Nine
After two days as Lucan’s captive, Marsaili could hardly think past the hunger gnawing at her belly, the thirst clawing at her throat, and the burning of her eyes from lack of sleep. Lucan had given her small sips of liquid since taking her, and a few bites of bread and cheese, but not much else. And when they finally stopped for Lucan to rest, Marsaili forced herself to stay awake for a chance to escape.
She watched him as he built a fire, hoping that if anyone was coming to her aid, they would see the flames or even the smoke. Night had descended, smothering all light from the woods but a sliver from the moon and the orange flames that now danced in the shadows and cast a small beacon for anyone who might be looking for her. She doubted Callum or anyone else would be searching for her, though. The only people searching for her were ones she did not want to find her.
Callum may have shown that he still desired her, but he had never cared for her. It took the latter to risk one’s life for another. Pity rose inside her, but she ruthlessly shoved it down. She would not allow pity. Her son was out there, and he needed a strong mother, not one who wallowed in her problems.
Lucan didn’t speak as he worked the fire, but she’d grown accustomed to him not saying much. In their time together, he had communicated with her in mostly grunts and glares, except when he threatened her. When he finally sat down, he did so close to her, but not so close that he touched her.
He turned to her, eyes narrowed. “Dunnae make me come after ye this night. Ye’ll regret it.”
She’d come to hate the wordsye’ll regret it, which Lucan repeated every time he warned her not to do something. She didn’t know if the threat meant he’d kill her in cold blood as he had the earl’s knights or if it meant he’d beat her, but she did not intend to find out. If—no, when—she got loose, she wouldn’t stay around long enough to learn.
She held up her right ankle, which he had tied to a tree, and then her bound wrists. “I believe ye’ve ensured that I’ll nae be going anywhere this night.”
“A wise choice,” he replied, his tone ominous.
“As if it is a choice,” she muttered as he closed his eyes.
She watched him, looking for signs of sleep and fighting her own drowsiness. The air had cooled, which helped keep her awake somewhat, but as tired as she was, it was not helping enough.
His chest began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, but she could not say with a fair amount of certainty that he was asleep. She’d likely only get one chance to escape Lucan, and she could not afford to ruin it by trying to do so too soon. When her vision blurred with the need for her own respite, she started counting stars. When she reached 150, she heard Lucan snore. Immediately, she wiggled her wrists to try to loosen the ropes that encircled them.
“I like yer determination to escape me,” Lucan said, causing her to yelp in fright.
Her pulse raced as she laid her hands in her lap. “I was nae trying to flee. My wrists hurt.”
Lucan chuckled. “There’s a lie, if ever I heard one,” Lucan said. “Ye’ve spunk, lass. If I were inclined to take a wife, it would be one such as yerself.”
The mere idea repulsed her. “I’m verra glad ye’re nae inclined for such a thing, then,” she bit out.
In the firelight, Marsaili could see both his eyes slowly open, and the mirth that had been in his voice was gone from his icy gaze. “Careful, aye. I’m a prideful man, and if ye wound it too greatly by making me think ye’d nae welcome the touch of a man such as myself, I may feel obliged to show ye what ye are missing.”
“Ye would nae dare,” she whispered, horrified by the thought of having his touch, or any other she didn’t want, forced upon her.
“Nay,” he said, sounding irritated at himself for admitting he was not such a loathsome creature as that. “I’d nae. I dunnae need to force myself upon a lass. There are many who wish for my touch.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she snapped.
He turned to face her. “Shall I show ye what it is a man can do for a woman?” he asked, his tone silky.
“I already ken what a man can do for a woman,” she replied, trying to steady her racing pulse as fear beat wildly within her. “Men can use women, lie to women, and break their hearts.”
“Women can do the same to men,” he growled.
It occurred to her then that maybe she was going about things the wrong way. Maybe she should try to understand Lucan, get him to trust her a bit, and then escape him. “I dunnae believe there is a woman alive who could have pierced that cold heart of yers,” she said softly. She held her breath, hoping he’d respond by telling her something of himself, something she could use.
“My mother hurt me,” he said, sounding distracted. “She abandoned me when I was a lad of eight summers because she could nae feed herself and me, and she knew it would be easier to stay alive on her own.”
Despite the fact that Lucan was a murderer who now held her captive, her heart squeezed for the pain such a thing must have caused him. “I’m certain,” she said slowly, “that yer mother did nae wish to leave ye.” Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the son who had been taken from her.
Lucan made a derisive noise. “I’m certain she did, as she told me so. Ye dunnae forget being told ye have been nae a thing but a burden since the day ye were born.”
Marsaili’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Lucan.” She could hardly believe she had so much sympathy for a man who had stolen her—twice.
“Dunnae fash yerself for me,” he said, his voice frosty once more. “I only tell ye this because I want ye to truly ken that I do what I must to live. I’ve been near starving in my life, and I’ll nae ever be near starving again, even if I have to murder and take ye to some English lord to ensure I have enough coin. Ye can try to escape me, and ye may even succeed, but I’ll come after ye, and then—”
“I’ll regret it,” she finished for him.
