Page 6 of A Laird and a Fugitive

“Gilmour,” he hissed.

He closed his fist around the emblem as if he could crush it, but then he hurled it with all his might against the far wall. It clanged and then dropped. Caroline closed her eyes. That emblem had been given to her a long time ago by her mother. She remembered how her mother had gently clasped it around her neck, the gesture tender and loving.

The emblem was a tufted vetch, a wildflower prevalent in Gilmour lands. The brooch was long, the petals splayed out in an arc rather than around a central bud of pollen. Layers of petals following each other along the central stem as though they were climbing a ladder and trying not to jostle each other. While the natural flower was violet, this brooch was silver.

As long as ye wear this, ye are protected from evil, Caroline had been told.

She had also been told how it meant that she was responsible for representing the clan, and it was her responsibility to conduct herself with grace and nobility, a task that she had striven to uphold. She had never taken off the emblem since then, not even to bathe. Yet now it had been cruelly stripped from her neck, and it offered no protection at all.

Laird Knox seemed to shift before her eyes. He radiated fury. The air around him shimmered, and his skin became a shade of red. His nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed with an intimidating glare.

“Ye would dare lie tae me? Liars are worse than thieves. I should string the lot of ye up now and be done with ye,” he spat. “Or, better yet, throw ye intae a fire and watch ye burn. That’s the fate that anyone possessing that emblem deserves,” he jabbed a finger in the direction of her emblem.

“Please, I dinnae mean tae deceive ye. We are in danger. There’s⁠—”

Laird Knox bent down and grabbed her chin. It was more shocking than painful, and it caused her to fall in silence. His breath was warm, his voice low.

“Ye should know that I dinnae care about yer story. I dinnae care what happened tae ye. Ye are a Gilmour, and any Gilmour is unwelcome on my lands. Ye are wretches, the lot of ye.”

He let go of his forceful grip and her head twisted to the side. He walked up to his servant and grabbed the mug, as well as the jug of wine. Then, after a moment of considering the two items, he shoved the mug back into the hands of the servant and drank from the jug directly. The wine poured down his chin and spilled on the floor like drops of blood. He slurped loudly and then belched. His body was angled away from Caroline, as though he couldn’t even bear to look at her.

“Take them away. I dinnae want them in my presence. It’s tae late tae think clearly. I will decide what tae dae with them in the morning. They could make for valuable prisoners, or kindling,” he growled.

Neither option was palatable for Caroline. She and her sisters were hauled to their feet. Caroline couldn’t bear to look at them. She had failed them. In the absence of their parents, she was supposed to take care of them, to protect them, and she had failed.

They were now at the mercy of a man who saw them as the enemy, who would not listen to reason, and had no room for compassion in his soul. They might as well begin counting the hours of their dwindling lives, for their fate would soon be sealed, and she was certain that it would be written in blood.