Murdoch shifted his weight a little uncomfortably. “Well, lass, that would be due to my lack of … er … romantic proclivities … toward women … that is…”
“You prefer men,” Farah deduced around a second spoonful.
He blinked, obviously not expecting her to be so blunt. “That’s the way of it,” he admitted. “Hope that doesna offend ye.”
“That doesn’t offend me in the least,” Farah said. “Though I do take exception to the part about you being a kidnapper, and who knows what else, for the most notorious criminal on the isle.”
At that, Murdoch threw his head back and laughed until he was gripping the sides of his suit coat as though to hold the seams together. “Ye’re a brave lass for someone so wee,” he said. “Ye’ll need it in the days to come, I think.”
That gave her heart a kick, and Farah found it hard to swallow the next mouthful. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, remembering Dorian Blackwell’s words about being out of danger. Or had it been in danger? Last night seemed like a dream at this point, and faded just as readily. Except for the lightning in his eyes, and the way he’d reached toward her. Like a man in the desert reaches for a mirage.
“That’s a simple question with a complicated answer, lass, best leave it to Blackwell to explain it all to ye.”
Farah’s stomach erupted into a flurry of moths at the thought of facing Dorian Blackwell again. “Mr. Murdoch,” she began.
“Just Murdoch, ma’am.”
“All right. Murdoch. Could you not just … give me an idea about why I’ve been brought here?” she implored. “All I can do is dream up the worst possible scenarios, and I’d like to be prepared to see your—employer.”
“I’m sorry, lass, but orders are orders.” To his credit, the man did seem genuinely regretful. “But I want ye to know that not one of the inhabitants of Ben More Castle will raise a finger to do aught to ye but yer bidding.”
“As long as I don’t escape,” Farah pointed out, cutting into her quail’s egg.
Murdoch’s smile disappeared. “Right. Yes.”
“And only if I behave like a proper hostage.” She popped a bite in her mouth, delighted to find the egg had been cooked in butter.
“Well—that’s not—I mean—we’d all be obliged if ye’d—”
“And insomuch as my request doesn’t contradict with Blackwell’s orders.”
“Also … that.” Increasingly uncomfortable, Murdoch backed toward the door. “But ye’re safe, is what I was saying, no matter how frightening any of the blokes around here appear.”
“Well, then, I shall strive to be the best possible prisoner this castle has ever incarcerated.” Farah took a dainty sip of her tea, enjoying Murdoch’s discomfiture. He deserved it, the knave, despite his solicitous manner. He’d had a hand in her kidnapping and she’d do well to remember that. It would help her to fight the growing urge to like him.
“Och, lass, I’d ask ye not to see things in that way,” he said seriously, a wrinkle of worry appearing between his brows. “Give Blackwell a chance to explain the situation and maybe … ye’ll see things a bit differently.” Putting his hand on the doorknob, he regarded her as she ate her breakfast as though waiting for a response.
“Very well, Murdoch,” Farah said, hoping she was convincing enough.
He seemed to relax. “There are some ladies’ clothes in the attic,” he supplied. “How’s about I go searching for some while ye eat and finish yer tea, then I’ll come back and gather yer dress to launder it. Would ye like me to see about a bath?”
She nodded around a bite of toast, and the husky Scotsman scuffled out of the room.
Farah listened for the sound of his boots to carry him away from her door before she shoved the remaining bites of toast into her mouth and washed it down with scalding gulps of tea. He hadn’t locked the door behind him. This could be her only chance. If Farah knew anything, it was that women who went missing were rarely ever found, and though the best and brightest investigative minds would be looking for her, no one would ever imagine she’d been taken to Ben More Castle. Liberation was her responsibility, alone, and she intended to take the risk rather than await her fate in the silk-draped luxury of her castle chamber.
Finishing the perfectly cooked quail’s egg in two bites, she set her tray on the ground and leaped out of the bed, her fingers flying to fasten the buttons on her bodice. It really was a shame that she’d have to attempt escape in her lovely evening wear, but at least the extra layers of her full skirts would help keep her warm.
She found her purse, shawl, and slippers draped over a soft blue velvet chair next to the beckoning fireplace, and she checked inside the satin bag to find enough coin to hopefully secure her passage back onto the mainland. After that, she would try to find a local constable, and see if she couldn’t return to London on a little credit and professional courtesy.
After a fruitless check of the white wood wardrobe, she despaired of finding a cape or pelisse and prayed the sunshine would hold for a few more hours. Crossing to the large windows, she investigated the castle grounds.
The dazzling sight that greeted her stole a sigh from her lips. Ben More Castle lorded over a wide peninsula from atop a foundation of craggy gray and black rock. Farah followed the gentle slope of the hill as the emerald grass crawled toward the coast where the sun glinted off the calm gray-blue waters of the sound. Grazing sheep dotted the pastoral view, and the beauty of it distracted her from the urgency of the moment. The mountains of the Scottish mainland were visible across the narrow channel, close and yet unattainable.