What was he supposed to tell them? That he had let them down? That he couldn’t be trusted after all? They wouldn’t understand. Their minds might go completely. Then where would he be? Responsible for the downfall of the clan and the death of his parents.
He slammed the sword into the wood, having to yank it free, it bit so deep. Robin better have an answer by noon. The death of his financier would be little comfort when the king arrived.
He stopped, crossing the floor, looking out at the sundial in the courtyard. Gone twelve. Time was running out. Not just for Robin but for him as well. If he couldn’t fund the king’s campaign, his life would be forfeit.
They were supposed to be free of tax duties for fifty years, ever since his father saved the king’s tax train from his own steward’s nefarious attempts to steal it. His father had helped the king. What was he going to do?
Tell him, sorry I can’t help you, you’ll have to let the English take over the highlands?
He would be executed and no amount of new swords would prevent it. Worse than that, the clan would be scattered.
He returned to the training dummy with fresh fury, smacking his sword into the wood so hard it wouldn’t come free until he used both hands, grunting at the effort.
He swung again, roaring with anger. He almost didn’t hear the knock at the door. Robin was here at last. He better have answers.
Wiping the sweat away from his eyes he crossed the room, sword still in hand. “You’re late,” he said as he pulled it open. He blinked. It wasn’t Robin. It was a woman. “Who are you?”
She was holding a wooden box. For a brief moment he was sure she was there to assassinate him, that the box held a knife.
She had the beauty of the trained killer, combined with an ability to get past his guards. How had she made it to his private quarters?
She stumbled back from him as he moved his sword toward her.
She wore the strangest of clothes, he noticed for the first time. Her arms were visible as was her hair, the style like nothing he’d ever seen. She had flawless skin and clean hands, holding the box out toward him not like a murder attempt but more like supplication before a priest.
She looked so innocent, so different to any woman he’d seen before.
“Well,” he said, taking in the swell of her chest and hips, her long neck, pale skin, flushed cheeks, and those eyes that he could drown in.
Her lips looked so plump and kissable, he had to resist leaning forward and sweeping her into his arms. They were lips that begged to be kissed even as she shied away from him.
If she was an assassin her chance had gone. He might have been swayed by her looks but she hadn’t taken advantage of him being distracted.
Not only that but he was the one holding a sword and she was the one looking afraid. “Who are you?”
“This is for you,” she said in a strange accent, pushing the box toward him. “You ordered it.”
He took it from her, looking down to see his name written on parchment across the top of the box. “Who are you?” he asked again. “And be sure to speak the truth.”
“I’m Daisy Stone. Tabby, that is, Tabitha was meant to bring this to you but she’s got a cold so she asked me to drop it off and I’m sorry to bother you but you’ve got your package so I’m all done and you can go back to whatever it was you were doing. I’ll be going now.” She started to walk away.
“Wait,” he said. “Your laird commands it.”
She spun around to look at him. “I know it was meant to be here by noon and I’m sorry but I can’t help that your custodian wouldn’t show me where to find you. This castle’s a maze. Take it up with him.”
At the end of the corridor behind her a figure appeared. Robin.
“Be off with you,” Jock said, needing her gone all of a sudden. He’d found himself looking at those lips again, the straining need to kiss her becoming overwhelming. He didn’t want Robin to see him losing control of himself.
She walked away without another word, passing Robin in the corridor. The financier looked at her as he passed, a smile flickering on his lips. Jock felt a flare of protective jealousy.
“Get in here,” he snapped at Robin, “and tell me why I should not remove your head right now for your lateness.”
Robin’s smile vanished and Jock was glad. The man had no right to smile at Daisy, his precious flower.
Why was he even thinking that way? She was no-one to him.
“Who was that?” Robin asked.
