continued in a hard voice. “His name is Stivin, and every time ye run, I personally see that as twisting the knife deeper inta my little cousin’s gut.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair. Ye said so yerself. Ye will remain in my keeping ’til such a time as I can arrange the exchange. This much, ye owe Stivin.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Unfortunately, I understand too well.” His arms unfolded, his hands dropping to his sides. “I came here ta reassure ye that I mean ye no harm. That there was no reason ta be afraid and run away. But I can see now I’ve wasted my time. Yer not afraid, are ye? Yer merely so spoilt and pampered and selfish that a few days’ inconvenience is too much ta ask in return fer Stivin’s life.”
She started to protest, but he cut her short. “Only, I’m not asking. Attempt another escape and I will find ye and bring ye back. And next time I’ll take great pleasure in tossing ye inta the dungeon myself.”
With that, he stormed from the chamber.
Amber slumped against the wall behind her.
She didn’t doubt him one bit. He probably would find her. And he would dump her back into that hole.
She imagined her uncle bent double, clutching his gut with raucous laughter when Krayne presented her for the exchange. William would likely kill Stivin right then and there in the hope that Krayne would retaliate by killing her. An eye for an eye. A cousin for a niece. To be free of the curse.
She had no choice. She had to make Krayne listen to her, before it was too late. And if he still refused to believe that her uncle hated her, then she’d have to risk another escape, otherwise neither she nor Stivin stood a chance of coming out of this alive.
His blood raging, Krayne marched through the great hall and down the outside steps, taking scant notice of the men breaking their fast at the long tables. The conniving wench! He’d truly intended to soothe her fears, use gentle persuasion to show her that they were on the same side. Stivin’s side.
Hah. Amber thought of herself first and others not at all.
And still his pulse hummed at the vision she made in his bed. Her hair a tempest black cloud spilling over pillow and cotton as she shifted restlessly…the soft moans that could not be mistaken.
Whom had she been dreaming of?
Stivin? Some other lover?
An ugly sensation invaded his gut. Krayne inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. He did not care, he reminded himself. Amber was a means to an end. And the sooner she moved on from Stivin to someone more evenly matched to her feminine wiles, the better for the entire Johnstone clan.
Peter came running from the stables, a scraggly lad of no more than eight years, but as wise and serious as the hills. He had an extraordinary manner with the horses, and it was whispered that he spoke to them in a language not quite human. In his haste, he was halfway up the steps before he spotted Krayne standing beneath one of the elder trees that guarded the castle’s main door.
“Me laird…” Out of breath, Peter slid under the wooden rail and jumped the short distance to the ground. “Me laird, he comes. Jus’ turned the bend at Noddin’ Ned.”
Nodding Ned was a stately oak that stood in isolation on the north bank of Wamphray Water just before the river snaked out of sight. Its trunk as thick as the spread of four men’s arms, Nodding Ned was an invaluable measure of the gale forces that habitually tore through crag and dale with no mercy for unattended beast or vulnerable sapling. When Ned stirred, men jumped to attention. When Ned nodded, it was too late.
Krayne looked up to the gate tower for confirmation. The gatekeeper was already preparing to raise the portcullis.
“Go,” he told Peter. “Call Duncan and Red John and Alexander ta me. Ye’ll find them in the hall.”
“Aye, me laird.” Peter took off again, scooting up the steps.
Krayne made his way to the stables to await Little Jock and news from Spedlin.
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair. Ye said so yerself. Ye will remain in my keeping ’til such a time as I can arrange the exchange. This much, ye owe Stivin.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Unfortunately, I understand too well.” His arms unfolded, his hands dropping to his sides. “I came here ta reassure ye that I mean ye no harm. That there was no reason ta be afraid and run away. But I can see now I’ve wasted my time. Yer not afraid, are ye? Yer merely so spoilt and pampered and selfish that a few days’ inconvenience is too much ta ask in return fer Stivin’s life.”
She started to protest, but he cut her short. “Only, I’m not asking. Attempt another escape and I will find ye and bring ye back. And next time I’ll take great pleasure in tossing ye inta the dungeon myself.”
With that, he stormed from the chamber.
Amber slumped against the wall behind her.
She didn’t doubt him one bit. He probably would find her. And he would dump her back into that hole.
She imagined her uncle bent double, clutching his gut with raucous laughter when Krayne presented her for the exchange. William would likely kill Stivin right then and there in the hope that Krayne would retaliate by killing her. An eye for an eye. A cousin for a niece. To be free of the curse.
She had no choice. She had to make Krayne listen to her, before it was too late. And if he still refused to believe that her uncle hated her, then she’d have to risk another escape, otherwise neither she nor Stivin stood a chance of coming out of this alive.
His blood raging, Krayne marched through the great hall and down the outside steps, taking scant notice of the men breaking their fast at the long tables. The conniving wench! He’d truly intended to soothe her fears, use gentle persuasion to show her that they were on the same side. Stivin’s side.
Hah. Amber thought of herself first and others not at all.
And still his pulse hummed at the vision she made in his bed. Her hair a tempest black cloud spilling over pillow and cotton as she shifted restlessly…the soft moans that could not be mistaken.
Whom had she been dreaming of?
Stivin? Some other lover?
An ugly sensation invaded his gut. Krayne inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. He did not care, he reminded himself. Amber was a means to an end. And the sooner she moved on from Stivin to someone more evenly matched to her feminine wiles, the better for the entire Johnstone clan.
Peter came running from the stables, a scraggly lad of no more than eight years, but as wise and serious as the hills. He had an extraordinary manner with the horses, and it was whispered that he spoke to them in a language not quite human. In his haste, he was halfway up the steps before he spotted Krayne standing beneath one of the elder trees that guarded the castle’s main door.
“Me laird…” Out of breath, Peter slid under the wooden rail and jumped the short distance to the ground. “Me laird, he comes. Jus’ turned the bend at Noddin’ Ned.”
Nodding Ned was a stately oak that stood in isolation on the north bank of Wamphray Water just before the river snaked out of sight. Its trunk as thick as the spread of four men’s arms, Nodding Ned was an invaluable measure of the gale forces that habitually tore through crag and dale with no mercy for unattended beast or vulnerable sapling. When Ned stirred, men jumped to attention. When Ned nodded, it was too late.
Krayne looked up to the gate tower for confirmation. The gatekeeper was already preparing to raise the portcullis.
“Go,” he told Peter. “Call Duncan and Red John and Alexander ta me. Ye’ll find them in the hall.”
“Aye, me laird.” Peter took off again, scooting up the steps.
Krayne made his way to the stables to await Little Jock and news from Spedlin.
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