“And the guards?” she prompted. “Where do they stay?”
The dungeons would be near where the guards stayed, surely?
Laird MacColl glanced at her, brows knitting together. “Ye daenae need guards. Ye will be safe enough here.”
“Oh, nay, me Laird, I wasnae sayin’…”
“Creighton.”
She paused, blinking. “What?”
“Creighton. Me name is Creighton,” he repeated. “We’re betrothed. It will look odd if ye are calling melaird, will it nae?”
“Well, I suppose so.”
“Let’s hear ye say it, then, to make sure ye have learned it.”
She licked her lips, trying to breathe evenly. “Creighton.”
“Very good.”
Very good?How dare he praise her as if she were a child learning her lessons?
Before Nora could vent her outrage, they reached the front of the castle. More soldiers waited, along with a few manservants and maids scurrying down the wide, weathered front steps. Laird MacColl—Creighton—dismounted neatly from his saddle, and Nora swung her leg over the side.
Then she hesitated.
Hauling herselfuponto the horse’s back hadn’t been troublesome. Easy, even. But going down… oh dear.
The ground, made of hard cobblestones with rainwater pooled between them, seemed to stare up at her. It felt like a very long way away.
Swallowing hard, she gripped the sides of the saddle, willing herself to leap down. The horse shifted underneath her, clearly annoyed by the change in weight. It knew its home, no doubt, and was eager to get back to its stable with a warm blanket and sweet oats, and the sooner she dismounted, the sooner that could happen.
“Need a hand?” Creighton remarked idly, wandering around into her view.
Nora clenched her jaw. “Nay, thank ye. I can manage just fine. I just…”
“Lass, I can see that ye are stuck.”
Before she could insist that he waswrong, he reached up, seizing her around the waist, and lifted her effortlessly down onto the ground.
The instant seemed to last forever. Weightless, she sagged against him, bracing herself against his shoulders without thinking twice. He smelled of leather and something spicy-sweet and masculine. She hadn’t noticed that scent before, but now that shehad, it seemed to be all she could sense.
She only got one breath of that scent, however, before he set her down and stepped away. One breath was certainly more than enough. Flexing her hands, she tried not to think about how warm and firm his shoulders had felt under her grip.
“Thank ye,” she forced out.
He gave a half smile in her direction, his gaze already distant. Turning away, he gestured to a handful of men in MacColl tartan.
“Come, lads, I’ll read yer reports now. We have things to discuss. Oh, and this lassie here is Nora Lane, she’s the promised betrothed from Laird Bryden. Take her to her room and get her bath, eh? Excuse me, lass. Duty calls.”
He wasleaving, Nora realized with a jolt. She didn’t want him to stay, of course she didn’t, but he was the only familiar face in this whole Keep of people. Oh, no. Ohno.
“Wait,” she stammered out, reaching forward as if to pluck at her his sleeve. She stopped herself in time, thank goodness, and he flashed a wry smile back at her over his shoulder.
“I’m rather busy here, lassie. Go on inside. Try nae to die or cause a war, and I’ll see ye at dinner.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, he turned to one of the men in MacColl tartan, wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulders, and walked away, the two of them deep in conversation.
