“A fair measure,” he acknowledged. “Yet the claim goes both ways.”
Her heart pounded once, hard. “What are ye saying?”
He did not rush to speak. Instead, he readjusted his stance and kept his eye on her. “Tell me yer name again.”
“Erica.”
“Erica,” he said, as if testing the shape of it for weight. “Ye stood in the light and took me hand. Ye spoke loudly before witnesses, and ye used the rules as they were meant. Good. Then hear the whole of them.”
“I’m listenin’.”
“A public claim binds the man who accepts it,” he said. “It binds the woman who makes it. Ye asked for a shield. Ye have it while I say it. Yet there is more. I choose whether I return the claim, now or at first light. If I do, the tie holds until the week ends, and longer if we set it. That is the law ye walked into.”
She held his gaze. “And if ye daenae return it?”
“Then ye will have earned a night’s safety and a great deal of talk. Ye will leave in the morning, and men like that old goat will count yer steps before ye take them.”
“I ken that.”
He nodded once, as if she had passed a small test. “Good.”
Silence sat between them for a breath. The ring listened without looking.
Erica felt the pull in the air, the shift that came when a choice turned from thought to action.
“Ye are weighing it,” she said. “Whether I am worth the bother.”
“I am measuring,” he corrected. “Worth is a word for men who buy things. I daenae buy people.”
“Then why cut for me?”
“I believed ye,” he said. “That was enough.”
“And now?”
“Now I have seen ye stand after it,” he said. “Ye kept yer chin high, and ye didnae tremble where he could see. Ye didnae thank me like a priest. Ye pushed back when I teased ye. That tells me more than any oath.”
“Ye are still proud.”
“Aye,” he said. “And right now, useful.”
She drew breath. “Useful is what I need.”
“Then ye will keep close. Ye will say what ye can offer and what ye willnae. Ye will tell the truth when I ask it.”
“And if I refuse to answer a question?”
“Ye can,” he said. “I will mark it. That is all.”
She set her shoulders. “I can offer ye money, I suppose. But I daenae see what that will do. Ye’re Laird MacMillan. Ye have way more than me clan does.”
“Yer house?”
“Bryden.”
He did not blink. “Aye. That was me guess.”
“Then ye ken the stain men think sits on me name.”
