Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Deirdre had felt many things in her eighteen years of life, both good and bad. She'd experienced true joy and true sorrow, been awash with laughter and tinged in jealousy, been burned by rage and healed by love. She had a passionate heart to match her flaming hair, one that sang with the freedom of emotion even when it hurt. Even the worst of feelings that had crossed her, she'd been strong, able to bear the worst agony.

But never before had she felt so stupid as she did now.

Light was streaming in through the tiny window far above her head as she sat, huddled on the tiny, ruined bed, shivering from the cold with the thin rag of a blanket wrapped around her. She missed her hair, and could feel icy coldness prickling at the back of her neck.

"Ye were right, Aoife," she whispered into nothing. "The whole time, always, ye've been right. I'm a foolish bairn in a woman's body, and I've no clue how the world works."

She'd always thought herself somewhat intelligent, but it was clear now that this wasn't the case. She was nothing, especially compared to her brilliant sisters. Deirdre imagined them as a blooming rose bush, most of them pristine and reaching to the blue sky above. The lovely, stately white rose that grew above them all was Blair, elegant and graceful. Then came the pretty yellow rose, sweet Jocelyn, shining like the sun with her knowledge and wit. The pretty rose in powder pink was Aoife, soft and delicate on the outside, but recently come into full bloom, the most beautiful and flourishing of them all.

And then there was the small, sad red rose, the one who had strained too hard and willingly fallen into the shadow, the one that was slowly wilting away.

Deirdre sniffed, though her eyes were dry now. She had cried all her tears in the night hours when sleep would not come. Her mouth was fuzzy, her head was spinning, and she longed for water, but she would no longer give them the satisfaction of pleading at the door.

How had she been such a fool? How had she fallen for a flash of stormy eyes and a clever smile, enough to leave her life and family behind? She'd willingly walked into a stranger's trap, all because she thought she knew more than they did.

She could imagine them all now. Blair, smiling sadly and saying, " Oh, Deirdre, what have you done, me wee rose?". Jocelyn, pushing the reading spectacles she sometimes wore up on her nose and trying to hide her exasperation as she exclaimed, " What were you thinking, Deirdre? ". And Aoife, with that knowing look in her eye, saying, "I kent it would come to this. I so hoped ye'd prove me wrong. "

Deirdre felt herself break and she was crying again, though her sobs were dry. "I'm sorry," she wept. "I'm so sorry, sisters. Ye're all in danger now—because of me."

It wasn't just them, either. It was her brothers-in-law, too; beloved, brave James, and strong, loving Lachlan. It was her darling Gracie and dear Maggie. The poor children, brave little Callum, and the little ones, Stuart, Jack, and Faith. None of them were old enough to know what was happening. Bram would not spare them, not when he saw them as a future threat.

The thought made Deirdre's blood run cold. Her family, her beloved family, would be exposed, and Bram and Brennan would come to them. They'd slaughter them without a care; the men, the women, the children. Clan McMillan had fallen to the darkness long ago, but now its last hope of light was to be extinguished, and Clan McFerguson would follow in its sad wake.

And it was all Deirdre's fault. All Deirdre's stupid, careless, thoughtless fault.

No wonder she couldn't sleep. No wonder she had no rest. She didn't deserve it, and she knew it.

"Come in," Aoife called. One of her sisters must have come to her room again. She hadn't left much since Deirdre's disappearance, and they were constantly trying to coax her out. She didn't even look up to see if it was Blair or Jocelyn who entered.

But when someone cleared their throat, it was a man's voice. She gasped and turned from her desk to see Liam standing there, looking a little embarrassed but otherwise smiling, a thin box in his hands. For a long heartbeat, she thought they were alone together in her room, but before she could even understand how she felt about that, Gracie's head popped out from behind his back.

"How are ye holdin' up, love?" Gracie asked cheerfully. It was a false cheer, that much was more than obvious. Lachlan's sister's face was pale and drawn, her eyes sunken from lack of sleep. She looked much the way Aoife felt, and no wonder—Deirdre was Gracie's closest friend.

Aye, and Gracie's been more of a sister than I have these last few years. Oh, Deirdre, I'm so sorry. Come home safe, please.

"I'm sorry to interrupt ye," Liam said after a moment where nobody spoke at all. "But I, eh. I was worried. I'm off-duty for the moment, ye see, so I wanted tae check on ye."

Aoife blinked. "Ye did?"

Liam held up the box. "I thought perhaps, if ye won't leave yer rooms, I'd bring a game of mancala tae ye. Take yer mind off things for a minute, ye ken."

"And ye better say aye," Gracie told her firmly. "I was quite enjoyin' me flirtation wi' Diarmid before Liam here insisted he needed a chaperone. More proper than any soldier I've ever met, I'll tell ye that!"

So Gracie was finding comfort in Liam's friend Diarmid, wasn't she? The thought made Aoife smile a little as she imagined Deirdre's excited reaction to such news, and then in turn, this caused her heart to fracture a little more. Would she ever be able to gossip with her sister again?

"I'm not being proper," Liam said. "I'm just tryin' tae show some respect for the lady here. I've never…I don't really ken the rules. I just wanted tae help."

Aoife took a step forward. "None of us ken the rules in a situation like this," she said softly. "And never mind, Gracie. Go on back tae Diarmid. Someone in the keep should be havin' a bit of happiness while all this is goin' on. Though mind ye, don't let Lachlan catch ye."

Gracie laughed a little at that, then walked forward and gave Aoife a tight hug. "We'll get her back, love. I ken it."

With a small breath, Aoife nodded, returning the hug. "I ken," she said, though she wasn't sure she believed it.

When the women separated, Gracie said, "Are ye sure, though, that ye want me tae leave? Both of ye here alone in yer rooms?"

Aoife hesitated. English ladies would never go for such a thing, she knew that. And even though it wasn't quite so harshly looked upon here, she knew that others would certainly raise an eyebrow at such behavior.

She felt rather than saw her desk behind her, with her half-written letter of the day sitting atop it. My beloved William , it started. How would her betrothed feel about such a situation, even if it was only for a game together? He'd be scandalized. Perhaps even call off their engagement, the match that Aoife had longed for all of her life. And probably, he'd be right.

But she thought of Deirdre, and how she'd never understood Aoife's acceptance. How she'd told Aoife time and again to follow her heart, to find love rather than simply a suitable marriage. How she thought that all of Aoife's coldness these days came from a lack of warmth in her heart.

It had been insulting and rude, thrown as a weapon in their endless war of words these days…but Aoife now could not help but wonder at the truth in it. William had not replied to her last letter yet, not yet provided any comfort over her missing sister. And when she thought of warmth, she did not think of some far-off merchant's son who waited for her to tend his home and birth his children.

She thought of a simple soldier, and a game of cups and stones.

"Aye, leave us," Aoife said decisively. "We'll be fine."

Gracie nodded, though Liam looked truly surprised. "If ye're sure."

"I'm sure," Aoife replied. After all, what harm could a game of mancala do? Besides. It was what Deirdre would do.

At some point, a young woman came and guided Deirdre through a corridor to a privy, with two guards flanking them. They tied a blindfold around her eyes, as though it could matter at all now whether Deirdre knew the inside of the keep. The young woman mentioned that her name was Marjorie, but Deirdre had neither the energy nor will to answer.

They locked her back in her room after that and she was left alone, hungry and thirsty and cold. Deirdre no longer wanted to sit on the useless bed, so she dragged the thin blanket down and made a sort of seated nest on the cold floor. It was not comfortable, but at least it was a small change from where she had sat awake all night, unable to rest.

The metallic scratching of the deadbolt sounded, and Deirdre looked up to see Ciaran entering the room, a tray of food in his hand. Seeing him here and now was just too much, and she turned her head sharply away. She could not bear to look into those eyes, to see that handsome, treacherous face.

She'd thought him exciting because he'd seemed mysterious and a little dangerous. Well! How right she'd been! Fool.

"How was yer night?" he asked her. His voice sounded strange, rough, far from the smooth tone she'd grown used to in their travels. He almost sounded awkward.

"Oh, it was fabulous, thank ye very much," Deirdre replied, acrid acid on her tongue as she spit out the words. "One of the best nights of me life, thanks tae ye. Do ye treat all yer women with such pleasantries?"

"Christ, Deirdre." He placed the tray of food with a carafe of water before her. "Is this the response I'm gettin' when I've tried tae help ye?"

Now she turned to look at him, her fury burning away the pain. "Oh, I'm sorry! The kidnappin' bastard son of the great Laird Brennan deserves more respect, I suppose!"

Ciaran flinched at that, and she saw genuine pain in his expression. Ludicrously, part of her felt bad for causing it. What was wrong with her? He deserved that and worse, and she'd done nothing but speak the truth. He'd lied to her, used her. He could go jump in a loch for all she cared.

But she still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I'm tryin' me best," Ciaran said, and his words were precise and measured as he obviously tried to keep himself under control. "I'm really, truly tryin' hard here. I'm not some evil villain, no matter what ye might think of me."

"Aye, normal, good men often seduce lassies and lock them away."

Angrily, Ciaran snapped, "At least ye're not in a dungeon, aye? At least ye get food, and water, and a bed, and even a trip tae the privy. I did that for ye!"

"Och, well are ye not just God's own angel on earth!" Deirdre shouted back. She got to her feet, ignoring the dizziness she felt from her thirst and lack of sleep. "Are ye not just a poor, sorrowful wee lad who deserves all the sympathy? Ye didn't have a choice . Ye're tryin' yer best. Ye still took me kisses and me heart and used them! Ye still took me frae me family tae help evil incarnate destroy everyone I love!"

"Yer family destroyed everythin' I loved!" Ciaran snarled. "Me brother was a good man, an' he died because of yer precious family's godforsaken war. I'm doin' what I can tae make up for what yer lot did tae him. I haven't hurt ye, not a hair on yer head."

She laughed crudely. "A hair on me head, no, but only because yer women sheared half of them tae the floor."

He flinched again at that. More subdued, without shouting, he replied, "I didn't tell them tae do that. I didn't want that."

Deirdre threw her hands in the air. "Ye didn't want it! Och, well, then, that's fine, isn't it? After all, ye wanted yer prisoner all pretty so that if ye felt like usin' me again?—"

"No," Ciaran interrupted sharply. "No. It was never like that. I never…kissin' ye wasn't part of it all. Ye were only supposed tae follow me."

She laughed again, though her heart was breaking. "But yer kisses sure added tae yer pretty lie. Or perhaps ye just got a sick enjoyment from such things, like the men who mistreat their women for gratification. Every moment we spent together, ye kent ye'd crush me joy. Did it make ye happy, Ciaran? Did it excite ye?"

He growled, and then, to her shock, angrily kicked out, sending the lone stool in the room flying into the wall so hard that the wood splintered. "Ye have nae idea what ye're talkin' about."

"I ken that more than ye do," Deirdre replied quietly. All of her anger left her, and weakness overcame her as it did. She felt dizzy, and the room began to spin. Ciaran's eyebrows went up, and as she started to fall, he reached out to help her.

"No!" she snapped, pushing his hand away and as a result falling hard to the ground. It hurt, but at least he hadn't touched her. "No. Ye stay away frae me. Ye don't talk tae me, don't look at me. If I rot here, I rot, but I will not be yer plaything anymore."

She couldn't understand the look in his eyes as he stared down at her from above. Then he crouched down and picked up the carafe of water, pouring some into the empty earthenware cup.

"Here," he said in a low voice. "Ye must drink."

She glared at him, but her thirst soon overwhelmed her, and she took the cup, greedily guzzling the water before pouring another glass. When she was done, he was still crouched down, still watching her.

"I'm…" he started, then shook his head. "Ye're wrong about me, Deirdre McMillan. I'm no monster. I'm just a man doin' what has tae be done. Ye should ask yer precious Wraith, or yer high-and-mighty Laird McFerguson what that means in this world. How many men have died at their hands or on their orders? How much blood have they shed, how many wives left widows and children left orphans?"

It wasn't like that, Deirdre knew it. Neither James nor even Lachlan had ever taken a life out of anything but necessity. Lachlan was a skilled, practiced killer, but he only did so if another's life was in danger, or if he was given no other choice. And neither of them would ever do what Ciaran had done, stealing her away, manipulating her, and leaving her to suffer.

Ciaran leaned closer. "I'll look after ye while ye're here, I promise ye," he told her quietly. "I ken I can't do much, but I can do that. I'll keep ye fed and watered and make sure ye're not mistreated. I'll keep me father from tryin' tae reach yer bed."

Deirdre had spent most of her life as a prisoner. This room was small and dirty and cold, but that wasn't new to her. The last few years had felt like a gilded dungeon, but she knew now she had underestimated the freedom. She'd been a fool. Laird Brennan and Bram were both evil men, both cold and heartless. Brennan had come along and reminded her of what her childhood had been like—reminded her what it truly meant to be a prisoner. And Ciaran had been key to doing so.

Forgive me, sisters.

"I'll keep ye company when I can," Ciaran continued. "I'll keep ye safe."

He leaned in close, so close that he could have kissed her. There was something desperate in his eyes, something inside him reaching out to her, trying to make her understand.

She met his eyes and spoke.

"I'd rather die," she said.

She saw pain in his eyes again, but this time she didn't allow herself to look away. She kept watching him, until eventually, he dropped his gaze and rose to his feet. She watched him as he turned his back and left the room, the tray of food and water still on the ground beside Deirdre. She waited until she heard the deadbolt slide back into place.

Deirdre eventually reached for the food and began to eat, but everything tasted like ash in her mouth. She pushed it away, though she drank some more water, then climbed back onto the bed. She knew sleep would not come, but she was too exhausted to do anything else.

She was here. Trapped. Maybe forever. Her sisters had no idea what was coming, and she was a huge part of why.

And worse, despite her words, she found herself wishing she'd begged Ciaran to stay.

Yes, she truly was a fool.

As she lay there on the bed, staring up at the thin slit of a window so high in the wall, it seemed she had tears left after all.