Heat crackled between them in an instant, sharp and sudden. They were too close, both of them leaning in towards each other without even realizing it until it was too late. Michael could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin, and he felt it again—that pull, like a noose slowly cinching around his ribs.
She was too sharp, too aware, and far too dangerous to be looking at him the way she was.
“I asked ye a question,” he said, jaw tightening. “What were ye thinkin’, sneakin’ after me?”
“Dae I need a reason tae be in the halls o’ me own house?” Isabeau asked with a frustrated huff. “If ye must ken, I was goin’ tae the kitchens fer some tea.”
She’s lyin’… but she willnae tell me the truth.
“Ye shouldnae be out o’ yer chamber.”
How had she managed to sidestep her security? Or could it be that a guard or two were there, watching her—watching them? Had they seen him emerge from that hidden passage? Had they seen anything that they would think of as odd?
Isabeau and her curiosity could easily be his undoing. The last thing he needed was some girl being involved in his business, attracting attention where there should be none.
“Ye shouldnae be prowlin’ the keep in the dead o’ night,” she said in return.
Damn her pride.
They stared at each other for a long, taut moment, the silence between them thrumming with something heavy and unspoken. There was too much tension, too much breath in too small a space. Her eyes glinted in the dim torchlight, silver and stormy, and he hated how easily he noticed the shape of her mouth or how close her shoulder was to his.
That wasn’t part of the mission.
Michael turned away.
“Ye should go back tae yer room,” he said, already taking a step. “Ye should be cautious at night, even in here.”
Her voice chased him down the corridor. “Ye’re the only danger I can imagine in these halls.”
He didn’t look back. He only mumbled to himself, his words camouflaged by the clicking of his boots against the stone floor.
“Exactly.”
He left her there, alone in the flickering light, and returned to his chambers, locking the door behind him. His hand stayed on the bolt for a long moment, unmoving.
This was a mistake. All of it.
He had one mission: find Alyson, free her, get out. And yet every time Isabeau stepped into a room, she made it harder to think, harder to focus. She didn’t act like a Campbell, nor did she flinch the way he expected. She defied him, challenged him—looked at him like she saw straight through his lies.
It unsettled him, unmoored him completely. He could not afford the distraction. And yet, the sudden attraction was harder to fight than he would have thought. Isabeau, with her hair as dark as ink, her gray eyes, and that way of looking at him as if shecould see right through him, made him feel as though he was standing on quicksand, the ground giving under his feet.
She’s naethin’ other than a distraction. An’ I cannae afford distractions now.
Naethin’ matters but Alyson.
CHAPTER NINE
The door slammed open with such force it struck the wall behind it. Isabeau jolted upright in bed, sleep torn from her body like breath from lungs.
Her father stormed into the room like a roar of thunder, his cloak billowing, his boots striking hard against the stone floor. Two guards followed in his wake, silent but grim-faced, and Isabeau knew instantly that something had gone wrong.
He didn’t give her time to ask.
“Crumbs,” he snarled, eyes blazing under his furrowed brows. “Crumbs near the prisoner’s cell. Are ye a fool, lass?”
Isabeau’s stomach clenched. Her voice caught in her throat, and she found herself unable to say a single thing.
She should have been more careful. She should have made sure that no crumbs fell from her hands as she took that bread toAlyson, but she had been careless, lost in her own thoughts on her way to the dungeons. And now, she had been discovered, and though she was facing her father’s wrath, she could only imagine the tortures Alyson would have to endure.
