“Did none o’ yer governesses teach ye it’s rude tae stare, me lady?” Michael asked without even turning to look at her, and Isabeau jumped in surprise, startled by the sudden address.
How did he ken it was me?
She didn’t ask, simply to avoid making a fool of herself. Instead, she cleared her throat and straightened her spine, assuming the most dignified air she could muster.
“How could I nae stare?” she asked with a huff. “Ye’re makin’ a spectacle o’ yerself half-dressed like this. Have ye nay shame?”
Michael turned, brows raised. “Why would I be ashamed? I was mindin’ me business. Alone, until someone wandered intae it.”
Isabeau crossed her arms tightly in front of her, mouth pressed into a firm line. “An’ what if a maid had come in here instead o’ me? Or me faither?”
“I’m nae undressed or indecent,” said Michael.
“Ye’re hardly decent,” Isabeau insisted. “An’ it isnae a very pleasant sight fer a lady.”
With a smirk, Michael turned back to her, tossing the brush he was holding in the air and grabbing it once more mid-air. “Are ye sayin’ ye’re nae enjoyin’ the sight, me lady?”
He looked like he was enjoying the situation far too much—that infuriating smirk, the way his eyes gleamed with mischief, never once looking away from her.
Isabeau looked away too quickly and hated herself for it. But how could she not? He was staring at her with those hazel eyes, green and fiery gold under the light of the lantern, and she could see a large expanse of skin on his chest and arms, tanned as if he was used to being shirtless in the sun, covering bulging muscles that rippled with every movement he made. It was hard to breathe around him, as though his mere presence in the stables was enough to make all the air dissipate. It was hard to think, her mind only capable of conjuring up the image of him, arm outstretched, his shirt riding up to reveal the lines of his ribs, the spot where his hip dipped lower, past his trews.
Isabeau suddenly ran even hotter, her entire face feeling as though it was on fire. For a moment, she forgot about everythingelse—her father, her wound, the reason for the man’s presence in the keep.
Michael, for that seemed to be his real name, was her enemy, even if he had saved her life—even if he had defended her. He had been the one to bring her back to the castle. He was the one who had come to broker the arrangement between her father and Clan Grant, the one that would bind her to Cody Grant for the rest of their lives.
“Why did ye speak up in front o’ me faither?”
Michael leaned against the wooden beam, folding his arms. His eyes, sharp in the shadows, never left her.
“Because I didnae like the way he spoke tae ye.”
His words gave Isabeau pause. She stared at him in silence, eyes narrowing as she regarded him, as if she was trying to peer straight into his mind—and if she were truthful, that was precisely what she was trying to do.
Perhaps nae everyone in Clan Grant is a bad person. This man before me is kinder than most.
Even when he had concealed his identity from her.
“Why did ye nae tell me yer name when I asked?” she asked him. “Ye could’ve saved yerself the trouble.”
Michael tilted his head to the side, regarding her with narrowed eyes. “Ye dae seem tae attract trouble.”
Isabeau met his gaze. She didn’t flinch, didn’t give any indication that what he had said cut deeper than he might have thought. She didn’t think he was doing it on purpose; after all, even if he had seen how her father treated her, even if he suspected something, surely, he wasn’t aware of the full extent of her father’s cruelty.
He was trying to jest, but it hit closer to home than he could have ever known.
“Then perhaps it’s best we keep our distance,” Isabeau said curtly. “The keep is large enough. I dinnae need tae see yer face again.”
Silence stretched between them, charged with something Isabeau couldn’t name. Then?—
“Is it that ugly?”
His tone was quiet, amused, once again teasing her, but Isabeau was caught off-guard, blinking in surprise. Her lips parted, but no retort came. What could she say to something so outrageous, after all?
Michael took a slow step forward—not touching her, just close enough for her to feel the warmth of him cut through the chill of the night air. His proximity was far from proper, far from casual,and Isabeau couldn’t help but be reminded of the presence of her guard, who was surely watching her closely.
Will he begin tae wonder what I’m daein’ soon? Will he come tae check?
“Or are ye just afraid,” Michael whispered before she could say anything, “that ye might look too long?”
