Chapter 3

3

T he rhythmic patter of rain beating on the roof of the stables was soothing compared to the storm raging within Hunter as he brushed a handful of hay across his horse's back. Each drop pelting the thatched roof over his head weaved a melody that harmonized with the gentle rustle of straw in his hand.

Warm, earthy scents of the stables mingled with the crisp scent of the rain, creating a cocoon of peace and tranquility that blanketed Hunter as he toiled over his grooming duties. He watched each stroke of his hand as he traced the contours of the horse's body. It was a simple task, one that he cherished every chance he got.

"M'Laird." The sound of Archie's voice shattered the peace around Hunter as he barged into the stables.

Glancing over the back of his horse, Hunter glared at his friend and man-at-arms. His usually tidy attire was disheveled, and he was soaked to the bone, every inch of him dripping with the evidence of the downpour outside.

"Ye ken how I feel about bein' interrupted," Hunter said as he returned to grooming the horse, as if whatever else going on was beneath him.

"Forgive me, M'Laird, but I thought ye would want to ken that guards found a group in the woods near the wall. They're demandin' to speak wit' ye," Archie said, coming around the back of the horse to catch Hunter's eye.

"Is that right? And what exactly do they want? If it's Henry's boys, ye can tell them to sod off. I'm in nay mood to deal wit' them tonight," Hunter grumbled as he fed the hay he was using to the horse and gave it a mighty pat on the neck.

"They arenae Henry's boys. It's four women who've come to see ye," Archie answered with a small smirk.

Hunter's eyebrow arched as he turned to face Archie in complete disbelief. "I've got to say that certainly is somethin' new." He chuckled. "Do we ken who they are?"

"Nay," Archie answered. "I've never seen them before. Could be beggars, by the way they're dressed. We tried to get them to go, but they insisted on meetin' wit' ye."

"Ye dinnae think me maither had somethin' to do wit' their arrival, do ye?" Hunter asked as he found his chest tightening.

The thought of his own mother going behind his back to arrange a meeting with young women disturbed him.

"Nay, M'Laird. They didnae come in a carriage," Archie said.

"And how are they?" Hunter asked, intrigued by the situation.

"Handsome lasses, at least from what I gathered. But ye'll have to judge that for yerself. Do ye want me to send them away?"

"Nay, I'll see what they want," Hunter said as he moved around the horse and opened the gate to exit.

Dusting the grime off his hands, he let out a heavy sigh. Frustration flashed in his eyes as he glanced out at the storm dumping buckets of water from the sky.

"They say they want sanctuary," Archie said over the pounding rain.

"And they didnae arrive with anyone else?" Hunter inquired, his voice strict and unwavering. "Was their carriage damaged?"

"No, M'Laird," Archie responded. "They were traveling on foot and appeared quite lost when the men found them by the wall."

Hunter mused over what his men must have come across in the dead of night, and his brow furrowed. "How intriguin'. Wonder what could inspire four young ladies to venture out in such a storm?"

"Well, it wasnae rainin' when we found them. Although, if this storm persists, I doubt anythin' we say will get them to leave." Archie chuckled as they marched to the side door of the castle.

The moment Hunter stepped into the kitchen, the servants lowered their heads and ceased their conversations.

Hunter flexed his jaw, trying to ignore their sideways glances as he passed by. He didn't have to read their minds to know what they were thinking.

Ever since he came back, everyone looked at him with either fear, pity, or a mix of both. Although he had to admit that he did find it a bit amusing, watching the people scurry away from him. It made his job to manage people who feared him much easier.

Wonder what me guests will think once they see me? Surely, they'll leave without a second glance. If there's one thing I ken how to do, it's clearin' a room.

"We cannae stay here, Emma. Nae even for a night," Nora said, her eyes shifting about the room as if expecting someone to jump out from behind the tapestry at any moment. She inched closer to Lydia and rubbed her arms to stave off the chill.

"What choice do we have? Look outside, Nora. It's rainin', and Lydia is already frozen to the core. We go out there, and we might as well have stayed where we were," Emma answered, thrusting her hand towards the window as rain pelted the pane.

"I dinnae see what the problem is," Isobel said as she warmed her hands by the small fireplace in the room. "It's warm here and cold out there. But if ye want to go, then go."

"Isobel," Emma chided. "Can ye nae see that Lydia is scared?"

"Ye're right, Emma. I'm sorry, Lydia," Isobel said remorsefully.

"I'm nae scared. I just dinnae want to stay here," Lydia chimed in. "I've heard about the Laird of MacRoss Castle, and what I heard, it wasnae pretty."

Nora pulled away from Lydia and glared at her for a moment in utter shock. "And what exactly have ye heard? Ye've never left Clyde Castle, and if ye're about to tell me ye've been listenin' to the gossip, ye must ken that nae all of it is true. Those rumors could have been told to keep us from venturin' out on our own."

"But what if they are true?" Lydia asked, her eyes widening in fright.

"I heard the Laird was disfigured," Nora said. "He wears a mask made from his enemies' skins to hide the scars they gave him."

"Now that is just silly," Emma said, folding her arms over her chest. "Who in the world told ye that?"

"I heard the servants talkin' about it," Lydia answered, her eyes dropping to the floor in shame.

"Again wit' the servants. Ye cannae believe everything ye hear," Emma said. "And ye, Nora, should be ashamed of yerself. I would think ye'd have learned what rumors can do to someone's reputation. Ye think ye'll ever be able to help anyone again once word gets out about why ye were thrown in the cellar?"

"What if the Laird died and the reason this place is so barren is that he's the one hauntin' it?" Isobel asked, dropping her voice to incite terror.

"Will ye stop makin' things worse?" Lydia snapped. "If we do end up stayin' the night here, I'll nae get any sleep, because I'll be wonderin' what things haunt these hollow halls."

"There's nay such things as ghosts," Emma stated firmly, her tone stern and absolute. "Even if there were, ye really think they wouldnae have anythin' better to do than spend an eternity here?"

"I'm just tryin' to keep the mood light," Isobel said as Lydia huddled closer to Nora. "We've been through so much already. Besides, if anyone or anythin' tries to hurt ye, do ye nae think I'd put an arrow betwixt their eyes?"

Lydia bobbed her head as her attention shifted to Emma. "Maybe we can find another place?"

"In the mornin'," Emma said. "For now, though, if the Laird permits, this is where we'll stay. I dinnae ken about the lot of ye, but I'd rather be warm and dry under a roof, than out in the cold and rain. Besides, we put up with our cousin for so many years, who's to say Laird MacRoss willnae be kinder?"

"Always the optimistic, are ye nae, Sister?" Nora said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Well, what other choice do we have? Best to just remain calm. Our survival will be impossible without prudence."

"And that still isnae guaranteed."

Emma's blood ran cold as she whipped around. She heard the audible gasp coming from the others as they stared at the ominous figure before them.

Every rumor Emma's sister had heard was true. Before them stood a monster of a man, bulky and intimidating. He wore a thin leather mask over the right side of his face that Emma knew would cause Lydia to have nightmares for months.

But it wasn't the mask, or the size of the man before her, that Emma recoiled from, but his sudden appearance. The fact that he moved like a phantom rattled her more than anything.

"Laird MacRoss," Emma said, bowing to him without taking her attention off him.

She kept her eyes locked on his face, refusing to be intimidated by him, in any shape or form. The other girls bowed quickly and hastily stepped back from him, keeping their distance as if he were the wild beast who had come in from the cold.

"I was informed ye wanted to talk to me," Hunter said, his voice husky as he arched an eyebrow. "So, talk."