When a Laird Takes a Lady: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel by Rowan Keats Page A

spinning into inappropriate realms.
    The group was discussing the menu for the next day’s meals. Cook was reciting the dishes he knew how to make, the friar was interspersing that list with an account of the ingredients they had available, while Beathag reminded everyone how many mouths they had to feed. A very needful conversation—but naught to do with the task he’d set for Isabail.
    There was no effort being made to detail the visitors to Lochurkie. Time was passing, and hewas no closer to finding the man in black. He’d given very explicit instructions and had left her alone to perform the task. He’d even renewed his promise to free her should she give him the names.
    Aiden surged across the wooden planking. “Out,” he barked.
    Her entourage took one look at his face and scattered into the night.
    Isabail scrambled to her feet, knocking the three-legged stool to its side. “I did not seek them out; they sought me.”
    “Why?”
    She backed up several steps. “Th-they lack guidance.”
    The tremble in her voice registered, and he bit back the snarled response that leapt to his lips. He had no idea what expression lay on his face, but clearly it frightened her. Mindful of his brother’s advice, he attempted to soften his features. Her gaze darted away, and he had the distinct impression his efforts hadn’t entirely been successful.
    Still, she persevered. “Guidance that is typically given by the lady of the keep.”
    “My mother is grieving. Her attention is justly scattered.”
    Isabail nodded. “I understand. But a castle runs more smoothly when all within are assigned specific duties and are held accountable.”
    He frowned. “My people have served the clan for many a year. They know their tasks.”
    “Would your soldiers be well organized if their captain had been slain in battle?”
    “A new captain would be appointed.”
    She smiled tremulously. “Exactly. The seneschal is the captain of the household. Without him, even your seasoned staff feel lost and at cross-purpose.”
    “It’s my mother’s duty to appoint a new seneschal.” He shrugged. “She’ll take care of it in due time.”
    “And while she grieves, your caretakers struggle to work together and keep food on the table.”
    The note of disapproval in her voice did not sit well. “We are surviving,” he said coldly.
    “Aye,” she said, “and you will continue to survive . . . until you do not. But how much longer do you have? A week? A month? Without someone regularly counting the supplies and visiting the menus, how can you know?”
    Aiden crossed his arms over his chest. Her words were an echo of his own concerns. And the conversation he’d just had with his men had only heightened those concerns: Food was becoming a problem. According to Udard, the reason the hunting party had been captured by MacPherson was that they were venturing farther north in search of game. The forest around the hill fort had been hunted out. Still, Aiden wasn’t willing to cede the point. Not to Lady Isabail. “My household is none of your concern.”
    “Of course it is,” she insisted. “I am your prisoner. My safety is at stake. A brave warrior can hold off an attacking army indefinitely. A starving warrior has only days before he must bow in defeat.”
    Her brazen challenge drew Aiden forward. “Now you impugn my ability to keep you safe? By God, woman, you are too much.”
    She took a hasty step back, a rapid pulse fluttering in her long, elegant neck.
    A very obvious sign of fear, which twisted his guts. She believed he would harm her. Good sense told him to back away, to let her run. But he did not. Instead, he gave in to impulse and closed the gap between them to mere inches. Her eyes widened, and one trembling hand flew to her throat.
    Aiden grasped that hand in his.
    It was cool and delightfully soft-skinned. The temptation to press a kiss to her knuckles came and went as he stared into her eyes. This was not the time for such an