The Highland Laird's Bride. Nicole Locke

he wasn’t here.’

      ‘How are we to do that?’ Eoin said. ‘He’s huge!’

      ‘Later,’ she hissed at her brother before turning her eyes to Bram again. This time there was a gleam to them. ‘What do we get in return?’

      Her siblings had been chattering to themselves and this was what they planned? It was confusing. Their protectiveness was confusing. As was Bram’s increasing amusement.

      ‘Do you know what you want?’ he asked.

      Eoin and Fyfa nodded, but Gillean, who remained by Aindreas’s side, looked lost.

      Bram pointed to him. ‘When he knows, come to me to discuss your terms.’

      ‘Are you finished?’ Aindreas demanded.

      Bram shrugged. ‘For now. When you return, bring food. She needs it.’

      Aindreas’s lips thinned as he looked at Lioslath. She nodded. For now, she was safe. She’d deal with the Colquhoun’s arrogance after the children left.

      Keeping his eyes on Bram, Aindreas ushered the children out of the room.

      The door latch clicked with an ominous sound and Lioslath felt more alone with Bram now than she had before. At the very least she was more...aware of him. Which made little sense, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was suddenly, vibrantly here.

      Had he always been this tall or broad of shoulder? He was a well-trained man and it showed in this morning’s light. Showed...a little too much to her. And she didn’t want to guess on why. Faintness or hunger. That was all this fluttering awareness had to be. She’d never felt it before and she hoped she wouldn’t faint again.

      To prevent it, she sat, but she raised her chin when she saw his brow arch. He wanted to negotiate and she’d do it. ‘What do you want?’ she said.

      ‘What are the children’s names?’

      This information was useless to him, to her, and she wanted to argue. By his demeanour, she also knew it was futile. ‘Fyfa, Eoin, he’s six, and Gillean’s the youngest at five.’

      ‘Fyfa’s age?’

      ‘Eight, she’s eight.’ She had just had her birthday, which was something her father celebrated in the years before his death. Lioslath hadn’t known what to do to mark the day, so she hadn’t done...anything.

      ‘Are there more?’

      She shook her head. Her siblings were orphans like her. They had to learn the harshness of life, too. Except—

      ‘Why doesn’t Aindreas know of the tunnel?’

      Of course he’d notice that. ‘A conversation about the tunnel is what you want?’

      He shrugged. ‘I am curious.’

      She knew better. ‘Your reputation precedes you, Colquhoun. You are asking questions to obtain leverage for your famous negotiation skills. What do you do? Find facts to use against your opponent? I think you’ve harmed us enough.’

      Bram clasped his hands behind his back and rolled on his heels. It was a casual pose, but she sensed his displeasure underneath.

      She liked it. ‘Nae talking of kissing me now like you did last night? It took me a while to know what you did. Another manipulation from Laird Colquhoun. You won’t find those weaknesses with me.’

      A small smile. ‘I may find others.’

      ‘You won’t be here long enough.’

      ‘Ah, but you make me want to find others.’ He released his stance. ‘You are...not as I expected.’

      A play on their words last night or something else? He probably expected her to have courtesy, manners and a calm demeanour befitting a lady of the manor. She had none of those skills. When she hunted, if she wasn’t direct, she missed her target.

      Oh, she wanted to argue more, but Bram had spent too much time in her room. Aindreas could become impatient. ‘I’ll open the gates,’ she said, ‘if you stay quiet on the tunnel.’

      His head tilted as if he sensed a trap, but he didn’t hide the smile of victory. ‘Not expected, but you have, indeed, made me a curious man. A hidden tunnel, but also hidden from the keep’s residents? A private tunnel for you only. Now, what use is such a tunnel to a woman?’

      Irritated at his smile and the way it made something flutter inside her, she answered, ‘Its use is to get you out of here so I can open the gates.’

      He narrowed his eyes on her. ‘This morning.’

      She nodded.

      ‘This seems sudden. I can’t imagine keeping a tunnel secret would be so important to you. What trick do you play?’

      Tricks. Play. She knew nothing of such things. Unlike this Colquhoun with his pampered existence, her life had always been hard work.

      She would always remember when her father first set off to secure the wealthy Gaira of Clan Colquhoun as his wife. With laughter ringing out, her siblings clung to him. They had been joyous, as if he’d soon bring home their every childhood wish.

      And her? Her father, with his head held high, gazed at her, his arms full of children, the rest of his clan waving proudly. At that moment, her father looked at her as if he loved her again. Tears stinging her eyes, she hadn’t wanted to break their gaze. She hadn’t seen her father look at her with such emotion since before her mother died so many winters before.

      In that moment it felt as if she had her father again. Not the man he had become since his second marriage and since their fortunes changed for the worse. After that he became bitter and the knot of hate that began with her mother’s death grew until every word he ever uttered, every action he ever committed, was a reflection of that hate buried in his heart. His runaway bride only made it worse.

      When he pursued Gaira, her father was killed. Then the English came and the Fergussons lost what little wealth and pride they had left.

      Fate or God already played the cruellest of tricks on Clan Fergusson. Now this Colquhoun came to humiliate them further.

      ‘I make nae tricks,’ she practically choked on the word.

      ‘This is too easy,’ Bram said.

      ‘Doona you like easy?’ she said.

      With no bride and only resentment, her father had boasted of the Colquhouns’ decadent home and the excess of comforts strewn about. How their tables were laden with food and the freshest rushes were underfoot. He even spoke of laughter, jests...entertainment.

      And the more her father spoke, the worse that knot of bitterness grew until barbs slashed at his insides. When he left to pursue his bride, he was filled only with vengeance.

      And he never looked at Lioslath again.

      ‘You like easy,’ she repeated. ‘It’s what every Colquhoun likes. So I’m opening the gates because that’s what you expect—everything comfortable.’

      Gaira, the Colquhoun bride who was supposed to have saved them all, never arrived at Fergusson keep. Lioslath knew why: she was soft like the rest of their clan. No doubt she’d fled prettily to the safety of her luxurious home.

      His frown increased. ‘Comfortable?’ he said the word as if he’d never said it before. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was so used to food and entertainment he took it for granted. That thought made her angrier.

      ‘You insult me and grant me a boon,’ he said softly. Almost too softly. ‘Why are you doing this?’

      She had work to do and she needed him gone. Barring him had not worked, so she would open the gates. Once he saw that there were no comforts, that there was only work here, and lots of it, he’d be gone, just like his sister. For once, she was proud of the wreck of a keep she lived in.

      She