She gasped, hands flying up to his arm. “Wait. Wait. It is just me.”
His dagger stilled, but his arm did not. It held long enough for recognition to dawn. The pressure eased, and he released her and stepped back hard enough to rustle the brush.
“Emma!” he said, still breathing like a man who expected trouble. “What in God’s name are ye doing outside at this hour?”
“I could ask you the same,” she scoffed, fixing the shawl where his arm had dislodged it. “Do all lairds take moonlit strolls with steel in hand, or is that a personal quirk?”
“It is calledkeeping watch,” he emphasized. “Some of us work at night so the rest can sleep. I am sure English nobles daenae have to do any of that.”
She ignored his jab. “Well, some of us would sleep better if the watch announced itself before putting a blade to a lady’s throat.”
“Ye werenae a lady two breaths ago,” he said. “Ye were an intruder that I was ready to kill.”
“Of course. A convenient excuse for poor manners.”
“Manners,” he repeated, almost laughing. “Ye were literally stalking me through the trees.”
“You vanished like a magician on stage. What was I supposed to do?”
“I am nae a magician. I am a warrior.”
“Then ye need to learn the difference between enemies and women in shawls.”
He looked her over from boots to brow. “A woman in a shawl can be the sharpest enemy in the woods.”
She folded her arms, ignoring the heat that crept up her cheeks. “Only if the warrior is careless.”
He shook his head, a rueful sound rumbling in his chest. “Ye daenae sneak up on armed men.”
“Then armed men should not sneak out the night before their wedding.”
“I didnae sneak out,” he protested. “Isteppedout.”
“Poor verb,” she drawled. “It makes you sound harmless.”
“I am many things, but harmless isnae one of them.”
“Believe me, Laird MacLellan, I noticed.”
The cold night air slithered through the trees and rustled the branches. Logan slid the dagger back into its sheath with a small, precise motion, then pointed at the path that led back to the castle with two fingers.
“Ye should be inside.”
“You should be, too.”
“I was thinking.”
“So was I.”
“About what?” he asked.
“About whether you meant to run,” she said, and heard how sharp it sounded. “About whether I would let you.”
He put his hands on his hips. “And how would ye have stopped me if ye didnae want me to run? With yer shawl?”
“If necessary.”
His mouth twitched. “Ye would really try, would ye nae?”
