Daenae show fear.
She had told herself that too many times to forget it now.
She kept pace with the men, the hem of her skirts whispering over the floor with every quick step. The torches along the wall wavered as they passed.
Shadows danced across Neil’s jaw and the curve of his cheeks. He looked carved from the same stone that held the keep together.
She tried to catch his eye. She needed one look. One small sign that the soft smile she had seen on his mouth had not been a trick of the light.
“Come,” his voice broke into her thoughts, giving her all the answers she needed.
He was already ahead of her, his mind in the courtyard, his focus narrowed to a point.
“Neil,” she whispered.
He did not turn back. Instead, his stride lengthened.
She matched it even as her pulse skittered. The memory of his hands on her waist a minute ago, of his thumb tracing slow circles, of his smile—all of it felt fragile.
She wanted to bottle it up and carry it. She wanted to keep it safe from whatever waited outside. Whatever had made Lachlan go pale.
The walls breathed around them, and at some point, a maid flattened herself against the wall to let them pass. A guard dipped his head and moved to follow.
They reached the wide arch that opened onto the night, and cool air kissed her face. The courtyard lay beyond, lanterns swinging on their hooks. The laughter that had filled the space earlier hadfaded. Instead, a low murmur pushed and pulled at the edges of the square like a tide.
Men stood with their hands raised, and women pushed children behind their skirts. The night smelled of smoke, and sweat, and iron.
This was not the atmosphere Kristen had left behind. No, the atmosphere she had left was peaceful and merry. This one, for some reason, felt charged and biting.
A thought echoed in her mind over and over.
Who is this man?
Lachlan glanced at her, worried. “Stay behind me,” he urged.
“I will stand where I must,” she answered. Her voice came steady, and she was grateful for that.
Neil stepped through the arch first. He moved like a blade lifting from its sheath, and his hand settled on the hilt of his sword. His focus zeroed in on the cluster of men at the far side of the courtyard.
Kristen had seen him angry, confused, and in pain.She had never seen him like this—steady and quiet, every muscle coiled.
Her mind tried to flash back to the study and failed. The corridor had swallowed that memory so quickly that she couldn’t believe she could ever retrieve it.
All of that could wait. For now, she needed to be as alert. If whatever Lachlan had come to report was as urgent as the air made it feel, the clan would need her to be clear-headed as well.
They followed him down the last set of steps, and the stone turned to packed earth under her shoes.
The crowd opened a little as the Laird advanced. Faces swam up and away, and torches spat and hissed. Kristen kept her chin up and her hands loose, the way she had learned to do when fear wanted to overtake her.
The ring of people ahead thickened. She saw the flash of a blade lifted in warning. A woman’s cry thinned the air and shivered through the knot of bodies. Kristen’s heart lurched hard enough to make her blink.
She reached for Neil’s sleeve without thinking. Her fingers closed around wool, then loosened. He did not look back or even try to slow down. The heat radiating from him felt like a wall she could stand behind.
“Make way,” Lachlan called.
The line broke, and a path opened, narrow and lined with wide eyes. The three of them stepped together into the tight circle of light.
Neil stepped into the cleared space. In the center stood a man he recognized immediately. He would recognize that crooked smile and those gleaming brown eyes anywhere.
