Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

A ila concealed her trembling hands beneath the folds of her cloak, determined not to reveal her fear to the scout.

Avery had vouched for this man, assuring her of his trustworthiness. In this moment, she had no choice but to place her faith in her brother-in-law and hope that he was right.

"Are ye Faulkner?" she called out to the man. He inclined his head in acknowledgment, his dark eyes as black as night fixated on her. "Good day," she attempted a cheerful tone, but it fell flat. He remained unresponsive. She cleared her throat and fidgeted, shifting her weight nervously.

She had spoken to numerous scouts at Avery's behest, yet none seemed to yield any progress in her search for Fiadh and her husband, Laird Ossian Farquharson. Regardless, Aila refused to give up on her quest to find her sister, even if it meant engaging with dangerous men in the shadowed corners of the forest. Avery had assured her that Faulkner could be trusted, but his discontented countenance and the two swords hanging from his belt cast doubt on that belief.

"I hope ye are in good health?" she asked, attempting to be courteous.

"Why bother with pleasantries when ye have come tae ask me somethin'?" He shrugged off the notion. "I am a man o' business, sae let's discuss it."

"Very well." Aila sighed and reached beneath her cloak, retrieving a handful of coins from her purse and extending them towards him. The scout snatched the coins from her hand, counting them hastily. She instinctively withdrew, creating more distance between them, then lifted her chin, refusing to let him see her fears. "What have ye learned?"

"I've inquired about Fiadh Mathieson and any woman known by that name," he began, pausing to glance up from his counting. "But I've had nae luck. As for Laird Ossian Farquharson..."

He trailed off, his voice laced with uncertainty. "There's nae laird by that name."

"There must be," Aila insisted. "I ken it tae be true." The words her father had spoken in his study, boasting of his success in marrying Fiadh off to a laird for a hefty sum, still echoed vividly in her mind. Gowan had spent that money with abandon, lavishing most of it on the courtesan named Ella who held him under her control. "Ye must have heard somethin'."

"Nay, nothing," the scout shook his head. "From what ye have told me, my guess is that the man who came tae yer brothel?—"

"It was nae my brothel." Aila's tone grew sharp. The scout's dark brows lifted, but he did not argue with her.

"The man who came must have given ye a false name. My advice is, dinnae trust anything he told ye, ma'am. It was likely all a lie. Good day tae ye." With that, he bowed his head and swiftly departed.

Aila stepped forward, ready to follow him, but he vanished so fast between the trees she was left stumbling, reaching for the nearest tree branches to keep herself steady.

"Wait!" Her call went unanswered. "Well done, Avery," Aila muttered to herself. "Aye, what a great help he was." She knew her brother-in-law was only trying to assist her, but Avery's trust in such men often seemed misguided. She had handed over some of the little money she had, only to receive unreliable information in return. "This is hopeless."

She turned away but suddenly froze. She could have sworn she heard movement nearby. Was that a footstep? The sound of a boot touching the ground? She peered at a massive boulder a short distance away and the towering Douglas firs surrounding it, certain there was someone lurking there. Then, a rook took flight, darting between the branches of the trees. Startled, she clutched her chest and hastily retreated, leaning against the nearest tree trunk.

It was just a rook. Aye, just a rook.

Nevertheless, her gaze lingered on the path it had taken, as rooks were often considered ill omens, heralds of death. Hurrying away from her meeting spot, she cast frequent glances between the trees, wary of more rooks appearing and trailing her.

Aila made her way back to the castle, hastening through the town with little regard for her surroundings. Once inside the castle walls, her plan was to discuss the scant information she had gathered with Callie and Avery. They were the only ones within those walls whom she trusted.

Others resided there, of course, but she preferred to keep them at a distance.

Laird Chattan and his wife, Scarlett, were among them—good friends of Callie. Two visiting soldiers, Elliot and Murdoch, also stayed there. Murdoch, in particular, piqued Aila's interest. He, like her, was quiet and reserved, seldom uttering a word. It often led her to wonder if he harbored a tender heart, just as she did, and simply wished to shield it from the world.

There was one person in the castle whom Aila made sure to keep her distance from whenever possible: Laird Chattan's brother, Ian. She was certain he was a cold and brutal man. Witnessing his sword skills during practice, she knew he was highly skilled and dangerous. The few conversations they had exchanged had always turned into arguments or left her retreating to the shadows. On more than one occasion, she had caught him glaring at her from across the castle rooms.

For some reason, that man does nae like me.

As Aila returned to the castle, she hastened through the courtyard and entered the keep, immediately seeking out the whereabouts of Callie and Avery. Upon learning that Callie had returned to her healing chambers, Aila headed for the door, opening it and stepping out without noticing someone on the other side.

"Oh!" She stumbled, colliding with someone.

A strong hand grasped her waist and swiftly pushed her back. Aila felt a surge of heat from that touch, and when she looked up, she found herself face-to-face with a man whose eyes were as dark as a stormy ocean, much darker than her own. Startled, she freed herself from his hold and nearly stumbled into the door behind her.

Ian stood before her, his dark blond hair tousled as if windswept.

"Where are ye running off tae, Aila?" he asked, a slow smirk curling his lips.

"Nowhere." She attempted to maneuver around him, but he sidestepped, blocking her path.

"Ye left the castle in quite a hurry this morning. Nothing amiss, I hope?" His smirk wavered as his gaze bore into her, causing her to retreat.

"We both ken ye wouldn't care if there was something wrong with me. Begging your pardon, Ian." Aila curtsied, mindful of his position as a laird's brother, and swiftly maneuvered around him, descending the stairs. She rushed across the courtyard but couldn't resist stealing a glance back, only to find him still standing on the staircase.

He stared at her with those intense, stormy eyes.

There was one flaw in Ian Chattan's cold and unwelcoming demeanor, and that was his striking appearance. Despite his uninviting expression, his handsome face presented quite the opposite.

It's a shame he doesnae have a heart that matches his looks.

Aila averted her gaze, shifting her thoughts to another figure. Across the courtyard, she spotted Murdoch and Elliot, the two soldiers, engaged in combat training with their broadswords. Her eyes lingered on Murdoch as she once again wondered about the gentle heart he might be concealing beneath his quiet demeanor.

One thousand and fifty-four days…aye, that is how long it has been.

Aila slumped in her seat at the feasting table, paying little heed to the lively group around her, for her mind wandered elsewhere. She pondered the length of time since she last laid eyes upon Fiadh, and the realization of its duration left her even more despondent than when she parted ways with the scout in the forest earlier that day.

"Aila, ye must eat," Callie spoke beside her, heaping more food onto her plate.

"I am nae hungry, thank ye." She attempted to push the plate away, but Callie playfully nudged it back with a frown.

"Eat something, or I'll force it down ye. It won't be a bonnie sight," Callie teased.

Grateful for her sister's lightheartedness, Aila managed a small smile and delved into the capon, redirecting her attention to the conversations at the table.

It was a bustling evening. Laird Chattan and his wife occupied one end of the table, with their guests, Elliot and Murdoch, seated on either side. Beside Aila sat Callie, while Avery sat opposite them. On Aila's other side sat the one man she had been diligently avoiding.

Ian.

He smiled and laughed with his companions, including his brother, as they shared tales of hunting. The sound of his laughter piqued Aila's curiosity, prompting her to cast a gaze toward Ian. In the company of others, he appeared jovial and no longer distant. Yet, that warmth was something he couldn't muster in her presence.

Stretching across the table, Aila reached for the mead jug. However, another hand gripped the pewter jug simultaneously. It was Ian's hand, significantly larger than her own. The warmth of his touch startled her, causing her to recoil and nearly knock over the jug.

Ian tightened his grip on the jug, steadying it, and then fixed his stormy eyes on her, his lips no longer adorned with a smile.

"Nervous about something, Aila?" he whispered, ensuring their conversation remained concealed from the others who had immersed themselves in their own discussions.

"Nay. I am simply parched." She gestured toward the jug.

Ian poured the mead into her goblet before passing it to himself—a fleeting act of kindness, unfamiliar yet present. He had never displayed such behavior before, leaving her to gaze at him over the brim of her goblet, bewildered by his actions.

"Come on, Murdoch," Ian rejoined the conversation with his comrades. "Ye expect me to believe that Elliot shot three deer and ye none? Modesty is at play."

"Perhaps my mind was elsewhere." Murdoch smiled as he spoke.

Aila's eyes shifted to him, studying the darkness in his gaze, sensing that there was more to his thoughts. She was certain that beneath his cold exterior lay a complicated heart.

Tonight, I shall seize my opportunity with him.

Reaching into the pocket of her gown, she toyed with the hidden letter. The previous night, she had spent countless hours wrestling with what to write. Murdoch was a reserved man, and she was unsure of how he would respond if she approached him directly.

I fear he may reject me. Aye, at least in a letter, I could accept his refusal more readily.

She fidgeted with the letter so much that it slipped from her pocket, falling onto the stone floor. As she reached down to retrieve it, another hand intercepted it before she could. Ian sat up in his chair, holding the letter. He turned it over, about to read the recipient's name when she swiftly snatched it back.

"Something intriguing?" he inquired, a smirk gracing his lips. "A love letter, perhaps?"

"I harbor no such secrets," she lied, hastily returning the letter to her pocket.

"I suspect ye keep many secrets," Ian chuckled softly and averted his gaze, resuming his conversation with Murdoch. "I once witnessed ye hunting three deer at once and capturing them all. Nay, dinnae tell me yer skills have abandoned ye, my friend. I wouldnae believe it."

"As I said, my mind was elsewhere," Murdoch shrugged.

Aila was now unsure where to direct her gaze. A part of her restless and fluttering heart yearned to look at Murdoch, longing to uncover the thoughts that occupied his mind. Yet, reluctantly, her gaze shifted elsewhere. She turned her attention to Ian beside her, who shot her a dark glare.

What do these brooding looks signify? Why does he glare at me so?

His accusation of her harboring secrets tormented her as she struggled to eat, picking at the capon, her heart still in turmoil.

As the dinner drew to a close and people dispersed to their respective chambers, Aila sprang to her feet, eager to fulfill her task. She hoped to slip her letter to Murdoch under his chamber door, where prying eyes wouldn't catch sight of it. In doing so, she aimed to establish a connection between them, and perhaps discover if he, too, was burdened by the troubles that consumed her, causing him to withdraw from the world.

Aye, we could find solace together, concealed within the shadows.

She stepped out of the feasting room and into the hallway.

"Aila?" a voice called out, halting her in her tracks.

Irate, she rooted herself to the spot and turned to face the figure standing in the doorway of the feasting room. Ian stood with his arms folded, his golden locks gleaming in the flickering firelight from the torches flanking the entrance.

"We need tae have a talk," he declared.

"Must we?" She turned her back on him and made her way toward the staircase. "Ye and I both know that whenever we converse, it inevitably leads to arguments."

"Then dinnae flee from me now if ye wish tae avoid another fight." He pursued her, intercepting her on the stairs. With his long strides, he closed the distance effortlessly, forcing her to come to a standstill. She tilted her head upward, peering at him through the orange glow of the torchlight.

He approached surprisingly close, so near that she stumbled on her own feet. She nervously chewed her lip, taken aback by how his striking appearance stirred something within her.

Dinnae entertain such thoughts. This man is nae friend o' mine.

"I have a deeply personal favor tae ask ye," Ian announced, his arms still folded as he gazed down at her, tilting his head slightly.

"Ye observe me like a falcon eying its prey."

"Then ye ken I willnae accept 'nay' as an answer."

"How considerate," she retorted dryly. "Ye aim tae manipulate me into granting yer request without even revealing its nature."

"In the name o' all that's holy, ye always seem ready for a skirmish, don't ye?"

"Nay." She shook her head, startled to find him accusing her of being argumentative. "I just?—"

"Aye, aye, I ken what ye're about tae say." He grinned broadly, raising his chin. "Let me guess, I provoke this side o' ye." She scowled, despising the fact that he knew her response before she could utter it. "See? I knew it."

"What do ye want, Ian?"

"I wish tae converse," he nodded toward the door of the feasting room. "Come back inside and share a drink with me. I desire tae discuss the events that transpired at yer father's residence."

"Again!?" she spluttered, sidestepping him and ascending the stairs. "I've discussed it enough with this family. There's nae more tae be said. I dinnae wish tae dwell on it any longer."

"Nothing?" His voice sounded close behind her, indicating that he was following. She stumbled on the staircase, reaching out for the banister to steady herself, only to be startled when his hand came up from behind and touched her back, preventing her from falling. A jolt of electricity shot through her, causing her to retreat and face him once again. His raised eyebrows and mischievous half-smile revealed his amusement.

"Ye recoil as though I'm the devil himself."

"Something along those lines."

"I wish to inquire about all that remains unknown to me regarding the events. I'm certain I lack the complete picture."

"I have told ye everything. Speak to my sister, if ye must. She will confirm the same," Aila rushed to speak, fearing the consequences if anyone were to discover the whole truth.

I am a cruel woman, aye, wicked indeed, to have sent my sister to such a fate. It was my mistake. I should have accepted that man's offer. At least then Fiadh would be safe.

She dreaded the judgment of a man like Ian if he ever uncovered the truth.

"Leave me be, Ian. Please." She turned and hastened to the top of the stairs, clutching the pocket where the hidden letter lay.

"Ye are harbouring secrets. I am certain of it." His resolute voice brought her to a halt. She turned back, her gaze lingering on his imposing figure. He wore his customary buckskin trousers with a loose brown waistcoat over a well-fitted white shirt, its sleeves billowing. The collar was unfastened, exposing a glimpse of tanned skin, evidence of his outdoor pursuits. The stubble on his chin accentuated his handsome features, leaving Aila's mouth dry as she instinctively retreated from him.

"I am keeping nae secrets. None." Fear coursed through her veins. He possessed a knack for peering into her with those stormy eyes and glimpsing something of her soul, something she desperately tried to keep hidden. "Play yer mind games with another lass, Ian, not me."

She turned and fled, hurrying down the hallway to escape his presence. Though she made it seem as though she were retreating to her own chamber, once she was certain he was no longer trailing her, she veered off and headed towards Murdoch's room. Pausing, she surveyed the dim corridor, relying solely on the silvery moonlight that filtered through the windows. No one was approaching. This was her opportunity.

Extracting the letter, she brought it to her lips and held it there for a brief moment.

Please, be everything I believe ye to be, she silently prayed . Slowly, she slid the letter under the door and stepped back. Her heart pounded in her chest, startled by her own audacity, but she knew that happiness would not find her in this world. If she wished to experience joy and love, she had to take a chance and seek it out for herself.

Please respond, Murdoch . She turned and departed, racing down the moonlit corridor, her boot heels echoing against the stone walls.