Unanswered Questions
Broderick sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward that Lily remained on the steps as he dismounted and helped his prisoner down from Lark. Holding tight to Kyla’s waist, he felt the warmth of her skin, even through the damp clothing. It sent his thoughts scurrying once more in a carnal direction. This definitely wasn’t the moment to answer the questions that were no doubt swirling in Lily’s head.
Who is she?
My prisoner.
Prisoner?
I sank her boat.
Why?
He forgot all about his sister when Kyla put her hands on his shoulders. He found himself incapable of letting go as their eyes met. The urge to pull her to his inconvenient arousal and nuzzle the cascade of damp red hair was overwhelming. Green eyes flashed as her nostrils flared and she licked her lips.
Anger? Or did she once again feel the attraction between them?
But his throat tightened when he realized the color had drained from her face. He took her weight and gathered her into his arms as she swooned.
Lily rushed to keep pace as he carried Kyla into the keep. “Who is she?”
Fear numbed his brain. Had her near-drowning brought on a noxious fever? “My prisoner.”
Lily lifted her skirts and dogged his heels all the way up the stone staircase. “Prisoner?” she panted.
Trapped in some endless maze, he replied, “I sank her boat.”
At the end of the hallway, he kicked open the door of his chamber and held his breath, waiting for the next inevitable question.
“She’s beautiful. I’ll fetch Doreen,” Lily assured him.
With a whoosh of silk skirts she was gone.
He breathed again in an effort to slow his heart as he put Kyla down on his bed and took a step back. “My sister’s growing up,” he murmured.
His spirits lifted when the stricken woman opened her eyes. But she only murmured, “Sister?” before closing them and drifting away again.
*
When Kyla awoke, it took a moment or two to understand she wasn’t in a cell. Relieved, she let her gaze wander around the candle-lit chamber, enjoying the warmth of the crisp linens—until she stretched and realized she was clad in a nightshift. She sat up and threw off the sheets. The high-neck garment was old-fashioned, but exquisitely embroidered. She wondered briefly whose it was, but the more pressing question was…
“Belonged to my mistress,” a gravelly voice explained.
A face loomed out of the shadows. “I’m Doreen, and before ye ask, ’twas me undressed ye, so ye needna worry.”
Still half-asleep, Kyla peered over her shoulder at the sour-faced woman now pounding the bolster behind her. “Ye’re a maidservant?”
Doreen’s scowl deepened. “Served my lady until she died, God rest her soul, and now I take care of Lily.”
The fog began to lift. “Yer laird’s wife died?”
Doreen eyed her as if she’d spoken Greek. “Pshaw, lass. Laird Maxwell’s ne’er been wed. Ye’re likely the first woman to warm his bed.”
A thousand conflicting emotions swirled in Kyla’s befuddled brain. It hadn’t dawned on her until now that the trophies of war adorning the walls bespoke a man’s chamber. “This is his bed?”
Before Doreen could confirm it, another question popped out. “Who is Lily?”
“For someone lying in the laird’s bed ye dinna seem to ken much about him.”
Anger surged in Kyla’s throat. The woman thought she was a trollop. She slid from the bed, holding on to the mattress when her feet touched the carpeted floor and her knees threatened to buckle. “If ye’ll fetch my clothing…”
“The men’s togs, ye mean?” Doreen replied. “I doot the laundress can do aught with them. What’s a young lass doing wearing such…”
Panic soared up Kyla’s spine. “But the plaid? I must have my plaid.”
Doreen chivvied her back into bed. “A true Highlander, worried about a scrap o’ colored wool. I’ll see if I can find it.”
The maid’s tone had softened but her facial expression hadn’t and Kyla was too exhausted to challenge her further. She yawned and blinked her eyes closed when the candle was blown out.
“Lily is the laird’s sister, by the way,” Doreen said before closing the door of the chamber behind her.
Kyla lay in the darkness, listening to the creaks, groans and echoes of an unfamiliar castle. Her restless mind grappled with her situation. She’d survived the tunnel and escaped being locked in a cell. But she was in the laird’s bed. Did he intend to return and take advantage of her?
He had no wife.
That was a good thing.
She gritted her teeth. Nay. It was a bad thing if it meant…
Too tired to fathom what it meant, her thoughts drifted to Lily—probably the bairn she’d espied on the steps of the keep before she swooned. She’d always wanted a sister.
However, Lily was Broderick’s sister. And when had she begun to think of Maxwell as Broderick?
She snuggled into the linens, hoping things might become clearer in the light of day. But the tears flowed when she remembered her father’s birlinn at the bottom of the Solway. Nothing would change that, and Broderick—nay, Maxwell—would have to pay.
*
Broderick tried to keep a rein on his impatience. After all, Lily had only recently lost her father to the executioner’s axe and was coping with the horror of it reasonably well for an eleven-year-old lass.
He made a point of tucking her into bed every night and staying with her until she fell asleep, but this night he itched to rush off to make sure Kyla was recovering.
Doreen had made no bones about tutting her disapproval of Kyla MacKeegan sleeping in his chamber, and she was right. It wasn’t appropriate, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly at the time.
The redhead seemed to have that effect on him. She heightened all his senses, especially his suddenly rampant male ones, but rendered his brain incapable of functioning.
Even as Lily’s eyes fluttered closed, his tarse was urging him to his own chamber.
He was about to snuff out the candle when his sister asked, “Why did ye sink her boat?”
He might have known the reprieve was only temporary. “It’s complicated. I thought she was smuggling.”
The memory of green eyes flashing with anger confirmed his belief Kyla wasn’t a smuggler. But Corbin Lochwood had been aboard her galley and his refusal to heed the command to stop had led to the sinking. Whatever he was hiding had cost him his life.
“Why was she wearing men’s clothes?”
Another question he hadn’t anticipated. “I suppose ’tis difficult to captain a galley in a frock,” he replied.
Lily’s eyes widened. “She was the captain?”
“A woman can be a captain.” Feeling like a wise older brother, he tucked the linens up to her chin and added, “Indeed, a woman can do anything she puts her mind to.”
Lily pressed a finger to the dimple in her chin. “On the morrow, I’ll tell Doreen to find me boy’s clothing that fits.”
He groaned inwardly. He’d walked straight into that trap and could only imagine Doreen’s outrage at the idea. He foresaw an argument between two stubborn females.
He kissed her forehead. “We’ll see.”
“Will I get to meet her?”
He hesitated. There was no telling where that might lead, but Lily needed a female presence in her life other than an elderly maidservant. “Of course.”
Lily yawned. “What’s her name?”
“Kyla MacKeegan,” he replied, knowing the sound of it would rattle round in his brain all night. He snuffed out the candle and left, resigned to a sleepless night in a guest chamber.