Could I convince ye tae change your mind? I like your wee neck too well to see it marred by a hangman’s noose.
“I grow weary of this conversation. We need to cease having it.” She sighed into the silence. “The problem with remembering is, of course, the possibility that I am guilty. It’s one thing to not know and simply say as much to Mr. Patterson and the Judge Admiral—I do not know. I do not remember. It’s something else entirely to know and either lie about it or try to explain away my actions.”
They walked in silence for a moment.
“Ye wouldnae have blown up the ship without good reason, lass,” he said.
Oof!
She stopped abruptly. “Ye keep saying that, but what reason could possibly be good enough to justify killing innocent men? Can ye think of one?”
He paused, too, turning to face her. “Nae, I cannae, but that doesnae mean it doesnae exist.”
“Mr. Patterson does not strike me as the sort to acceptextenuating circumstancesas an excuse. The man is a bureaucrat through and through.”
“The Judge Admiral will have a say, as well. Moreover, Andrew and Alex are powerful men—”
“I thought I was promised flirtation. Purple prose, ye said. The purplest.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, anything to change the topic.
“You’re trying tae bewitch me with your wit and beauty.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Trying tae get me to drop this.”
“Is it working?”
He ran an appreciative look up and down her body, her skin goosebumping to attention wherever his eyes landed.
“Aye,” he nodded. “It is.”
Eilidh’s breathing hiccupped. The memory of the night before reared up—the steadythump-thumpof his heart, the scalding heat of his skin—
She shook the memory away.
“Excellent.” She moved past him, continuing on the trail.
He gave a huff of frustration.
“Ye are maddening, lass,” his voice reached her from behind.
“You’ve mentioned it as one of my many enchanting traits,” she replied, tone so very dry.
“Eilidh.” He tugged on her arm. “Please stop running.”
She allowed him to pull her to a stop.
She snorted. “Pot, meet Kettle.”
“Pardon?” He reared back, eyes flaring.
“You’re just as bad as myself. You run from your emotions and memories, too.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Aye! Ye do!” Her accent slipped right along with her temper. “Oh, you’re quick with a quip and appear open and affable, but ye rarely disclose anything too deeply intimate. Don’t act like this is solely my problem—”
“All I’ve been is open and personal with yourself.” He took a step toward her, his voice a growl. “What do ye think I am afraid of?”
“Of letting people too close. Of disclosing your secrets.” She rolled her eyes. “Did Jamie know all the dark corners of your heart?”
More silence.
