Twas a curious question. “Do you know what happened to your maid?”
She averted her gaze. The first sign of a lie to follow. “Nay.”
He did not believe her. “Promise me you speak truth.”
She met his gaze. “I solemnly swear.”
Bloody hell. He wanted to trust everything she said. “When I touched you before, you cringed in pain, Miran. Explain that to me.”
All color drained from her face. “Easily done, sir. Too much time in the saddle. I had a crick in my back.”
The lady was very sharp-minded, she had a quick answer for everything. “A crick?”
“Just here,” she said turning about and rubbing her hand over her the small of her lovely back.
Such a cool liar. But he would not judge her yet, for there might be a just reason she was keeping the truth from him. “Miran.”
“Aye?”
“I did not touch your back, twas your shoulders.”
She stood and moved to the closest brazier, her back to him, and rubbed her arms. “Why are ye being so persistent?”
“Because someone under my care has gone missing, and I believe you know what happened.”
The accusation made her spin around. “Are ye calling me a liar?”
“If the name fits.”
“Jesu!”
“You have no right to be angry with me, Miran.”
She sighed. “Why do we always argue? About everything?” She shivered.
His first instinct was to warm her in his arms, but she’d only admonish him for touching her. And he knew why they argued, and longed to tell her—because they had so much pent up passion between them, if they did not find a way to release it, someone would suffer. He was suffering already.
“Pride,” he offered.
“Pride?” she repeated. “That seems a likely excuse.”
“If you know me at all, Miran, you know I never make excuses. Right or wrong, I always speak honestly.”
“Aye,” she admitted. “As frustrating as I find it, ye are superior when it comes to the truth. Even Laird Jamie has withheld details he thought might hurt me.”
“And are you doing the same now?”
Silence fell between them.
“Miran?” He took two more steps toward her.
No answer.
“Miran? What are you hiding from me?” Before she could stop him, he ran his hand up her back and over her left shoulder.
She cried out and shrunk away. “Doona touch me!”
“Miran,” he said more commandingly, worry etched on his face. “This is not a request. Slip your gown off your shoulder so I may see it. If you do not do so willingly, I will be forced to do it for you.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and he felt like a heartless tyrant for having to make such a threat. All he wanted to do was hold her, touch her, and kiss away the pain.Shite!“I would never hurt you.Never.” His voice cracked with emotion.
“Doona try to lessen the severity of what ye said by pretending to care for me, Captain. Ye are twice my size and as strong as an ox. I have no choice. If I wish to retain even a sliver of dignity, I must do as ye ask.”
She unlaced her bodice with shaky hands, and slowly pulled the sleeve down, revealing a milky white shoulder with angry red welts across it.
By everything sacred, he would destroy whoever had done this to her. Torture them. Kill them. Send them to Hell. “Who is responsible for this?” He started toward her but she held up her hand to stop him.
She tugged the material back up her shoulder and turned around, giving him the most cutting look. “I have nothing more to say. Now, please go.”
