “What is he doing here?”
“Trade discussions,” he explained. “The other two I was friends with back when I was just a lad. Bhaltair and Gilroy.”
“They defended you before, didn’t they?” she was recalling the ruckus from earlier that day and the fight that had nearly broken out.
“Aye. They are somewhat disappointed I daenae wish to be Laird,” he said, returning his gaze to her. This time, her eyes lingered on his, and she began to trace the darkness of his irises. They were very dark brown indeed, somewhere between the color of cocoa beans and night itself.
“My father once told me that all men crave power, especially the Scots,” she didn’t know why she recalled the statement aloud, but she wished she could pull back the words from the air and stuff them back in her mouth when she saw Ian’s reaction. He shifted his position against the bars, his eyes wide.
“Who is yer faither?” he asked.
“A military man, that is all,” she answered, still reluctant to say his name. “He’s been involved in skirmishes with this side of the border.”
“Yer faither doesnae think highly of the Scots, then,” he shook his head. “Well, I ken him to be wrong. Nae all men want power. I am one such man, and I ken many an Englishman who craves power more than a Scot.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said quickly, releasing her plate with one hand and placing her palm on the bar.
“Ye didnae offend,” he assured, his hand moving to hers. When his skin brushed hers, she felt that warmth again. The touch halted their conversation. She found herself just staring up at his tall figure, somewhat bewitched by him. “Ah, sithiche, what are ye doin’ here? Ye daenae belong here.” His voice had lowered to something barely above a whisper.
For a minute, she was too distracted by the Gaelic to realize what he had said at all.
“Sithiche, what does that mean?” she asked. He merely responded by his lips turning up into a small smile.
“What is goin’ on here?” a voice disturbed them. Elisabeth retracted her hand quickly from Ian’s grasp, taking hold of her plate instead. She watched as Ian turned to look at the man approaching the cage.
“Jockie,” Ian said, his voice deep. “I am bringin’ yer hostage some food.”
“Ye makin’ friends with her?” Jockie scoffed. His face was scarred from years of spots, but what upset Elisabeth most was his manner. He came close to the bars, his eyes running up and down her body. The mere sight of his obvious leering disgusted her. It made her back away from the bars.
“She’s yer faither’s hostage, Jockie,” Ian said, making Elisabeth realize that Jockie had to be Laird Grier’s son. “Has he nae ordered kind treatment of her?”
“Pah! Ye really have been away a long time. We treat the English like the animals they are,” Jockie turned back to her, away from Ian. “But if ye fancy bein’ friendly, pet,” his eyes dropped down to her body, urging her to raise the plate in front of her chest. “Then I daenae see why ye should just be friendly with Ian.”
“Jockie, daenae ye dare –” Ian was cut off as a guard appeared beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank ye, Hal,” Jockie nodded to the guard. “Stay where ye are, Ian.” Jockie turned back to the cage, with a key in his hand. “Now, pet, where were we.”
Oh, my God…surely he does not mean to…
Her thoughts faltered; her mind unwilling to let her even think the words. He rounded the cage, coming to the door and unlocking it swiftly.
“Jockie, in the name of the wee man. I swear, if ye take one more step –”
“Ye’ll what, Ian?” Jockie laughed, opening the door. “Make a move, and Hal has a trusty dagger he can use.” Elisabeth looked back to Ian, who was still standing in the same place as before, his hands on the bars. Beside him, Hal stood with a dagger trained at his waist. “Now, come on, pet, ye want to make friends, do ye?”
She felt a tug on her elbow; she looked back around as she was pulled forward, stumbling on her feet. Jockie was pulling her toward him. “Then I am the one ye need to make friends with.”
“Let go of me!” she demanded, but it did no good. He had both hands on her elbows and was pulling her toward him. She pushed the plate against his chest, trying to push him away from her, but it was to no effect at all.
He grabbed her neck and tilted her head backward. She stilled in his grasp for a minute, startled at the sudden pressure around her throat as she struggled to breathe. He was bending down toward her, threatening to kiss her, to take from her what he wanted. She was so revolted that she had to quell the nausea in her stomach. He stank of old fish.
My father was right after all. Savages!
“No!” she screeched the word so shrilly that she didn’t doubt she would draw attention now from around the camp. She didn’t care. She thought quickly, desperate to find some way to release herself.
She stamped down on his foot; the sudden move forced him to release one of her arms. She tried to pull away from him, but as he pulled on her other elbow, she shifted the plate between her hands. The abrupt jerk he gave made her swing out with the plate. She meant to use it to push against his chest again, only she didn’t connect with his chest.
She heard the metal ring of the plate just as she felt it collide with his face. It made her rebound off him, falling against the nearest bars.
“Argh!” he let out a mighty bellow of pain, his hand covering his eye. She clutched at the bars behind her, trying to catch her breath just as blood began to seep past the palm that was pressed to his eye.
She realized what had happened and dropped the plate. It had been an accident; she hadn’t meant to do it. But that was unmistakably blood.
“What is it?”
“What’s goin’ on over here?”
“Jockie? What happened to ye?”
There was a clamor of voices, different people shouting and calling to one another as people gathered around the cage. Jockie lowered the hand from his eye, and Elisabeth would have fallen over had she not been clutching the bars around her. In the dying evening light of the day, the blood that was seeping from his eye looked an eerie kind of orange hue.
“Ye Sassenach whore,” he spat the words.
“Jockie!” that was Laird Grier’s voice. “What happened? Yer eye…” He trailed off, appearing in the opening of the cage.
Elisabeth briefly debated trying to escape through the cage door, but it was impossible. It was blocked off by both Laird Grier and Jockie. Beyond were guards that had now gathered to investigate the commotion.
“Ye did this to me son?” Laird Grier asked, his voice loud as he rounded on her.
“He…he tried to attack me,” she said, her voice quiet as she knew what little use her defense would be.
“So ye blinded me son!?” Laird Grier marched toward her, just as Jockie was dragged out of the cage. There was an older woman beside him, trying to mop up the blood with a handkerchief.
“No!” Elisabeth tried to defend herself. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it.”
“She’s tellin’ the truth,” Ian’s voice cut through their argument. Elisabeth looked to her side. Ian was still standing there, with Hal beside him holding a dagger to his waist.
“And ye expect me to trust yer word, traitor?” Laird Grier spat his words.
“I demand recompense,” Jockie’s voice was clear. The statement made Elisabeth retreat into the corner of the cage as Laird Grier stalked her position.
“Then ye have it,” Laird Grier said back. “What payment do ye demand?”
Elisabeth pulled her dress tighter around herself, fearing for one horrid moment that he would ask for the very thing that he had tried to take. Elisabeth didn’t know much of what happened between men and women behind closed doors. With her mother dead, there was no one to inform her. She had only heard whispers between maids in the corridors, leaving her to draw her own conclusions. What she did know was that some men took what they wanted, without waiting to ask for permission. It involved humiliation, forcing a woman to do what he desired with no clothes between them. She trembled in horror at the idea.
“He should have nay payment.” Ian shook the bars of the cell beside her. “He was the one tryin’ to attack yer prisoner.”
“Aye, our prisoner!” Laird Grier gestured to her as though she were an animal. “She has nay rights here. Remember that, Ian. Jockie, what payment do ye request?”
“Whip her, faither.” His words made Elisabeth sink down onto her haunches in the corner of the cage. “Whip her until the flesh pulls away from her bones.”
