Highland Escape - Cathy MacRae Page 0,19
has been trained to be a captive?”
Duncan uttered a humorless laugh, lowering his head in agreement. “Aye. ’Tis a logical explanation.”
“Why the hell would a young woman of noble blood be taught to endure captivity?”
Duncan shared his father’s exasperation, but had no ready answer. ’Twas a good question. Perhaps if she accepted his father’s offer, if their treatment of her hadn’t pushed her too far already, they would find out.
Chapter 5
On the evening of the fifth day of her captivity, the door to Anna’s cell opened. Instead of bringing food, the odious guard glared at her and gestured for her to leave the cell. His clenched fists and constricted face told her his anger toward her hadn’t cooled.
Every fiber of her body tensed. Standing at the doorway, she waited for him to move, refusing to turn her back to him. With a grunt of disgust, he walked past the door of the prison, opening the next door, and continued without waiting to see if she followed. He entered the great hall, leading her toward a door at the other end of the large room.
The enormous chamber bubbled with activity. Everyone, from the men and women eating, to those serving, halted their actions and stared as the guard led her through to the next doorway. The experience rattled her, raising the hair on the back of her neck as though she’d been hurled into a room full of predators—with her the blooded prey.
When the guard opened the next door, she saw a smaller, opulent chamber with a table surrounded by high-back chairs. Thick, colorful tapestries covered the walls. The candle stand on the intricately carved table held dozens of candles, the unmistakably sweet smell of beeswax filling the air. Everything about this room bespoke wealth.
This was obviously a private hall where MacGregor entertained guests. The lavishness of its décor aimed to impress or perhaps intimidate. Her guard jerked his head, motioning her forward. As she entered, both Duncan and his father rose from their seats. Raising his cup, the laird spoke. “Lady Anna, join us for a meal.”
His tone sounded warm and inviting—in other words, confusing. The guard roughly pulled the chair out at the opposite end of the table, indicating she sit. She did so, then adjusted her chair to keep him in her line of sight.
“Please, help yerself. My son tells me ye have eaten little in five days.”
The gentle scold reminded her of her father. She maintained a calm facade, belying the anxiety coursing through her.
“Thank you, Laird.” Anna placed a small piece of cheese, a slice of bread, and an apple on the plate in front of her.
“Try the wine,” MacGregor urged.
If the lightness of his voice and gesturing were to be believed, he relished the role of host. Gone the harsh warden of the past sennight, and in his place a congenial gentleman.
She ignored his request and reached for a pitcher of water instead. Anna had no intention of fuddling her wits with wine. She’d know if they’d tainted the water. It was easier to drug or poison wine.
After she assembled a small plate of food, the laird encouraged her to eat. Anna took a bite of apple and waited for him to pronounce her sentence. Bringing her into such a room, asking her to join them to sup, went beyond her expectations. As she chewed, she scanned the room for escape, keeping track of the guard. She suspected his movement would forewarn her of any danger.
“Lady Anna, I wish to apologize for taking and holding ye against yer will. Ye must understand I dinnae know who ye were. I did not know what crimes ye might have committed, or what enemies ye might be fleeing.”
Crimes! The accusation overrode his conciliatory tone. Anger burned through her blood and it took all the control she possessed to stay seated. She stopped chewing, her fingers gripped the wooden armrests of the chair, and her pulled spine arrow-straight.
He continued. “The day ye assisted us, I sent a rider to follow yer trail, seeking to find out about ye. Since ye were unwilling to talk, I had to know what trouble ye ran from, and mayhap led to us.”
“And now you know about me, Laird?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Aye. Ye are Lady Anna Braxton, daughter of Baron Everard Braxton and Lady Rossalyn of the Elliot clan. Ye fled after yer home was attacked by a rival nobleman, yer family killed, yer home burned. For that I am very sorry.”
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