“I said, get up.” His voice dropped to that low, dangerous register that made grown warriors flinch. “Daenae bow to any man. Nae yer cousin. Nae me. Nae anyone. Do ye hear me?”
Slowly, shakily, she started to rise, but her legs seemed unsteady.
Murdock reached through the bars as far as his bound hands would allow, offering them to her. “Take me hands, lass. Now.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she did.
Her palms were soft against his calloused skin, small and warm and trembling. He pulled her to her feet with more force than necessary, needing her off her knees, needing her to stop looking at him like he was her only salvation.
Because he wasn’t. He was a killer, a man who’d survived his father’s brutality by learning to be brutal himself. He had nothing to offer her but more violence and bloodshed.
But when he looked into those green eyes, saw the hope warring with fear, saw the stubborn tilt of her chin even as she trembled, something inside him shifted.
“Ye willnae have to marry him,” he said, the words coming out like a vow. Like a promise he had no business making but couldn’t seem to stop. “I swear it.”
Leona’s breath caught. “How can ye promise that? Ye’re tied to a chair in his dungeon.”
“Because I’m nae stayin' in this chair much longer.” He glanced down at his bindings, then back at her. “And when I’m free, I’ll make sure ye never have to fear him again.”
She stared at him for a long moment, searching his face. Then, slowly, she nodded.
“I should go,” she whispered. “The guards should be back any minute now. But I’ll come back. I’ll help ye.”
“Aye. Go.” He released her hands, immediately missing the warmth of them. “But lass?”
She paused at the cell door. “Aye?”
“Thank ye. For the kindness ye showed me tonight.”
A small, sad smile crossed her face. “It was the least I could do. Ye’re givin' me far more.”
Then she was gone, slipping up the stairs like a shadow, the cat racing ahead of her.
Murdock sat alone in the flickering torchlight, her words echoing in his head.
Take me with ye.
He stared at the unlocked cell door, at the space where she’d stood moments ago.
He didn’t waste time questioning her motives. The unlocked door was invitation enough. Her desperation to escape Keith had driven her to this mad gamble, and she’d given him a chance.
And Murdock Lyall didn’t waste chances.
Despite the pain radiating from his stomach and the blood still trickling down his face, he worked methodically at the ropes binding his wrists. They were tight, but not expertly tied. The guards had clearly relied more on the locked door than on proper knots.
The hemp bit into his skin as he twisted and pulled, ignoring the way the movement made his wounds scream in protest.
Within minutes, the ropes fell away.
Murdock flexed his fingers, working feeling back into them. His body ached, every movement a reminder of what he’d endured, but pain was an old friend. He’d learned long ago how to push it aside, to focus on what mattered.
Getting out and getting home to Skye.
And now, apparently, helping the lass who’d risked everything to free him.
He rose slowly, testing his legs. Steady enough. He’d fought through worse.
Moving carefully to avoid alerting the guards, Murdock slipped from the cell and made his way through the dungeon’s labyrinth. The torches cast dancing shadows on the damp stone walls, and somewhere in the distance, he could hear voices. Laughter.
