Highland Surrender by Tracy Brogan Page B

as sure as the sun rose each morning, her wrists would be scarred forevermore. Fiona twisted on the bed, straining against the bindings keeping her in place.It wasn’t Myles who had bound her thus, but rather, one of his men, and obviously one who had no wish to fail. She could not even roll to her side. She lay on her back, silently counting the cobwebbed rafters up above and the stone-hard lumps in the mattress beneath, trying with all her might not to think of Bess. Guilt was a stone in her chest.
    An hour passed before she heard the door latch lift. She slammed her eyelids shut and feigned sleep, thinking perhaps avoidance was the better part of valor.
    The edge of the bed creaked and lowered. “You’re not asleep, minx. I’m on to your tricks.”
    Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to find her husband perched near her feet. She could kick him in the face from that angle, but for what gain?
    “How is your father?” The words popped out unbidden. She did not care, so why she asked was a mystery.
    Myles regarded her a moment. “He lives. For now. Does that disappoint you?”
    “Not so much as you might think.”
    The smallest of smiles crooked a corner of his mouth. “Did anyone bring you food?”
    She shook her head. “I could not have eaten if they had. These bindings are clamps of steel.”
    Myles rested an elbow upon his knee and his chin upon his hand, seeming to take a moment’s pleasure at her captivity. He sighed, deep and slow. “’Tis the first time in three days I’m not worried about what you’re doing. I rather like you trussed up like a game hen.”
    “I promised you I would not run again.”
    His eyes narrowed. “You promised to love and obey me as well. But you, my dear, are a liar. And one I dare not turn my back on for fear you’ll sheath my own dagger in it.”
    She flushed and felt her face burn hot. His tone was teasing enough, but truth lay behind those words. And though that band of murderous vandals may have done her a service with regard to Cedric Campbell, she’d support no coward who dumped the blame upon her family. “I could have stabbed you in the tent that first night of our travels, if I had a mind to. But I didn’t.”
    “Generous of you.”
    Her frustration grew at his tone. “That man is no Sinclair.”
    “Why would he lie?”
    “I cannot imagine. But he did.” The bindings felt tighter still.
    Myles ran a hand over his jaw. “Dying men are prone to tell the truth, while you have been anything but forthright. And yet, I do begin to think we have a shared enemy. One that opposes the truce between our families. Who would be against such a thing?”
    She could think of several clans in the north surrounding Sinclair Hall that had no desire to see the Campbells’ strength and holdings increase. But he would know that too. She’d give him no specific names, for anything she might offer would be conjecture and might lead him to doubt her even more. “I stay out of men’s politics,” she said instead.
    His jaw set sternly. “Whoever they are, we will crush them. We have the might of the king’s army on our side. With James on the throne, none can vanquish us. They are fools to try.”
    A shiver traversed Fiona’s body. He was arrogant, like his father, but what he said was true. Though she was loath to admit it, perhaps this alliance was in the best interest of her clan. Although she might live among the Campbells, eat their food, even sleep in Myles’s bed, her heart was forever Sinclair. She owed that much to her mother’s memory.
    Myles stood up and pulled out his knife. She gasped at his intent. But he merely leaned over and slashed the cord holdingher to the bedpost. She lay still a moment longer, willing her arms to lower, but they were numb. “Could you help me? Please?”
    His dark brows rose considerably. “Please? My lady has said please?”
    He isn’t clever. He is tedious. All she wanted to do was sit up. Must he make an example of her weakness?