Page 66 of The Guardian
“Asking the queen is a wee bit drastic, wouldn’t ye say?” Niall asked. “You’ve got cause to leave Ian under Highland law. That should be enough.”
“And before I know it, my chieftain will be telling me who I am to wed next,” she said. “I won’t let Hugh decide my fate, that is for certain. No, the only way to free myself is to put myself in the hands of someone more powerful. I praise God that happens to be a woman at the moment.”
“But ye won’t have to worry about Hugh for long,” Niall said. “Connor is going to be chieftain.”
“Connor wants Knock Castle in the hands of someone verra close to him,” she said. “He’ll decide I’ve no cause to leave Ian.”
“Connor is a fair man,” Niall said. “He’d let ye leave Ian so long as ye take another man in the clan—especially if the man is another close relative of his.”
She snorted. “Are ye suggesting Alex? I’m verra fond of him, but wedding Alex would be going from the frying pan into the fire.”
“Take me,” Niall said in a soft voice. “I’m as close a blood relation to Connor as either Ian or Alex.”
Sìleas felt as if her chest were caving in on itself. She stopped and turned to look into his face, though she could barely make out his features in the dark.
“Aw, Niall,” she said, reaching up to touch her fingers to his cheek, “ye can’t mean it.”
“What, do ye think I’m too young?” he said, sounding hurt. “Or is it that I’m not as good as my brother—even after what he’s done to ye?”
“No, it’s not that,” she said, though he was far too young. She rested her hand on his arm. “I grew up wishing every day I had brothers and sisters. Having you become a brother to me has been one of the great blessings of my life. Don’t ask me to give that up.”
“You’ve been a sister to me as well,” Niall said, and she could hear him fidgeting in the dark. “But… well, ye are so pretty that I believe I could overcome it.”
“I do appreciate the offer,” Sìleas said, taking his arm to hurry him down the path. “But I don’t believe I’ll want another husband for a verra, verra long time.”
“Where is she?” Ian shouted, as he pounded on Gòrdan’s door.
No candlelight shone in the window or under the door. If Gòrdan had taken Sìleas to his bed this very night, Ian would murder the devil’s spawn on the spot.
He pounded the door again until the windows rattled. “Come out and face me like a man!”
When the door swung open, Ian clenched his fists, ready to pound Gòrdan’s pretty face to a pulp. He choked back his fury when Gòrdan’s mother peered up at him from under her nightcap.
“I’ve come for my wife.”
“Sìleas?” Gòrdan’s mother clutched her nightshift about her throat. “Don’t tell me the lass has left ye. I always knew she was trouble.”
It occurred to him that Sìleas and Gòrdan would know this was the first place he’d look for them. If they weren’t here, then he would track them down—to hell, if need be.
“I must ask ye to step aside, so I can have a look about,” Ian said.
Gòrdan suddenly appeared behind his mother.
“What in God’s name do ye think ye are doing,” Gòrdan said, as he pushed his mother aside, “showing up at my door in the dark of night and threatening my mother?”
Ian slammed his fist into Gòrdan’s face, dropping him backward into the house. As he stepped inside, he picked Gòrdan up by the front of his shirt.
“I’ll ask ye but once,” Ian said an inch from Gòrdan’s nose. “Where have ye got my wife?”
“Sìleas? Is that what this is about?” Gòrdan said, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Has she finally left ye, then? Good for her.”
“Don’t try telling me ye didn’t know it,” Ian said, as he scanned the room. She was not in sight, so he released Gòrdan and crossed the room. “Where is she?” He stuck his head into the empty kitchen.
“No one’s here but the two of us,” Gòrdan’s mother said.
Ian heard her fumbling with the lamp. When the flame took hold, Ian caught the look of worry on Gòrdan’s face.
“She left in the night alone?” Gòrdan said. “What have ye done to her, man?”
