“I don’t know why.”
“Marguerite,” he warned, crossing the room to stand before her. “Tell me what you know of this man.”
Fear made her cheeks whiten, but she said, “I saved his life when he was Cairnross’s prisoner. He protected all of us in the battle, before you came with your men. That’s all.”
“Is it?” He didn’t believe her. Likely she was trying to protect the man. “Did you teach him to write?”
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she confessed the truth. “Yes.”
To do so meant that she’d spent time with MacKinloch. The thought made him want to flay the Scot alive. Guy’s hands curled into fists at his side, and at that moment, the Earl of Penrith moved into the Hall. His eyes moved to Marguerite, and she sent him a silent plea.
MacKinloch’s gaze moved upon both of them, and Guy didn’t miss his possessive stare. This Scot somehow believed he could force his way into Marguerite’s life.
Guy didn’t care what lies had been spoken or what had happened in the past. He wouldn’t allow any man to threaten his daughter’s future. Especially not a common Scot who couldn’t even speak.
Lord Penrith came forward, interrupting. “This morn, Lady Marguerite and I came to an understanding about our betrothal.”
There was reassurance in the man’s gaze. When he turned to his daughter, Guy saw the wrenching pain in her blue eyes. To her credit, she did not deny the earl’s claim. Penrith came to stand beside her, taking her hand in his. Whatever had transpired in the past would not be held against Marguerite. The alliance was not in danger, and when Guy eyed his daughter, she gave a silent nod.
The Duc turned back to the Scot, wanting to know more about the murdered Englishmen. “You were there on the night the garrison was attacked, weren’t you?”
Callum gave a nod.
“He witnessed the raid,” Marguerite interrupted. “The arrow you found was his, when he tried to stop the men.”
No doubt she was trying to protect the Scot. Before he could say anything else, Marguerite continued, “I warned him not to stay here, that you might blame him for it.”
And so he would, if the man were guilty. In his daughter’s voice, he heard the shaking fear, and he intended to use it to his advantage. To MacKinloch, he asked, “Why were you there that night?”
The man wrote a few words on the parchment and held it up.
“He thought there were prisoners being held at the outpost,” Marguerite said, deciphering the handwriting. “He wanted to free them.”
“And why should I believe that you were innocent of wrongdoing?”
MacKinloch said nothing, setting the quill down. His hard stare challenged the Duc, almost daring him to take him prisoner.
“He came to you, instead of fleeing like the others,” Marguerite interrupted again. “And when he gives you the names, you should punish those responsible for the murders.”
“I have no reason to give my trust,” he countered. “But I will question MacKinloch further.”
She came forward and took his arm. “I know what that means.” In her blue eyes, he saw the terror, and it only confirmed his belief that Marguerite held feelings for the Scot. “No torture,” she pleaded. “I beg of you, let him go.”
Guy gave no response, his gaze fixed upon MacKinloch. There was no trace of fear on the man’s face, only acceptance.
“I will use whatever means are necessary to find the truth,” he replied, removing Marguerite’s hand from his arm.
“Please,” she whispered.
The Duc let her draw her own conclusions. Often, the very threat of torture was enough to break a man. Especially one who had endured it before.
He signaled for his men to take Callum MacKinloch into custody. “Escort him below. I will have words with him later.”
His daughter looked stricken, but she gave no argument. Only after MacKinloch was gone, did she turn to him. “I have given you nothing but obedience, my entire life. I’ve agreed to marry a man of your choosing and asked nothing for myself in return.”
In her voice, he heard the fear and unshed tears. “Father, I ask only that you let him return to Glen Arrin.”
“Did he touch you?”
