“Ye hae a ready wit, my lady. I shall look forward to hearing more of what ye hae to say.” He chuckled, pulling a handkerchief – who carried a handkerchief anymore? – out of the pocket of the velvet – yes, velvet… in summer – jacket he wore beneath the long plaid draping over his shoulder. Even the cuffs and collar of the shirt he wore beneath it were unusual, heavily embroidered in gold thread. Gently, he tucked the delicately embroidered linen between the ropes and her wrists and gave them a little pat.
“Thank you.”
Rhys shrugged.
“You seem like a reasonable guy. Surely you can’t be in favor of this idiocy?”
“Can ye provide a reasonable explanation of how ye came to be here?”
“Of course,” she said with an impatient sigh. “I was at the dedication ceremony like everyone else and only went inside for the exhibit…”
Rhys shook his head, cutting her off with an upheld palm. “Cease, lass. Laird had the right of it. Ye’ve a way of making a man’s head pound.”
A hint of desperation was building from deep within but Scarlett strove to keep it from her voice. She had to talk some sense into him. “Come on. Just let me go. It’ll save you a world of hurt in the long run. Anyone can see you’re not kidnappers.”
“What makes ye say that?” There was a smile playing at his lips.
“You’re taking too long for one thing,” Scarlett told him. If her hands were free, she might have slapped the grin right off his handsome face. There was nothing at all amusing about this. “Look at y’all. It’s like you’re hoping to get caught. Plus you haven’t done your homework if you think you’ll get a good ransom for me. Despite what you might think, there isn’t that much.”
“I rather doubt that.”
“Celebrity doesn’t always equal money, honey,” she warned, her Southern roots showing as her agitation grew.
“Celebrity?”
Scarlett was torn between rising anxiety and irritation at their tireless questioning. “Listen, Braveheart, I appreciate the whole medieval thing y’all got going here. It’s impressive, really, but you’re going about this all wrong. Why don’t you just let me go and stick with what you obviously know best?” Though they seemed to know what they were doing pretty damn well. Despite her disbelief at their tactics, apparently a raid in broad daylight was working for them. They must be pretty good if no guards or authorities had come upon them yet. “Take your loot and leave, but let me go.”
“Ye think we’re naught but thieves, lady?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
“Reivers, my lady,” he said, rolling out the word with his heavy brogue, his gray eyes twinkling merrily. “In the long and glorious tradition. The Lindsay’s are our sworn enemies. We’ve merely come to take back what they thought to steal.” He raised his brows suggestively at her. “And what they hae left behind.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. Yea, she got it, despite his blather. They might not have been ransacking the castle looking for her in particular but a good thief took what was available. Despite his courtesy, he really wasn’t going to let her go.
Now that was disappointing. A thick lump tightened her throat but she swallowed it back, inhaling a calming breath. It wouldn’t do to panic just yet. “So you’re not going to let me go then? You should. There’ll be hell to pay if you don’t.”
Shit! What else could she do? She really did not want to be kidnapped. “I can pay…”
“A Lindsay as ordered, Sir Rhys,” one of the other reivers called for his attention and shoved a man wearing a kilt of wide orange and green plaid down at Rhys’ feet. Rolling on to his back, he sneered and spit on the ground, all bravado and balls. Scarlett was astounded that he could be so brash as he was bleeding heavily from a gash on his shoulder and in obvious pain.
“You did that?” She gasped at Rhys, shuddering at the sight. “Your people did that to him? He needs a doctor. You need to get him to the ER.”
Rhys, his guards and even the man on the ground all looked at her strangely – as if she were the problem – before one of the guards hauled the prisoner to his feet.
“This lass,” Rhys said, pointing a finger at her as he spoke to the bleeding man. “Do ye ken who she is?”
The Lindsay man frowned in confusion as he looked between her and Rhys.
Scarlett was genuinely puzzled as well and not just by the entire bizarre scenario. It finally struck her that, even though she couldn’t recall the last time someone hadn’t recognized her out in public, none of them did. Not when she was hanging over that Laird guy’s shoulder or standing on her own two feet. Surely one little haircut hadn’t changed all that?
“Seriously?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Don’t I look at all familiar?”
Four sets of male eyes scanned her from head to toe but she saw no inkling of recognition in any of them. The Lindsay prisoner offered a shrug to boot.
Maybe they really didn’t know who they were kidnapping.
Yea, right, she thought to herself. Why the hell would they be kidnapping her then?
5
There was no need to panic yet, Scarlett reminded herself. According to what she heard, no one in the castle had been killed, so soon – hopefully sooner rather than later – Tyrone would discover she was missing and call the police. Or the Bobbies. Or whatever they were called around here. Either way, Scarlett just needed to bide her time, look for escape if possible and otherwise wait them out.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t wait much longer.
“Is that good then, lady? No’ too tight?” her guard, Cormac, asked kindly. He’d cut the ropes at her ankles but tied her still bound wrists to the pommel of the saddle. A saddle he had lifted her
