“Is that ale ye’re drinking?”
When he nodded, she lifted her bottom off the chair and leaned across the table to snatch the cup out if his hand. She tossed it into the hearth without taking her eyes off him as it crashed into the wall. “We will not find a way out of this if we’re too drunk to stand. Get a hold of yerself, Will. I need to think with a clear head, and I need to know that I am not alone.”
“Janet.” His eyes on her grew large and round with pity and worry. Two things she didn’t want or need. “If we kill the Menzie chief…” He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and then began again. “What do ye mean to do?”
The fear in his eyes was clear to read, and he had every right to feel it. If they killed the Menzie chief they would start a feud that would likely last for decades. No chief, no matter how thrust upon him the title was, wanted to start a feud. William certainly didn’t. The only other option was to give Roddie what they’d agreed upon. Her.
There had to be another way to get out of the agreement without starting a feud.
“She isna’ goin’ to do anything.”
She turned in her chair to see Grant standing beneath the doorframe, pulling off his riding gloves. Lord help her, how did the man manage to look so virile and divine at the same time? He carried in his eyes the green frost of an early ending summer, and he released from his body the cool morning air of the outdoors. As he came closer to her, a chill swept through her blood, a chill scented with leather and pine. She couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting to his mouth. He’d removed his own stitches. Damn it all, he had a sexy mouth. He didn’t offer her a smile when he reached her chair and stared down at her.
“Ye’ll do as I say, Miss Buchanan.” His voice was a slow, rich blend of satin and the deep melody of his ancient race. Like a sorcerer’s spell, it compelled her to agree with whatever he wanted.
He was more dangerous to her than any Menzie.
And a hundred times more irritating.
“Grant.” She stood to her feet so as to have to look up to him less when she said, “Ye are not my master.”
He didn’t reply right away, but instead took ownership of her with a mere slant of his gaze down the length of her. She felt it like a touch, potent and whisper soft over her flesh, making the delicate hairs along her skin rise. He lingered on the swell of her hip, drinking her up and luring her deeper into his decadent spell. His hooded gaze fired her blood until she felt consumed with passion and desire… to step forward and slap his face.
The only reason she didn’t do it was to save William from having to worry about the MenziesandDarach Grant.
“I have nae desire to be yer master, Miss Buchanan,” he said without bothering to conceal the contradictory edge to his voice and the spark of flint in his eyes. “I do, however, intend to save this castle and ye from having to wed Roddie Menzie if ye stay oot of m’ way.”
Damn it, he sounded so certain, so confident that he could do it, that he could save them all. It was what she wanted. What she needed—someone to stand with her and fight. Hell, she didn’t mind moving aside and letting a man help her with her dilemma. But Darach was a fool. An arrogant fool.
“Do ye intend to save us all on yer own?” she asked him, folding her arms across her chest. “Ye had the drawbridge lowered and put us all in danger. How am I supposed to trust ye?”
He smiled, so slightly that she would have missed it if she didn’t know his face so well, hadn’t dreamed of it for so long.
“I didna’ ask ye to trust me. I asked ye to stay oot of m’ way.” He stepped around the table and stood before a seat a few inches from Will. “As fer savin’ ye all on m’ own”—he motioned for her to be seated and then followed her lead—“there are twenty-six Menzies encamped thirteen leagues north of here. Takin’ them down on m’ own would be difficult, but no’ impossible.”
“How d’ye know there are twenty-six Menzies in their camp,” she asked him. How could he possibly know for certain? “Or where their camp is exactly?”
“I counted them.” He glanced up when their cook, Kevin, her cousin twice removed, entered the Great Hall.
“Ye…” He wasn’t just an arrogant fool, but also a mad, arrogant fool. “Ye counted them?” she asked him, almost speechless. She cast her gaze to Will.
“Aye,” Darach told her, “this mornin’ while they slept.”
Hewasmad… or utterly fearless and possibly able to get them out of this.
“Why did ye not kill them all then?”
“Because as skilled a fighter as I am, I canna’ kill twenty-six men at once. Really, Miss Buchanan, plans must be made before an attack.” He cast her brother an impatient look, then returned his gaze to her. “Ye will bring m’ plans to ruin if ye try anything foolish.”
She wanted to shout at him that she didn’t care about his plans. It was her life to be sacrificed to a bleating goat. Was she supposed to entrust her life to a man she’d met all but two times, and both times, he was beaten to a bloody mess? He could barely defend himself, let alone her and a castle. She was afraid.
But she said nothing. She didn’t have a plan and if she did and she told it to him, he would try to stop her anyway. Instead, she watched Kevin serve their food—month-old mutton drenched in a white mushroom gravy and stale brown bread. Darach took one look at it, angled his head an inch to inhale, then pushed the dish away.
“We’ve been living on what we had for the last few months,” Janet defended. “Our livestock are all but gone and we haven’t been able to hunt.”
He startled her when he bolted to his feet, tall and angry. “That willna’ do.”
She and Will, along with Kevin, watched him storm out of the Hall. What did he mean to do? Janet didn’t wait to find out, but sprang to her feet and followed him, her brother close behind.
