Page 72 of Surrendering to her Highland Captor
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WITHOUT REMORSE
Taryn counted the beams in the ceiling above her for the dozenth time. She knew there would only be six wooden posts supporting the floor that separated her from the rest of her clan. Just as she knew, there were eight bars on the window that kept the sunlight off her face and twenty-seven slats of iron that made up the door to her cell. What she didn’t know was how many days had passed since James had left. Her heart tried to convince her it had been weeks, while her mind argued that it had been days. Either way, her hunger, and her despondency, grew worse with every passing moment.
Somewhere in the depths of the dungeon, water dripped, tapping out a steady rhythm against the stone floor. The scurrying rats searching for any modicum of warmth or food were her only companions. With such poor company, Taryn had a hard time not slipping into despair.
Above her head, drifting down through the sliver of a window, voices rose from outside. She craned her neck to the side, trying to decipher just what they were saying, but almost immediately, she regretted her action.
“Just hand the lass over and let’s be done with the whole thing. She is the reason we are in this mess in the first place.”
“How could ye blame the young lass for all of this? She was but a child when the Laird first struck the deal with the Baron. Nay, the blame lies with him.”
It was the same tug of war the clan had been in since her return, since Laird McGregor had announced the contents of the Baron’s letter. She sighed and let her head fall back onto the straw cot.
The voices drifted away, but her mind stayed put on their conversation. It felt utterly useless to argue over who was to blame for their current circumstances. The fact of the matter was that they were in a mess and needed to deal with it. The biggest question that was yet to be answered was just how they were going to do that.
“Mark my words, war is coming. There is nay way to avoid that now.”
The ominous warning floated into her cell, sending shivers down her spine.
This wasn’t what she wanted. This was never what she had wanted. She hated the thought of her people being put at such risk because of her. Yet, all she could do was lay there and wait for her fate.
“If what ye say is true,” a gruff voice responded. “Then we need allies, and a lot of them. Laird McGregor should have been more focused on that than meting out punishment upon the lass.”
“Aye. He has wasted these last three years searching for his niece rather than creating a plan that would put an end to all of this. And now he expects us to lay the blame for it all solely at her feet.”
“It is her fault! Had she nae run from her duty, we would nae be in this mess. My farms would still be growing, my house would still be standing.”
“Do ye truly believe that one wee lass could have such an effect on a man like the Baron? That she would have been able to satiate his greed?”
For the first time in days, the silence that followed the stranger’s questions gave her hope. She knew that the entire clan had been plunged into chaos by her arrival. That much was clear when she had stood in the Great Hall amongst the whispers and horrified looks. The unrest had only grown with her confinement to prison and the arrival of the Baron’s letter.
“If ye truly think that, then ye are a coward and a fool just as the Laird is.”
Taryn shot up in surprise. To hear someone talk so blatantly against her uncle was bordering on treason. It was unheard of. And yet, there was at least one person in her clan who was defending her. Two, if she counted James, even though he hadn’t reappeared yet.
Clacking of a heeled boot pulled Taryn out of her thoughts and back into her cell. The footsteps grew louder, signaling a visitor quickly arriving. She sat up straighter and ran a hand over her tangled hair, hoping to smooth it. There was no hiding the smell of the dungeon or the mud caked onto her dress, but Taryn wanted to make the best with what she had. If she was going to be marched to her execution, she would do so with grace and poise, head held high.
“Ye never could keep yer shoulders back when ye sat.”
Her mother’s steel voice was a cold slap, stinging her already numb face.
“Mother,” Taryn greeted, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.
If her uncle’s earlier appearance was anything to go by, this was bound to be a difficult conversation. Somehow, Laird McGregor had always been more sensible than her parents, more compassionate and understanding. She had little hope that she would get any warmth or empathy from her mother.
“Ye are looking well,” Taryn continued.
She forced her hands to stay at her side, just as she forced herself to stay seated. Though her mother’s calculating stare made Taryn want to squirm, she refused to give her mother the satisfaction of seeing the effect. Taryn reminded herself that she was no longer the same, impressionable little girl she had been when she left three years ago.
She had learned to hunt and fight and survive on her own. She had done impossibly hard things, things her mother could never dream of doing. More than that, Taryn was a grown woman, sitting there only because she had determined to make things right. She wasn’t going to let her mother make her feel bad about that.
“I wish I could say the same about ye,” her mother quipped. “Ye look as though ye have nae had a bath or a comb in months. Ye smell just as bad.”
“If ye are offering to arrange for a bath and a meal, I would be more than willing to make the most of it. I would hate to displease ye.”
Rowena’s eyes narrowed in disdain, irritated at the thick, honey-like sweetness Taryn had infused into her words.
