Prey
“I canna deny she has unsettled me,” Broderick confided to Aiglon.
The bird ignored him, her attention on the water as Lark brought them closer to the Firth.
“Ye’re obviously more interested in salmon than in what I have to say,” he lamented, loosening the jesses, then gently stroking her head.
She nudged her beak against his cheek in the familiar ritual they shared before she spread her wings. With a whoosh of feathers, she flew off, soaring high, then circling, searching out her prey.
Well fed in the mews, her instinct to hunt had nothing to do with hunger.
She spotted her victim and dove to glide perilously close to the surface, talons outstretched. The delight and exhilaration of watching her never left him. She was a force of nature and he humbly recognized he was fooling himself if he thought he’d tamed her.
“Typical redhead,” he muttered.
The remark sent a tingle racing up his spine at the very moment Aiglon dipped her talons in the water and effortlessly extracted a wriggling fish.
Could Kyla MacKeegan be tamed?
He shook his head. Then she wouldn’t be the lass she was, and he was drawn to her feisty nature.
“That’s an understatement, my lad,” he chided.
However, a little friendly coaxing might convince her to draw in her talons. She’d make a formidable enemy, especially with such powerful clan connections. Better to have her as an ally. Working out a plan to return her to the Hebrides might stand a better chance of success if they conceived it together.
It was a good idea, yet he could muster no enthusiasm for the prospect of her leaving Caerlochnaven.
As expected, Aiglon brought her catch to shore, pecked out the eyes, then flew back to curl her talons around his outstretched arm. “Did ye enjoy that tasty morsel, my pet?” he crooned.
She nudged his cheek again.
“Speaking of tasty morsels…”
He hardened at the thought of tasting Kyla. It was disturbing. He had sworn never to allow emotion to control him. It had been his father’s undoing. Nor did he have a reputation for lusting after women, unlike the late, unlamented Lochwood laird. The lass from Skye had him bewitched. “Good grief, what is wrong with me?” he spluttered, winding the jesses around the leather gauntlet.
Aiglon eyed him, but offered no solution before lifting her sharp gaze to the sky. She was on the lookout for threats, but he wouldn’t blame her for rolling her eyes.
*
In Lily’s absence, Kyla set about exploring. Intrigued by a narrow set of steps leading off the bedchamber, she followed them down to a strange grotto-like room. Candles flickered in lanterns affixed to the walls. Dark water filled a square pool that occupied most of the space. The air was warm and humid. A pattern of small tiles covered the floor. It was as if she’d stepped into the ancient villa Isabel’s Uncle Boyd told of from his long-ago voyage to Rome.
Startled from her rapt enjoyment of the faerie-like cave by a commotion in the chamber, she scurried back up the stone steps.
A red-faced Lily watched her emerge.
A serving girl laden with clothing eyed her suspiciously.
“I found yer trews,” Lily exclaimed before Kyla could ask about the pool, “but the laundress was told to give away yer ruined shirt to poor folk.”
“Aye,” the servant confirmed sheepishly, dumping the clothing on the bed before hurrying away.
Kyla forgot about the grotto in her rush to examine the pile, elated to find the precious plaid—and something else. “But ye found another shirt I see.”
Lily’s eyes widened with glee. “I borrowed one of my brother’s from the armoire in his dressing room.”
Kyla’s heart did a peculiar flutter in her chest as she took hold of the garment and held it up. “’Tis too big,” she said, though that wasn’t her main concern. It belonged to Broderick Maxwell, the man who’d destroyed her life. Yet she had an urge to press the soft linen to her cheek, to inhale any trace of him that might linger. It was lunacy.
“’Twill have to do,” Lily replied with a maturity beyond her years. “Until we can find another.”
“But he’ll be angry when he sees I am wearing his clothing.”
It struck her immediately that there was naught amiss with raising Maxwell’s ire. In fact, why not take perverse pleasure in enjoying all his castle had to offer? “Is the warm pool down below for bathing?”
Lily grinned and took her hand. “The Roman bath, ye mean? Broderick willna mind if we use it.”
*
Having made the decision to initiate peace negotiations with Kyla, Broderick stopped by the dressing room adjoining his bedchamber to change his attire. He loved falconry, but the mews wasn’t a pleasant-smelling place and he didn’t want to launch his diplomatic efforts with the inevitable bird down clinging to his clothing.
He paused on the threshold and inhaled. Lily’s little-girl scent lingered.
Not that he minded if she’d been in his dressing room. It was simply curious. Unless she’d been looking for him. That seemed a reasonable explanation.
He took off his tunic and undid the ties of his shirt, then pulled it off over his head.
He threw the soiled garment to the floor for Teak to pick up later and opened the armoire, looking for his favorite shirt.
To no avail.
Yet he was certain it had been there earlier. A peculiar premonition stole into his senses.
Lily…a missing shirt…Kyla.
Heat surged through his veins, sending blood rushing to his groin at the notion of Kyla MacKeegan’s shapely form clad in his clothing. What other explanation was there?
He chuckled. It was possible his baby sister had already formed a bond with his captive.
Sweat beaded on his brow. He shouldn’t have conjured the word captive. Now he’d have to bathe before he met with Kyla, lest she get the mistaken impression she was dealing with a lustful man.
He undressed, wrapped a drying cloth around his waist and thrust open the door that led from his dressing room down to the Roman bath.