Chapter 4

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief when Ian agreed to let her stay. It certainly wasn't an ideal circumstance, but at least she had a roof over her head and she was free of the shackles. Ian was an intense man, with his brooding looks, imposing figure, and flinty eyes, but the only time she had been truly afraid of him was when he came storming in with the hammer. Ian and Rory were by the stairs. Lucy gripped the edge of her seat tightly, not wishing to move. Ginger stretched her body out and then crawled forward, rushing to Rory's side. He darted up the stairs, much to Ian's annoyance. Lucy's heart sank, for she had hoped the cat would remain in the basement to keep her company.

Rory said something quietly to Ian, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head, but then he flung his hands into the air and marched up the stairs. Rory turned to her and smiled kindly.

"Come with me," he said. Lucy did as she was told and was led to a small room above the basement. When she left the basement, she noticed how Rory rolled a rug over the door and pulled the table above it. It was a clever way to keep things hidden, she thought. Ian had disappeared elsewhere, but Rory was attentive.

"Ian can be scary at first, but he's nae all bad. He's just afraid of the Laird discovering what we're daeing. I hae a good feeling about ye, though. Ye remind me of my sister," Rory smiled at her, but then an uncertain expression came upon his face, as though he said something he shouldn't have. The room was small, with just a narrow bed and a small closet. Rory returned with some water and a plate of bread and cheese. He apologized that he could not offer her anything grander, but Lucy thanked him profusely all the same. He left her to rest, closing the door behind him.

Through the walls, she could hear the murmurs of conversation. While she could not make out the actual words, she had no doubt they were talking about her. At least they didn't seem inclined to take her back to the keep, which was a relief. After Lucy finished eating, she lay in bed, folding her hands over her chest. Outside, she imagined the guards were still looking for her, and breath caught in her throat. Better to be at the mercy of two strangers than the guards, she thought.

Her mind turned to the one person in the keep who would never stop searching for her, who would be wearing a groove in the floor at this present moment out of worry and concern. He was the kind of man who always thought he knew everything, and he would never be able to puzzle out why Lucy had chosen this night to leave, but that was because her father had never properly understood her. And if she should ever meet him again, he would be so angry he was liable to punish her to a greater extent than any thief who had ever lived, but she didn't plan to see him again. A sense of melancholy came over her as she realized the gravity of the situation. Her actions on this night had ensured that she would never be able to return to her old life, that she had severed the connections with her own blood.

She was free, free of obligations, but also free of the nurturing web that a family could provide, a shield to the hardships of the outside world. She was by herself, reliant on her own wits and nothing more. She hoped they would be enough. Surely, the guards would stop looking for her soon enough, and then she would take the opportunity to find her way to a new clan, a place where she wouldn't be known as the daughter of the Laird's advisor, Hamish Glennrock, but just as Lucy. Simple, sweet Lucy.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Lucy said.

Rory poked his head around. "I know it's late, but I thought ye might want some tea. It always helps calm my nerves, and I assumed ye hae quite an exciting night," he smiled sheepishly as he entered the room. Ginger came slipping through the door as well and mewed. Lucy shifted herself into a sitting position, resting her back against the wall and stretching her legs out across the bed. Her feet dangled off the edge. Rory handed her the tea and then stood beside the window, casting an anxious glance towards the bed. He was so young, younger than even her, and that seemed impossible. Ginger had more confidence than him, though. She jumped up onto the bed and curled up beside Lucy. Her hand immediately started stroking Ginger.

"I hope ye dinnae think tae much of Ian's mood. He's a decent person really, deep down," Rory said.

"Deep, deep down," Lucy commented, and they both laughed. Ginger purred as Lucy scratched her under her chin, closing her eyes in delight.

"She likes ye," Rory said, nodding towards the cat.

"Well, we are partners in crime," Lucy chuckled. She started to feel a little self-conscious then. "I hope ye dinnae think tae badly of me for being a thief."

"I'm sure ye hae a good reason for daeing what ye did. My sister and I were in a desperate situation. She ended up haeing tae dae bad things, even though she's nae a bad person."

"Did she ever get caught?"

Rory grinned and tilted his head from side to side. "Aye, in a way, but now she's married and lives on a farm. It worked out well for her. I hope it will for all of us."

"And how did a lad like ye make it from a farm tae a blacksmith's shop?" she asked.

Rory beamed with pride. "I want tae be a blacksmith. It's all I've ever wanted. I learned all I could in my old clan, and I wanted tae strike out on my own for a while. There are all kinds of techniques from all kinds of different people. I went from clan tae clan looking for opportunities, and when I heard that Ian was looking for an apprentice, I jumped at the opportunity. He is one of the most skilled blacksmiths in all the Highlands. I hae learned sae much from him."

"Including how tae make whiskey," she pointed out.

The smile fell from Rory's face and he scratched the back of his neck. "Aye, well, perhaps there was a wee bit more than I bargained for. But he says he hae a good reason for it. I just try and focus on the work."

Speaking of work, from elsewhere in the shop the pounding of a hammer could be heard. It was loud, violent, and heavy. The noise was so loud that it clanged through the silence, reverberating in Lucy's skull.

"He always works when he's this agitated. It'll help him blow off some steam," Rory said.

Lucy nodded. While she was curious about the distillery and Ian's motivation for operating an illegal business, especially if he was as skilled as Rory claimed, she didn't feel right in pushing for information just yet. Rory looked away and shifted his position awkwardly whenever he mentioned the distillery, giving Lucy the impression that he wasn't as invested in it as Ian was. What reason could there have been for breaking one of the Laird's laws? She wasn't sure at all, and she had no idea if Ian was ever going to tell her. It might just end up being one of those mysteries of life that would never be solved.

The restless working went on for a while. She, Rory, and Ginger remained in silence, sipping their tea. It was nice to have some company and it helped her feel less alone. The keep had always been busy, with noises long through the night, and with the knowledge that there was always someone to talk to, no matter the hour. She was going to have to get used to a different way of life now, though, but her convictions were still true. She was not going to go back, nor was she going to regret what happened.

Eventually, the hammering stopped. Lucy had finished her tea and handed the cup to Rory.

"Thank ye, for sticking up for me with Ian. I think if ye were nae here, I would hae been thrown out," Lucy said.

"It's my pleasure," Rory replied.

Just then, they heard footsteps stomping outside. The door was flung open and Ian's frame filled the doorway. He scowled and glared at them.

"Is this what's gaeing tae happen now? Are ye gaeing tae slack off just because we hae a guest? I dinnae let her stay just sae ye could hae some company. Get on with ye and check the vats," he growled. Rory bowed his head and hurried out of the room. Ginger waited a moment and then rushed after him, leaving Ian staring at Lucy.

"Ye should be careful with the boy. Dinnae take advantage of his kindness. He's nae used tae ways of women."

For a moment, Lucy was filled with a sense of courage. Ian had been so hostile to her that she wanted to unnerve him in the same way he had unnerved her. So she angled her body, swinging her leg over the other and leaning forward a little, looking up at him through hooded eyes and a sultry glance.

"And what ways would they be?" she asked in a low, husky voice. Ian's lip curled. He cleared his throat and turned away. Lucy allowed herself a smile. He reached down and then threw some common clothes at her, rough fabric that was coarse against her skin.

"These will dae ye taemorrow. Dinnae think that I'm gaeing tae give ye an easy way. Ye are gaeing tae pull yer weight here just like anyone else, and if I think ye are being tae idle, then I will throw ye out on yer rump myself, ye understand? I am nae gaeing tae shelter any freeloaders."

"I told ye I will prove myself, and I shall," Lucy raised her eyebrows and gave him a haughty look, not wishing to let him bully her.

"I hope I am nae gaeing tae regret this," he said under his breath as he slammed the door behind him. Lucy laid back down and pulled the blanket over her. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was Ian looming before her mind. He possessed such an aura, such presence, and yet he was such an irritable man as well. She wondered if there was anything kinder and softer under the surface, or if he was prickly all the way down. Rory seemed to think highly of him, and he was most certainly not a rogue, so what kind of man was Ian? Was he only served by self-interest, or was there something else motivating him? Despite his grumbling, he hadn't actually thrown Ginger out, or Lucy herself for that matter. She found him most intriguing and unlike any of the men she had met in the keep. They were all well-to-do, with firm manners, high-pitched voices and soft hands. Not like Ian's hands. She had felt them graze against her when he had freed her from the shackles. His skin was taut, leathery, his fingers thick and strong, his wrists themselves like iron. He had weathered things in this world that most others hadn't. There was a darkness about him, an intensity like a storm, and this thrilled her, even if it might be dangerous.

And then she giggled to herself, thinking about the reaction her father would have to all of this. He would be so shocked he might well die on the spot of shame. This wasn't the life he would have ever pictured for her, but this was her life.