Highland Captive by Hannah Howell Page A

Parlan. “I am sorry for this
trouble.”
    “So
ye should be. I am told that Leith heals weel?” He seemed blind to the color
that surged into her cheeks.
    “Aye.”
She swallowed her hurt over his attitude. “He nears full health with admirable
speed. He is well cared for.”
    After
those few words, Lachlan proceeded to ignore her. She struggled to eat, to act
as if it did not matter. A glimpse of a fleeting look of pity in Lagan’s brown
eyes told her that she was not fooling anybody, and her food was hard to
swallow. A few minutes later, she could stand it no longer and rose to leave,
wincing when everyone’s attention turned to her. Parlan eased the moment some
by nodding slightly and signaling Lagan to go with her. Without a glance at her
father, she hurried out of the hall.
    “Ye
ask far too large a ransom,” Lachlan said as soon as the last bite of food had
been swallowed. “Ye dinnae hold the king, ye ken.”
    “I
hold your heir and youngest daughter,” Parlan reminded him, his voice soft but
firm.
    “I
have other sons. Two. I wouldnae be left without an heir. Rory Fergueson can
find himself another bride as weel.”
    Parlan
ached to speak on that marriage but knew that the time was not right. He and
Lachlan dickered over the price, Parlan staying icily calm and Lachlan fighting
to keep his temper. Even though Parlan sympathized, he did not ease his stance.
He had to drag the business out for as long as possible.
    “At
such a cost I can only buy one of my bairns back. I willnae have the coin for
the other for months.”
    “Then
ye best choose which one ye mean to leave in my care.” Parlan intended to erect
another obstacle if the man chose to free Aimil.
    “T’will
be my firstborn, my heir. He must take precedence. I will need some time to
gather the coin.”
    “‘Tis
as weel. The boy is best off where he is for a while longer.”
    “I
dinnae like leaving my daughter in your hands. She is a fair wee lass.”
    “Your
daughter will suffer no hurt at my hands or my men’s. Do ye wish to see your
son?”
    As
Parlan had hoped, Lachlan did not press the issue of Aimil. The man was in a
precarious position. No matter what Lachlan suspected he could not make
accusations. If he offended Parlan, he lost too much. Parlan could see that the
situation sorely annoyed the man, annoyed him to the point of fury.
    “Didnae
ye have any gowns for the lass to wear?” Lachlan burst out as they left the
hall.
    “Nay.
She was found in lad’s clothes. Aye, we thought her a lad, your son Shane, until
she was climbing down my walls and her cap was taken by the wind. We dressed
her in the best we had. Feel welcome to send clothes for her of your own
choosing.”
    “All
she owns now is her trousseau,” grumbled Lachlan. “I cannae send that. ‘Tis
held for her marriage.”
    When
they entered Leith’s chambers, Parlan was not surprised to find Aimil there. He
had guessed that she would seek out one who loved her to ease the sting of her
father’s apparent indifference. The warmth with which Lachlan greeted his son was
salt in Aimil’s wound that even Parlan felt. He was sorely tempted to strike
the older man. All that stayed his hand was the sure feeling that Lachlan did
not feel as he acted, that some deep reason drove him to act as he did.
    Aimil
tried to lose herself in the shadows of the room. Slowly, she edged toward the
door. That her actions were not unseen was attested to by Lagan being only a
step away no matter how many steps she took toward the door. So too did she
sense Parlan watching her. Neither mattered to her. All she was interested in
was getting away from her father’s coldness.
    “Ye
will be coming home soon, son,” remarked Lachlan, his gaze assuring him that
the youth was regaining his health.
    “The
ransom is too high,” Leith protested, wondering if Parlan’s plan had failed or,
worse, if he had been a fool to listen to Parlan and to trust him.
    “Aye,
but I have talked him down a