When Leona dared to look at him again, she found something new in his expression. A heat that matched the one building in her chest.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “How old are ye?”
“Two-and-twenty.”
“Young,” he murmured.
“Old enough,” she countered, though her voice wavered.
His fingers tightened fractionally around her wrist. “Old enough for what?”
Leona’s breath caught. She knew she should pull away, should finish tending his wounds, and leave before someone discovered her. But she couldn’t seem to make herself move.
“Old enough to ken when I’m in danger,” she whispered.
Murdock’s eyes darkened. “And are ye? In danger?”
Aye,but nae from ye.
Instead of answering, she resumed cleaning his wounds, though her hands were steadier now. The silence between them had shifted.
“Yer wrist,” Murdock said suddenly.
Leona’s movements stilled.
“The scar,” he continued, his voice harder now. “Is he the one who did that?”
There was no point in lying.
Leona nodded, setting down her cloth.
For a long moment, Murdock said nothing. When she dared to glance at his face, she found that his expression had grown cold again, but it was a different kind of cold.
“When?” The word came out clipped.
“Three months ago. I tried to refuse his proposal.” She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “He made sure I understood the consequences of defiance.”
Something dangerous flickered in Murdock’s eyes. A violence so absolute it should have frightened her. But instead, Leona felt oddly… protected.
“He’ll answer for that,” Murdock said quietly.
It wasn’t a threat. It was apromise.
Leona’s throat tightened. No one had ever looked at her like that. Like her pain mattered. Like her scars were wounds worth avenging.
“I should go,” she said, though she made no move to leave. “Before the guards return.”
“Aye.”
But neither of them moved. They simply stared at each other in the flickering torchlight.
Finally, Leona forced herself to stand. Her legs felt unsteady, and she had to press one hand against the wall for balance. Murdock watched her every move, his dark eyes tracking her like a predator tracking its prey.
She gathered her supplies with shaking hands and shoved them back into the basket. Nyx materialized from the shadows, weaving between her ankles with a soft chirp.
Leona reached the cell door, one hand on the heavy iron. She should lock it behind her. Should leave him here and forget this ever happened. Instead, she pulled the door closed but didn’t turn the key.
The soft click of the lock not engaging seemed impossibly loud in the quiet dungeon.
