Read Online Her Wicked Highlander: A Highland Knights Novella by Jennifer Haymore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Haymore
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taste of blood filled her mouth.
“Tell me where it is.”
He backhanded her again. Tears gathered in her eyes. There was no way out of this, no way she could think to ensure he’d let her go.
She had no choice. “It isna far,” she whispered.
“Where?” he demanded.
“I’ll take you to it.”
He released her arm abruptly. “No tricks.”
“Nay.”
“How far?”
“Just a half mile or so.”
He rose, the chair scraping against the floor. “Let us go, then.”
She stood. Suddenly her limbs felt terribly heavy. The dagger was in a place even farther away from her neighbors than her house was. If he struck her down, she’d rot there.
At least she’d be at her parents’ side.
She left the house and turned to enter the forest behind it.
“Wait,” Sutherland said, grabbing her arm again and making her wince in pain.
He tugged her around the cottage to the cart, where he retrieved some of the rope he’d used to truss her last night. He deftly tied one end of it to her ankle and wrapped the other end around his left hand.
He unfolded his long body and tugged on the rope experimentally, yanking her leg out from under her. She stumbled, limbs flailing awkwardly, but he released tension in time for her to regain her balance. “In case you decide to run,” he said with a grim smile. He made a gallant gesture toward the forest. “Proceed.”
She entered the forest, stepping onto the path that led over a hill and then to the far edge of the property. The path was muddy from the recently melted snow, but it was well traveled, for she walked it at least two or three times a week.
Sutherland remained close beside her, silent. Their breaths made white puffs in the morning air. Aila realized she should be cold—for she was only wearing her dress. But she didn’t feel the cold. She didn’t feel much of anything.
It took about ten minutes for them to reach the plot at the edge of her land that had been used as a cemetery for the last two generations. Her grandparents were buried here, as were her stillborn sisters. And her parents.
She walked straight to the grave where her Grandfather MacKerrick had been buried. There was a huge flat sandstone tombstone laid over the grave.
Dohmnall MacKerrick
Departed this Life the 26 th March, 1792
In the 62 nd Year of His Age
Above the lettering, the sandstone was carved to look like a dagger in relief atop Dohmnall’s name.
Aila stared at the stone. Beside her, Sutherland did the same. Then, he groaned. “Dinna tell me you buried it with your ancestors. I’m in no mood to be unearthing corpses this day.”
“Well, it’s buried, but not with my ancestors.”
“Where, then?”
“There.” She pointed at the tombstone—specifically at the dagger carved into the top of it.
Sutherland sighed irritably. “Dinna toy with me. Explain.”
“’Tis in the tombstone. The dagger relief—it’s not just a relief. The stone is layered, and the real dagger lies between the layers, beneath the carving.”
They both gazed at the relief. The blade was long and curving. The hilt was carved in intricate detail, with the contour of a large gem—the ruby—set in its center. Aila’s da had told her that it was carved in the exact likeness of the actual dagger beneath.
Sutherland scowled. “Do you possess a hammer?”
“I’ve a mallet and chisel back at the cottage.”
“You should have thought to bring it,” he said crossly.
She bit back the retort on her tongue—that she had been too busy thinking about the danger to her life to worry about chipping tools.
They walked back to the house while Sutherland rattled on about his plans to raise an army in Inverness, and Aila fetched the tools as her stomach growled loudly. She gave a sidelong look at Sutherland, who ignored her clear signs of hunger. It seemed Sutherland didn’t eat—or didn’t much care to. She hadn’t seen him so much as partake of a sip of water. That was probably why he was so
“Tell me where it is.”
He backhanded her again. Tears gathered in her eyes. There was no way out of this, no way she could think to ensure he’d let her go.
She had no choice. “It isna far,” she whispered.
“Where?” he demanded.
“I’ll take you to it.”
He released her arm abruptly. “No tricks.”
“Nay.”
“How far?”
“Just a half mile or so.”
He rose, the chair scraping against the floor. “Let us go, then.”
She stood. Suddenly her limbs felt terribly heavy. The dagger was in a place even farther away from her neighbors than her house was. If he struck her down, she’d rot there.
At least she’d be at her parents’ side.
She left the house and turned to enter the forest behind it.
“Wait,” Sutherland said, grabbing her arm again and making her wince in pain.
He tugged her around the cottage to the cart, where he retrieved some of the rope he’d used to truss her last night. He deftly tied one end of it to her ankle and wrapped the other end around his left hand.
He unfolded his long body and tugged on the rope experimentally, yanking her leg out from under her. She stumbled, limbs flailing awkwardly, but he released tension in time for her to regain her balance. “In case you decide to run,” he said with a grim smile. He made a gallant gesture toward the forest. “Proceed.”
She entered the forest, stepping onto the path that led over a hill and then to the far edge of the property. The path was muddy from the recently melted snow, but it was well traveled, for she walked it at least two or three times a week.
Sutherland remained close beside her, silent. Their breaths made white puffs in the morning air. Aila realized she should be cold—for she was only wearing her dress. But she didn’t feel the cold. She didn’t feel much of anything.
It took about ten minutes for them to reach the plot at the edge of her land that had been used as a cemetery for the last two generations. Her grandparents were buried here, as were her stillborn sisters. And her parents.
She walked straight to the grave where her Grandfather MacKerrick had been buried. There was a huge flat sandstone tombstone laid over the grave.
Dohmnall MacKerrick
Departed this Life the 26 th March, 1792
In the 62 nd Year of His Age
Above the lettering, the sandstone was carved to look like a dagger in relief atop Dohmnall’s name.
Aila stared at the stone. Beside her, Sutherland did the same. Then, he groaned. “Dinna tell me you buried it with your ancestors. I’m in no mood to be unearthing corpses this day.”
“Well, it’s buried, but not with my ancestors.”
“Where, then?”
“There.” She pointed at the tombstone—specifically at the dagger carved into the top of it.
Sutherland sighed irritably. “Dinna toy with me. Explain.”
“’Tis in the tombstone. The dagger relief—it’s not just a relief. The stone is layered, and the real dagger lies between the layers, beneath the carving.”
They both gazed at the relief. The blade was long and curving. The hilt was carved in intricate detail, with the contour of a large gem—the ruby—set in its center. Aila’s da had told her that it was carved in the exact likeness of the actual dagger beneath.
Sutherland scowled. “Do you possess a hammer?”
“I’ve a mallet and chisel back at the cottage.”
“You should have thought to bring it,” he said crossly.
She bit back the retort on her tongue—that she had been too busy thinking about the danger to her life to worry about chipping tools.
They walked back to the house while Sutherland rattled on about his plans to raise an army in Inverness, and Aila fetched the tools as her stomach growled loudly. She gave a sidelong look at Sutherland, who ignored her clear signs of hunger. It seemed Sutherland didn’t eat—or didn’t much care to. She hadn’t seen him so much as partake of a sip of water. That was probably why he was so
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