“Aye.” He smiled. “I suppose it would be.” He led her to a large tapestry of red deer running from hounds. It covered most of the wall behind the head table. “After ye, m’lady.” With the weave held aside, he motioned her through the hidden archway ahead of him. When he let the flap fall back in place, she was amazed at how well the heaviness of the cloth muted the noise from the other side.
“Is this a secret tunnel?”
“Nay, lass.” He offered his arm, then proceeded down the narrow, torchlit hallway. “Merely a corridor that leads to our private stairwell.”
“Are there secret tunnels throughout the entire keep? Like the one in Fern’s room?” She had always heard that most castles used such things for safety measures.
As honeycombed as this place seemed, she wasn’t so sure they needed them. It would take her quite a while to remember all the ins and outs of the stronghold. It took her a moment to realize he hadn’t answered. She halted and looked up at him, noticing the strained lines in his face made even deeper by the shadows in the passage. “You don’t trust me enough to tell me.”
He stared down at her for a long moment, his internal war clear in his dark eyes. “No. I do not.” His gaze dropped to the floor and stayed there. “At least, not fully as of yet.”
“Because I’m a Brit?” She hoped that was the case and even understood. Up to a point anyway. It still stung to hear it after all they had shared the past few days. She thought they had forged the beginnings of a friendship—maybe even more. “Answer me, Quinn. Is it because I’m English?”
“Partly.” He lifted his head, revealing a pensive expression. “Experience has taught me it can be quite painful to trust too fully…too quickly.”
She assumed he meant his first wife, but something in his demeanor hinted otherwise. Her new husband appeared to be a complex man. “I understand,” she said in the detached, emotionless tone perfected for use both professionally and privately when needed to protect herself. “I understand completely.” She knew how to shield herself with an untouchable facade as well as he did. Had done it for years.
With a sad smile, he lowered his chin and motioned toward the stairwell at the end of passage. “There. Shall we?”
“Fine.” She caught hold of her skirts, lifted them out of the way, and strode forward at a fast pace.
“Wait, lass. Best let me help. Those steps are narrow and steep.”
“I will never learn if I don’t do it myself.” She grappled the yards of silk up to her knees and climbed. The effects of the wine must be dimming. The warm motivation from before, from all his flowery words, seemed…less. Pity that, to lose the impetus of looking forward to the consummation. Bloody fool had ruined the mood by admitting he didn’t fully trust her. For cripe’s sake, he had trusted her enough to let her cut his sister open and deliver his niece and nephew. Did that not count for anything? And if he thought her some sort of English spy sent to snipe out a few chieftains, wouldn’t she have finished him back at the waterfall?
She understood his hatred of the English—but still. The longer she thought about it, the harder she stomped as she wound her way upward. She couldn’t believe she had allowed him to hurt her feelings. “Bloody fool,” she growled, taking the steps two at a time now.
“Evie!”
She ignored the call and the loud thud of boots against stone echoing up through the tower.
“Evie! Stop!”
She pulled up short. Not to obey his bidding, but because she was out of breath. Which was ridiculous. She ran the stairs every day at Finchcrest to work off stress. Of course, smooth, standard flights of stairs in a light pair of scrubs were a great deal easier to manage than these narrow, triangular death traps. Especially while swathed in half the silk in China. She sagged back against the wall and drew in deep breaths as she stared upward. Another floor. Maybe. With the winding staircase, figuring where a floor landing hit proved to be a challenge.
“Why are ye so angry?” he asked when he caught up with her.
“Why am I so angry?” Did he want the general version or the chapter exclusive to him? She decided to go for the exclusive chapter. Much shorter that way. “After all I’ve done to help you and your sister, you still don’t trust me.”
“Not fully, I said.” He sucked in a deep breath and leaned against the wall. Apparently, he was winded, too. “But I am verra close.”
“That is utter rubbish. Either you trust me, or you don’t.” She gathered up her skirts again and started to take off, but he snagged hold of her arm and held her in place. With a serious urge to kick him in the chest, she glared down at him. “Let go. You don’t trust me, remember? Aren’t you afraid I’ll knock you backward?”
“I dinna fear a damn thing when it comes to ye,” he growled as he closed the remaining distance between them. “Ye’re nay a murderess. Ye’ve already proven that. But ye canna fault me for caution about the secrets protecting this keep. I have responsibilities. Have ye told me every one of yer secrets? Do ye trust me enough to tell me the real details of yer past instead of the vague answers and lies ye’ve already given me?”
As much as she hated to admit it, he made a fair point. But she didn’t intend to tell him that. Instead, she tried to jerk her arm free of his hold. When that failed, she stared upward, refusing to look at him.
“Evie.” The way he rumbled her name soft and deep made it sound like a great cat’s purr. He joined her on the narrow step and pinned her against the wall. “I’ll nay let ye go ’til ye look at me and tell me ye understand and forgive me.”
“Then your guards will someday find two skeletons on this step.” She glared at him, realizing that if either of them lost their footing now, they’d both tumble down and break their necks.
“Forgive me,” he breathed against her ear with a nibbling of her earlobe that greatly strengthened his argument. “In time, we will win each other’s complete trust.” He pressed harder against her, making her uncomfortably aware of the growing heat between them. “Forgive me, my fiery lass, so we can enjoy our first night together.”
Chapter Twelve
Once again, hemight have chosen his words poorly, but at least he hadn’t lied to her. Surely, someday, she would come to appreciate that about him. He pushed open the door to their solar. “Shall we tarry here in the sitting room for a bit? Yon window looks out upon the sea if ye would care to sit on the bench for a while.”
She tossed him a side-eyed glare, marched into the room, and perched on the bench as if ready to bolt at any moment.
