Chapter 10

Morgan scowled. Why were the nurses letting his bairn cry? If they didn’t calm the lad soon, the whole household would wake. And if that happened, his clan would witness their laird wrestling with three lasses in the moonlight, one of them as naked as a newborn.

The idea was horrifying.

Just as horrifying was the thought of taking them captive. What was he to do with three bloodthirsty lasses? He’d barely moved into the castle. Did the keep even have a place to hold prisoners?

To be honest, he didn’t want to bring them inside the gates, where they could endanger his clan. Nor did he want to see what manner of sword-wielding, axe-brandishing, vengeance-seeking Rivenloch warriors would march to Creagor on the morrow to reclaim their missing daughters.

This was no way to meet his new neighbors.

Yet what other choice did he have? He dared not let the murderous women go. Not after what they’d attempted.

For one terrible moment, he’d feared Colban had been mortally wounded. He had no idea what gruesome weapon that dark-haired witch had thrown. But he was grateful she was only a wee lass with limited strength in her arm.

Fortunately, Colban was clever enough not to take any chances with the slippery whelp. God only knew what other armaments were hidden on her person. Righting the wench again, Colban clamped her against his chest and set a dagger at her throat.

As for the fiery temptress still thrashing about in Morgan’s grip, he had just about lost patience with her. The combination of her vulnerable nudity and violent savagery were creating confusion and conflict—in his mind and in his body. And he hated to be confused.

The blonde, Hallidis, might be overbearing. But at least she was reasonable. She didn’t seem to possess her cousins’ lust for blood. And she had the good sense to know when she was beaten.

Her voice was cool, somber with resignation, and she clasped her hands humbly before her as if she wore shackles. “What do you mean to do with us?”

What indeed?

Morgan was tired. He was aching. His body was bruised and battered. His soul was weary and dispirited. All he wanted to do was return to his chamber and go to sleep.

At that instant, the bairn let out a piercing scream, as if to say there would be no sleep for Morgan this night.

He let out a long-suffering sigh.

Then an insidious idea entered his mind.

Maybe he did know where to stash the wayward lasses.

All he needed was to ensure they wouldn’t escape. They’d be safe enough. Duly punished, but unhurt.

On the morrow, when everyone was thinking more rationally, Morgan could greet the Rivenloch soldiers—who’d surely come for the lasses—with a clear conscience and the diplomacy to settle things peaceably.

First, however, he had to take a few precautions.

“Colban,” he said, “search her for weapons.”

“Nay!” Hallidis said sharply, vexing Morgan. But before he could rebuke the lass, she volunteered, “Please. Allow me.”

Morgan glanced at Colban. By his worried expression, Colban likewise found the task of searching a woman at the point of a dagger distasteful. No matter that the woman had meant to slay him.

Then Morgan narrowed his eyes at the blonde, gauging her intent. She seemed sincere. He blew out a long breath. Hoping to God he wasn’t being gulled by her forthright gaze, he gave her a slight nod.

“Feiyan,” she bade the dark-haired lass. “I command you to surrender your arms.” Then, as if she suspected her cousin’s devious nature, she added, “All of them.”

Feiyan’s lips formed a disappointed pout. “Fine.”

Colban cautiously removed the dagger from her throat and loosened his grip on her. He stepped backed, keeping his weapon at the ready.

While Morgan watched, she reached into her bodice with her finger and thumb, withdrawing another steel star, which she released onto the sod. Then she crossed her arms and drew two narrow-bladed knives from the waist of her surcoat. With a sharp flick of her wrists, she flipped the blades, driving them point-first into the ground.

From hidden pockets in her skirt, she pulled two small cylinders of wood. They were attached to the ends of the girdle of silver links circling her hips. Releasing one cylinder, she whipped the chain through the air in a whistling spiral. The force was lethal enough to knock a man cold. Instead, she caught the cylinder easily in her other hand and dropped the weapon harmlessly onto the grass.

It was the most curious assortment of arms he’d ever seen.

With a stubborn jut of her chin, Feiyan crossed her arms over her chest.

“And the rest?” Hallie said in a warning tone.

The rest? There were more?

Feiyan snorted in disgust. Then she lifted one corner of her skirt to pull something out of her boot. It looked like a folded silk fan. But when she snapped it open, the moon reflected off spines of metal embedded in the silk.

Finally, with a heavy exhale of regret, she swirled back her skirts to reveal a long leather sheath hidden on a belt between her surcoat and black linen kirtle.

When she unsheathed the weapon, Colban audibly gasped. The sword was unlike anything either of them had seen before. Long, narrow, curved, and impossibly sharp.

Feiyan gave Colban a smug smirk as she drew the dull side of the blade slowly against her upraised palm. Then she placed the sword with reverence on the ground before her.

“Feiyan,” Hallie said, nodding her chin upward.

Feiyan’s brow puckered for an instant. Then she remembered her last weapon. It was a wicked pair of long pearl-topped pins stuck into the nest of braids atop her head.

Now that Feiyan was disarmed, all eyes went to the naked lass Morgan held captive against his hip.

“Well, don’t look at me,” she snapped. “Where would I be hiding a bloody weapon?”