Chapter Six
If she lived through the next few days, Aleysia never wanted to see the Scottish commander smile ever again. It made her forget her name and all her carefully laid out plans. She didn’t abandon them. Never that.
It was almost as dangerous as seeing him asleep in nothing but a plaid around his waist. The sight of him, illuminated in the candlelight, had made her feel like she had too much wine. He had slept on his back, one muscular arm tossed over his head. His broad chest was lightly dusted with dark hair. His belly was tight with muscles. There were at least a dozen scars covering him, including the one on his cheekbone, left by her arrow. It did nothing to lessen his handsome features. She had stared at him too long.
Oh, but when he disarmed her and pulled her down atop him in her bed, she had been less afraid of him and more afraid of his effect on her.
How could she find him more alluring than any man she’d ever met? Awareness of him ripped through her as she doubled her steps to keep up with his long strides. His height and the breadth of his shoulders cast her in shadows.
Why hadn’t he killed her yet? She told herself she hadn’t killed him yet because she needed him to tell her where he was keeping Richard so she could escape with him.
She looked down at the cup and thought of a way to bargain with the Scot.
They entered the room to a waiting Father Timothy and another brutish-looking man with bright red hair and beard and two long scars running down his face.
“D’ye have the mixture?” the priest asked, leaping to his feet when he saw them.
Aleysia held up the cup.
“Good, good,” Father Timothy reached out to take it and shot a furtive glance to the commander. “I told Amish aboot Aleysia, Richard’s granddaughter.”
“Uhm,” the commander mumbled and moved to the bedside. “How is he?”
“He comes back to us and then leaves again,” Father Timothy told him and then turned to Aleysia. “Ye can give me the mixture.” He moved to take it, but she pulled away. “Come now, Miss. We canna waste a moment.”
She looked at the commander when he turned to see what was going on.
“Where is Si—my grandfather?” She held the cup at an angle, letting a drop spill. “Bring him to me or I will let this cup fall.”
The commander stormed toward her in two giant steps. He seemed bigger suddenly, infinitely more deadly than she could imagine. His lips were tight, his nostrils flared.
She backed away but he kept coming.
“Ye make demands while this lad’s life hangs by a thread?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. He didn’t try to grab the cup before she made good on her threat. He simply stared her down with a glare that made her kneecaps weak beneath her. “If ye dinna feed that antidote to William before yer next breath, ye willna see daylight!”
She was surprised the walls of the chamber didn’t crumble around them at the force of his voice. That her blood didn’t freeze from his frigid glare.
She believed him. He would kill her. She should have stabbed him when she had the chance. She’d panicked. She’d hesitated. And now, she had to save one of them.
She brushed past the commander without another word—and with all the strength she could muster to move at all—and went to the bedside.
She looked down at the victim of her poison. William. He was quite beautiful in his slumber, with lush black lashes resting against his pale skin.
“He needs to be roused so he can swallow the mixture,” she said, keeping her gaze on William, rather than look at his commander again.
“Cainnech,” the priest said, “hold him up and I’ll try to rouse him.”
The brutish commander pushed past her and moved to the head of the bed.
Climbing into the bed, he sat behind the lad and fit his arms gently beneath William’s arms. He sat the young man up, leaning William’s back against his chest.
Father Timothy came to sit at the edge and began trying to rouse him.
When William’s lids fluttered open, Aleysia stepped forward and held the cup to his lips. “Drink this,” she said.
He looked up at her with dark gray, glassy eyes and smiled. “Julianna.”
Aleysia glanced at the commander behind him and noted the slight change in his expression. Compassion warmed his gaze, but just for a moment, before he tightened his jaw and pushed it away.
But he did care—at least about William. He wouldn’t have threatened to kill her if he didn’t. It piqued her curiosity about the lad. What was it about him that pricked the commander’s heart? Who was Julianna?
He is young…innocent of bloodshed. A servant.
“Aye, William,” she said softening her voice. “You must drink this now.”
He pressed his lips to the cup and drank a little then started to drift off again.
Aleysia placed her fingers to his cheek. “Come now, William, drink this for me.”
He drank more, slowly, but finally the mixture was gone.
“Now what?” the commander asked her over William’s head.
“We should see an improvement before dawn.”
Cain moved away from William and laid him back down so he could rest properly. He stood up and walked around the bed, passing her without a word, and went to stand with the red-haired Amish.
“I’m goin’ to speak with Richard the steward. Stay ootside the room. She is not to step oot of it. If she tries to leave, kill her.”
“Aye, Commander,” Amish said.
Aleysia shot them both a murderous look.
The bastard commander closed the gap between them in two strides. “I will bring yer grandfather back to have a brief word with ye. But if ye try to escape before we return, ye will both die. D’ye understand me, lady?”
She thought about where two knives were hidden in this room and how she’d like to fetch them and ram them into his guts. “What if I do escape and come and kill you?”
He looked as if he wanted to smile. But he didn’t. Instead, he let his gaze slip down her body, pausing at her feminine curves beneath her breeches and léine.
She felt her face begin to grow flushed, but he didn’t see.
He started to leave, but then stopped and flicked his gaze between her and Father Timothy.
He pointed to the priest. “Come with me.”
Father Timothy didn’t argue. They both knew how dangerous she was.
He obviously cared about the priest. She doubted it was her soul he was trying to protect when he commanded Father Timothy to follow him.
She watched them depart, leaving Amish to guard the door. What could she do now but wait? Richard’s life depended on her remaining where she was.
She looked down at William. A bit of color had returned to his face. A good sign—for the other side, at least.
She left his side and went to fetch her hidden knives. She took one and hid it carefully in her bodice.
This time, she wouldn’t hesitate.