Behind the Plaid by Knight Eliza

Author:Knight, Eliza [Knight, Eliza]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Eliza Knight
Published: 2013-03-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Logan

Raking my hands through my hair, I backed away from Emma, even though her bemused expression made me want to whip her lavender skirts up around her hips and devour her on the stone floor.

How could she say nay to me?

Why was I so disturbed by it?

“I shall see ye this evening.” I stormed down the corridor without looking back.

The way she moved me was too much. Never before had a woman consumed me as much as Emma. Never had a woman made me want to bend down on one knee and offer her the world. And it all made no sense. I barely knew her. But the pull was there. A bond that seemed to hold us together.

Ballocks! I didna need the distraction. Not now.

I blew out a breath and made my way down three flights to the dungeons. Questioning the prisoners would be a good distraction. The dungeon was dark, dank and smelled of piss and blood. Only a few torches were lit in the sconces. Moans echoed off the stones. My men nodded to me.

“Bring me the ship captains,” I ordered and entered one of our interrogation cells.

The floor was dirt-packed, the stone walls damp. There was no window in this place as it was carved from the earth. Two torches lit the room and a battered chair and bucket sat in the corner. The room was cold, and puffs of my breath showed before my lips.

A few moments later the men returned with four shackled prisoners. Two of the ships had belonged to the Sutherlands who’d trailed the MacDonalds on their way to Gealach. Their captains had met with Ewan on the beach and after a short discussion, had been sent back up the North Sea with a bag of gold for their laird.

My warriors shoved the shackled captains to their knees. Each sported various MacDonald plaids, and all of them glowered at me like I was the devil. One even had the ballocks to spit on the ground near my feet. I walked a line in front of them, ignoring the insult.

“Who sent ye?” I asked, knowing the answer already.

None of them spoke.

“Why are ye here?”

Again, not a word. I stopped at the second man, stared down at him. There was fear in his eyes but also obstinance.

“Ye’ve the look of the MacDonald,” I said, a cruel smile splitting my lips.

The man’s throat bobbed, he blinked, but said nothing. I had a fair idea that the prisoner before me was a direct relation of my enemy. They shared the same shape of eye, and hawkish nose.

“Think ye that he’ll send a ransom should I demand one?”

The man’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

I nodded to the guard holding him in place, and he tightened his grip on the man’s arms, bringing them up enough to cause discomfort.

“Mayhap I should remove the arms that steered ye here.” Taking the dirk from its sheath at my hip, I scraped it over his shoulder, slicing the fabric of his dirty shirt, but not his skin.

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