Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

H alf an hour earlier…

Evan shook his hand and flexed his fingers after a particularly vicious punch to the man in front of him. He didn't know how long he had spent cooped up in that small room with him, trying to beat the truth out of him to no avail, but he was getting tired.

"He's nae speakin'." Evan looked at his brother, Alaric, who stood across from him, leaning against the wall in that awfully casual way of his, while still somehow looking murderous. He had that effect, Evan knew. Though they resembled each other very much in build and features, Alaric sported battle scars and had marked himself with tattoos that gave him the aura of a much more dangerous man.

"I can see that," Alaric said, rather unhelpfully, in his smooth baritone. "If he spoke, he could tell us everythin'."

"But he willnae speak," Evan pointed out. "How long have we been doin' this? He's half-dead. He willnae speak afore we kill him."

"Dae ye want me tae try?"

Evan gestured widely with his hand as if to say his brother was welcome to try, though he doubted he would bring about any better results. It wasn't as though he could hit him any harder or threaten him in any way Evan hadn't already tried.

Alaric didn't move from where he stood, but instead simply watched the man as he drooled saliva and blood on the floor. "Are ye certain he kens about Ruthven's plans?"

"O' course he kens," said Evan with a scoff. "He's supposed tae be an informant."

"Supposed tae be," Alaric repeated. "But what if our information is inaccurate?"

Evan took a moment to consider that possibility, but then shook his head, discarding it. "Nay . . . nay, we ken who he is. Our information is correct. We simply have tae break him. He kens about Ruthven an' Balliol, I ken he does."

Ever since John Balliol's accession as King of Scots, Evan and Alaric had both been hard at work, trying to bring a quick end to his reign. Evan would rather die than serve a king who was nothing but a pawn to the English. After what they had done to his family, he wanted nothing more than to ruin them—and it all began with Laird Ruthven.

"Ruthven is a fool," Alaric said, as if that changed anything for Evan. "He is a greedy man. How long dae ye think he has afore Balliol brings him tae ruin, too?"

"I dinnae ken an' I dinnae care," Evan said through gritted teeth. Perhaps Alaric was right. Perhaps in the end, the situation would take care of itself. After all, many were already displeased by Balliol's rule and wanted him gone. Ruthven would get caught up in the conflict, eager as he was to please Balliol just so he could gain more land, more influence, more wealth. But Evan would be a fool, too, if he didn't do his part in order to get Balliol off the throne and maybe, if he worked hard enough and was lucky enough, even get to the Hammer of the Scots—Edward I.

"Perhaps it would be wiser tae try an' use the bride," Alaric said. "If this lad willnae speak, she might be able tae help us."

Evan had heard of the so-called bride of Laird Ruthven, a woman who was supposed to meet him in Arran, at the same wedding Evan and Alaric were going to be attending. He couldn't fathom a way that he could use her, though, not when he didn't even know who the woman was and not without putting her in danger.

As far as he knew, she was innocent in all this. It would be cruel of him to drag an innocent woman into a perilous plan when there were other avenues he could take.

"Nay," he said, shaking his head. "We shall continue with our plan. We will go tae the weddin' an' we will try tae find proof o' connection between Ruthven an' Balliol. An' then . . . well, then we'll see."

With a chuckle, Alaric pushed himself off the wall and approached Evan, giving him the kind of scrutinizing look that Evan had never liked to have directed at him. For all his rough and rugged appearance, Alaric was surprisingly insightful and capable of seeing right through him if he wanted.

"An' this has naething tae dae with the fact that ye are avoidin' yer own betrothal," he said. "I'm sure yer nae tryin' tae stall, are ye?"

Evan couldn't help but roll his eyes, though his brother was not far off the mark. The truth was that ever since the council of Clan MacGregor had decided that he, as the laird, needed to have a wife, he had been doing anything in his power to delay that day for as long as he could.

He could only avoid his council that long, of course. The day would come when he would have to pick a woman to wed, but that day wouldn't come so soon if he had anything to say about it.

"That isnae why I'm doin' this," Evan insisted, but then he gave a small shrug, fighting back a chuckle. "But it certainly helps."

Alaric gave him a knowing look and a pat on the shoulder before he headed towards the door. "Well, I'll see if we're ready tae depart. Ye stay here an' see if ye can get him tae talk."

Evan nodded, watching his brother leave before he turned to the other man. For a moment, he thought he was unconscious, the pain and the abuse proving too much for his body to handle, but when he stepped closer, the man flinched in fear.

"Pretendin' willnae help ye," Evan told him with a weary sigh. "What will help ye is if ye tell me the truth."

He had tried this before and the man had said nothing. This time, he said nothing as well, keeping all his secrets to himself. At first, he had insisted he knew nothing, but neither Evan nor Alaric had believed him. They had good informants, people who knew everything they needed to know, and they had assured Evan that this was the man they were looking for—a man working for both Ruthven and Balliol, helping them exchange messages in secret. Evan was more inclined to believe his people than this man when he said he didn't know anything.

"Alright . . . I suppose ye leave me nae choice but tae continue this," Evan said as he approached the man once more and raised his fist, ready to strike.

And then the door opened, and Evan turned around to see not his brother there, but a woman; a stranger, someone he was certain he had never seen before.

He didn't manage to say a single thing before the woman began to speak, a torrent of words tumbling past her lips. Evan frowned, trying his best to follow the path of her reasoning but quickly failing. She was saying something about turning back, something about guards, something that Evan didn't have time to listen to.

Who is she? How did she get here?

And most importantly, what was he supposed to do now that she had seen him torture a man?

When she finally noticed what was going on, Evan saw the spark of fear in her eyes. Instantly, she began to backtrack, her hands reaching for her bow and an arrow, and Evan couldn't help but wonder what kind of woman travelled with such a weapon.

It wouldn't help her much against him. Arrows were good in long ranges, but he could get to her before she fired it.

"Where do ye think ye're going, lass?" he began but she interrupted him.

"Dinnae even think about layin' a hand on me," she said through gritted teeth. "I will kill ye."

In two large strides, Evan reached her and grabbed her bow, yanking it right out of her hand and tossing it aside. That didn't seem to faze her much, though, as she gripped the arrow in a tight fist and raised her hand, ready to strike. Evan managed to block the blow at the last moment, his hand grabbing her arm to still it as the other wrestled the arrow out of her palm.

The moment she was left without a weapon, the woman blanched, all the color draining from her face—and what a face it was. Despite her fierce character, she seemed like a delicate thing, bird-boned and soft-featured; a beautiful young woman who, under other circumstances, would have certainly caught his attention.

As it were, Evan had more pressing matters to consider than his sexual desires.

"What will I dae with ye?" he asked her as he kicked the door shut behind him. Though the crew had seen the man he and Alaric had brought on board, though they had heard his screams, Evan still thought it was better to keep him out of sight.

"Ye'll let me go," the woman said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Nay," said Evan. "I dinnae think I will."

As he spoke, he pulled the woman towards the stern, away from prying eyes and ears. The woman struggled against him, desperately trying to dislodge her arm from his grip, but Evan refused to let her go, even though there wasn't much she could do. They were in the middle of the sea, after all. There was nowhere for her to go; nowhere for her to hide.

"Yer a brute!" the woman said, kicking him hard in the shin. Evan did almost lose his grip on her then, but he only grunted in pain and pushed her hard against the rail, crowding her against it. Like that, it was impossible for her to weasel her way out. He stood in front of her like a wall, refusing to budge.

"Who are ye?" he asked. "An' what are ye doin' on me birlinn ?"

The woman blinked in surprise a few times, straightening up as she looked at him. "This is yer birlinn ? Yer the captain?"

"I'm nae the captain but I have paid fer a private journey," Evan said. "An' I dinnae take kindly tae stowaways."

"I'm nae a stowaway," the woman said, trying to pull her arm from his grip once more. This time, Evan allowed it, only because she had no chance of escape. "I am Bonnie MacLaren o' the MacLaren Clan. Me sister is the Lady Cathleen MacLaren. So, I willnae have ye treat me like this."

Evan took a better look at the woman, noting the hands that seemed unused to manual labor, the tunic she wore, which was woven from a fine fabric, and the signs of a soft life. She certainly looked and spoke like a noble girl, and had Evan been in a better state of mind, he was certain he would have noticed sooner.

"I see," he said. "An' what, precisely, are ye doin' here, Miss MacLaren?"

"I told ye," said Bonnie, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "I got on the wrong birlinn . I am travellin' tae attend Laird Hamilton's weddin' an' me guards told me tae board, but our birlinn was next tae yers an' I was confused."

She didn't seem to be lying, Evan thought. He couldn't even think of a reason why she would, but one could never be too careful. Bonnie had already seen too much; Evan had to keep a close eye on her.

"Well . . . ye ken who I am now," Bonnie added, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Who are ye?"

"Laird Evan MacGregor," Evan said, biting back a smirk when he saw the shocked expression on Bonnie's face. No one expected a laird to do the dirty work, Evan knew, but he didn't mind getting his hands bloody. Some things had to be done and he could trust no one but himself and his brother to do them. "I am also headin' tae Arran fer the weddin'. We shall go together."

It wasn't a suggestion, but Bonnie seemed to understand it as one and she immediately scoffed, shaking her head. "What makes ye think I will go anywhere with ye?"

"What other choice dae ye think ye have?" Evan asked. "Look where ye are . . . in the middle o' the sea. An' after what ye've seen, well . . . I cannae simply let ye go."

He watched as Bonnie looked around her, realizing perhaps for the first time the severity of the situation and the fact that she truly had no option but to be on that boat with him. Then, her gaze met his again and her bottom lip shook as she spoke.

"What will ye dae tae me?"

"Naething," Evan said. "As long as ye behave an' dae as ye are told. Yer me property now, Miss MacLaren. Ye'll dae as I tell ye."

Bonnie rolled her eyes at him, much to Evan's irritation. She tried to sidestep him by ducking under his arm, but Evan was quick to push her back against the rail, tutting softly at her.

"Where dae ye think yer goin'?"

"Anywhere but here," Bonnie said. "Why? Are ye plannin' tae tie me down like that poor man ye have in that room?"

"That man is more dangerous than ye ken," Evan said, pinning Bonnie with a strict gaze. "An' ye are nae tae approach him. Dae ye understand?"

Bonnie didn't respond; not until Evan grabbed her arm, giving her a rough shake.

"I said, dae ye understand?"

"Let go o' me!" Bonnie demanded, trying to once again push Evan away from her. "What is the matter with ye? Is this how ye treat all ladies?"

"It depends on how foolish they are," said Evan. Though he didn't let go of her quite yet, he slackened his grip, giving her some leeway. "Are ye foolish, Miss MacLaren? Are ye goin' tae be trouble?"

Bonnie didn't need to answer his question for Evan to know that she would very likely be more trouble than she was worth. What could he do, though, now that she had seen everything? He could hardly kill her—truly, she was innocent. Her only mistake had been to get on the wrong boat and then open that door. And besides, she was not some faceless, nameless woman no one would miss. She was the daughter of a great laird, who even in death inspired other leaders. She was the sister-in-law of her clan's laird. If Evan's education on the other clans still served him well, she was also the eldest, though the mantle of the laird had not been passed on to her husband.

Unwedded, then? Was the youngest sister married first?

Perhaps he was confusing the sisters. It had been a long time, after all, since he had last concerned himself with the clans' genealogies.

"If ye value yer life, ye will dae what I tell ye," Evan said, the threat thinly veiled in his words. Even if he wasn't actually going to kill her, Bonnie didn't need to know that. The more afraid she was of him, the better. "Ye will accompany me tae the Hamilton keep. Until then, ye will sit quietly here on the deck an' ye willnae speak tae anyone."

Bonnie glared up at Evan, her eyes narrowing dangerously, but the effect was lost due to him towering over her. Even with her bow, there was little she could do to maim him in such close range, and she seemed to finally accept that as her shoulders fell and she leaned away from him as if disgusted by his mere presence.

"Good," said Evan, finally pulling back. "Yer nae so foolish after all."

As he turned around to head back to the small room and try to extract at least a morsel of information out of the man, he could feel her gaze boring into the back of his skull. The feeling followed him all the way there, and then even once he was inside, behind the confines of the door.

The entire time, a shiver ran down his spine.