“Why?” Murdock’s voice stopped her before she could flee.
Leona turned back, finding him watching her with that same intense focus that made her feel seen in a way she’d never experienced before.
“Why what?”
“Why help me? Ye daenae ken me. I could be as much a monster as they say.”
Leona studied him. This dangerous, beautiful man who’d let her touch him. Who’d noticed her scars. Who looked at her like she was something more than a pawn to be moved across a board.
“Because,” she said softly, “I think we’re both prisoners here. The only difference is that yer chains are visible. Or, perhaps, a monster is just what I need.”
Something flashed across his expression. Surprise, perhaps, or recognition.
He leaned forward slightly, the ropes creaking with the movement. “How can I repay ye the good ye’ve done, lass?”
Leona’s heart hammered against her ribs as a dozen answers rose to the tip of her tongue.
She thought of Keith’s hands on her wrist, his threats, the wedding that loomed like an executioner’s blade.
She thought of the way Murdock had looked at her scars, the barely leashed violence in his eyes when he’d promised retribution.
She thought of freedom.
The words came out before she could stop them, raw and desperate and achingly honest.
“Take me with ye.”
3
“Take me with ye.”
The words hung in the damp air between them.
Murdock stared at the lass in front of his cell. Her green eyes were wide and desperate in the flickering torchlight, her hands gripping the iron bars so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t process what she’d just asked of him.
Then reality crashed back in, and with it, disbelief.
“Excuse me?” His voice came out rough, edged with pain from his wounds and confusion at her request. “What the hell are ye talkin' about, lassie?”
But even as he asked, he knew. He’d seen the scar on her wrist, the way she’d flinched when speaking of her cousin. He’d heard the tremor in her voice when she mentioned the forced betrothal.
She was trapped. Just as surely as he was, though her chains were invisible.
“Please.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her forehead against the cold iron. “Take me with ye. When ye escape, and I ken ye will, take me with ye. Daenae let me marry him. I cannae—I willnae. I’d rather die than let Keith touch me.”
Before he could respond, she dropped fully to her knees on the filthy dungeon floor, her hands clasped in supplication.
“I’ll do anythin'. Serve in yer kitchens, scrub floors. I daenae care what. Just please, daenae leave me here with him.”
Something hot and violent surged through Murdock’s chest. Rage at the bastard who’d put that desperation in her voice. Protectiveness for this brave, foolish lass who’d risked everything to help a stranger she barely knew. And beneath it all, something he didn’t want to name.
“Get up, lass.”
The command came out sharper than he had intended, but he couldn’t help it. The sight of her kneeling in the muck of thisdungeon, begging, made his blood boil hotter than any wound ever could.
She looked up at him, tears streaking through the dirt on her face. “But I need ye to understand, I cannae stay here, I cannae marry him, please…”
