Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

A lana woke up with a moan of pain and no idea of how long she'd been out. Her head was splitting, but when she went to rub her temples to ease it, she could not move her arms. Instant panic set in as she realized that once again, she was tied to a chair by her arms and legs. Her eyes flew open, and she cast wildly about her, praying she was not back in that horrible cellar at the tavern.

The sight that met her blurred gaze was far, far worse. She was in the same dungeon cell as her father, and both of them were tied up. "Laird MacIver," she murmured, keeping her voice down.

"Ach, ye're awake, lass, thank the Lord. Are ye all right?"

"Ugh, well, me head's splittin' but apart from that, I think I'm all right," she replied, shaking her head to try to clear it. "How long have I been here?"

"I cannae tell ye exactly," he told her. "There's nae day nor night down here, and nae clock tae measure the long hours. Was it day or night when ye came down here and found me?"

"Night. Or rather, the early hours of the mornin'."

"Hmm, ye've been out quite a long time. Judging by the changin' of the guard, I'd venture' tis late afternoon or evenin' of the followin' day."

She was surprised. "The last thing I can remember is Blaine punchin' me. He obviously knocked me out, but can I really have been out so long just because he hit me?"

"Nay, lass. Ye were wakin' up earlier, but Blaine made the guard give ye a drink that put ye straight back out again," he explained. There was a sudden loud noise, a door nearby banging. The old laird froze and cocked his head, clearly listening hard. Alana listened to, and her stomach flipped when she heard Blaine's voice.

"He's comin'," her father cautioned, nodding a warning at the door. Seconds later, it opened, and Blaine stepped inside the cell.

He completely ignored the laird and strode straight over to Alana. "Och, ye're awake. That's good. It saves me from havin' tae wake ye up. How are ye feelin'?" he asked, his grin showing his concern to be false.

"As if ye care, ye connivin' pig," she replied and spat on his boots. He looked down at the spittle then back at her. He looked so furious, she thought he was about to strike her again. But he seemed to take hold of himself, took a deep breath, and smiled.

"That's what I like about ye, yer spirit," he told her. "I'm lookin' forward tae having' the pleasure of breakin' it at me leisure."

"Leave her alone, ye filthy little scoundrel," the laird growled threateningly.

Blaine reached over and dealt him a stinging backhand around the face. The laird's head was flung violently to one side, and Alana was horrified to see blood trickling form his mouth. "Shut yer pie hole, old man," Blaine snarled at him. "Ye have nae part in this. Ye're a dead man walkin'."

"Faither, are ye all right?" Alana cried out, frightened for him.

"Aye, I'm nae dead yet, fer all the weasel says," the laird muttered through his swollen lip defiantly.

Clearly satisfied he had silenced John for the time being, Blaine turned his attention back to Alana, crouching next to her. He suddenly reached out and grasped her chin painfully in his hand, bringing his face close to hers with a menacing smile that made her blood run cold. "I suppose ye think ye were very clever, finding that secret passage, eh? Ye've been spyin' on me, havenae ye? I bet ye dinnae feel so smart now ye've ended up here though."

"Why am I here at all?" she demanded. "I thought ye said I was yer honored guest." The words dripped with sarcasm. "I dinnae think much of yer idea of hospitality. Mind ye, I'm talkin' tae a creature capable of pretendin' tae kidnap his own faither tae serve his own greed, so I suppose I shouldnae be surprised."

Blaine laughed. "Call me all the names under the sun, Alana. All ye're doin' is storin' up trouble fer yersel'. Fer I'll be sure tae pay ye back fer every time ye insult me. And if ye think ye can shame me fer gettin' 'rid of this old fool," he nodded towards the laird, "then ye have another think comin'. I'm proud of me ambitions.

"And ye must admit, with Tadhg out of the way, me plans are goin' swimmingly. I've been plottin' all this fer months. In the end, it was ridiculously easy tae get yer faither intae his own dungeon and lock him up."

"Ye make me sick tae look at ye. Ye're nae a man," Alana told him, repulsed by the sight of him. "Just a pathetic, twisted, ungrateful wreath." She found she was no longer afraid of what he was going to do with her. If she was going to die, she would die with the father that she knew loved her right next to her.

"That's another insult I'll be payin' ye back fer in spades, Alana," Blaine told her, his cocky smile faltering for a moment. To her, it felt like a small if pointless victory.

"Of course," he went on, "I couldnae have done it all mesel'. I had some help from friends of mine on the council."

"Traitors, the lot of them," the laird spat derisively. "As soon as I get out of here, I'll personally be stickin' their heads on spikes outside the gate. Yers'll be the one in the middle, ye vile wee rat."

"Shut up!" Blaine screamed at him.

"Och, is yer nice story bein' interrupted? Cannae get enough of the sound of yer own voice, is that it?" Alana could not resist taunting him. The laird chuckled despite the situation, and Blaine went over and viciously beat him about the head.

"Leave him alone, ye monster!" Alana screamed at him, struggling against her bonds, her fingers itching to scratch at his eyes. When he finished, rubbing his knuckles, the laird's face was a swollen, bloody mess. Yet he made not a single sound to show he was in pain, and she felt a rush of pride and love for him.

"Ye dinnae want tae worry about him, lassie. He didnae care about ye enough tae find ye, did he?" Blaine said scathingly.

"That's a bloody lie," the laird muttered.

"Ach, 'tis true that fer years, he tried tae find ye and yer maither. He must have spent a bloody fortune, sending men out searchin' high and low. But somehow, he never quite managed it. It was me that found ye."

She could not help but look up at him then.

He nodded at her. "Aye, months ago I happened upon some old documents in the castle archives by accident. In them, I found a tiny record of yer birth in another place far from here. That's when I realized the old fool wasnae mad. He really did have a daughter, illegitimate, aye, but his actual blood. His living, breathin' heir. That was when it came tae me what I had tae dae. And now, there's only one thing holding me back from becoming the next Laird MacIver. Can ye guess what it is, Alana?"

"I couldnae care less," she told him, despising him more by the second.

"I'll tell ye anyway. I'm sure ye'll be thrilled. 'Tis our weddin'."

"W-what?!" Alana gasped, feeling like she'd been kicked in the stomach.

"Aye, I'm disappointed ye didnae guess. After all, I gave ye enough hints in the past. It always amused me that ye seemed tae believe ye had some choice in the matter. And that pathetic ruse ye tried tae pull on me with MacTavish, pretendin' ye were man and wife.

"Well, it daesnae matter now. ‘Tis funny tae think I didnae have tae even lift a finger tae get rid of the bastard. Ye did it all fer me. I'm guessin' that deep down, that's what ye wanted because ye kent ye could have me as yer proper husband, eh?"

"Tadhg's a hundred times the man ye'll ever be, ye worm," she snapped.

His eyes gleamed with triumph as he smiled sneeringly at her. "Well, I'll enjoy provin' ye wrong on that score tonight, lass. Because in just a short time, ye'll be me wife in the eyes of God and man."

"What?! Nay!" she cried, gripped by panic, her defiance evaporating.

"Aye, the ceremony's due tae take place in exactly one hour's time, in the Great Hall. Now, I ken a bride likes tae look her best on her weddin' day, so I'll leave ye tae get ready." He walked to the cell door and looked outside. "Guards, take her."