“How are ye going tae convince them tae let me out?” he asked after a moment. “For our plan?”
Finley raised her head, another sparkle dangerous in her lovely eyes. “I’m not.”
The next day, Erik paced the chamber floor, his heart hammering in his ears. He had been given a bath and a fine breakfast, neither befitting of a prisoner, a murderer. He didn’t know if it was Finley’s doing or Edna’s, but either way, he felt moderately better on what was about to happen in a few moments. Under the pretense of confession, he had requested that Isabel be brought so that he could beg her forgiveness for what he had done. It was risky, but Finley had ensured that her husband wouldn’t be anywhere near the keep when it happened.
What she had done, he wasn’t certain, but he hoped she was safe at least and not at the mercy of the dangerous laird.
The chamber door opened, and Erik lifted his head as Isabel walked through, looking every inch of a laird’s wife in her fine dress and glittering jewels.
“Ye asked tae see me?” she said lightly, her words biting.
His gaze darted at the warrior standing in the doorway, attempting to look nervous. “I dinnae wish for anyone tae hear wot I have tae say tae ye.”
“Mah lady,” the warrior began, but Isabel waved her hand at him. “I’m perfectly safe in this chamber,” she stated, glaring at him. “Erik wilnae hurt me.”
Erik inclined his head, and the warrior huffed but shut the door, likely standing with his hand on the handle in case he heard a scream.
It was no matter. Erik wasn’t going to hurt anyone today.
“Och, Erik,” she said nearly immediately, taking a few steps toward him. “Have they hurt ye?”
This was going to be far easier than he thought. “Nay, not yet,” he forced out, letting the desperation bleed through his words. “They are going tae run me through with a sword, Isabel. I didnae kill that warrior!”
Her eyes were hard. “But yer sword was in his chest.”
He made a great show of running his hand through his hair a few times, knowing she would likely notice his nervous tendency. She used to jest with him that he wore his heart on his sleeve when he did that, and that was exactly what he was going for.
“I hate this clan,” he growled. “I hate all that they stand for, and mah laird, he’s ready tae break their alliance.”
“Why?” she asked, falling neatly into his trap.
He shook his head. “A woman as a laird. Who has ever heard such? They need a strong leader.” The words hurt as he said them, but he knew they were not what he felt truly, but a means to get Isabel to talk.
“So, yer laird wants tae take them over?” she questioned. “But he could have easily done so before she became a Lady.”
“Aye, he could have,” Erik replied. “But he wouldn’t have had the backing of the clan if he had done so. Now they see him as their savior, and I...” He stopped there, turning his back to her. “I wish tae align mahself with another clan so that I can be their laird.” It was what he and Finley had come up with once she had been dressed once more. If Erik could convince Isabel that he wanted to be a laird, then she would see him as a pawn easily moved.
Her hand landed on his shoulder a moment later, and Erik gave himself a quick smile. “I never thought ye wished tae be one,” she said softly. “I too want tae be a Lady, but that would mean killing mah husband.”
Erik made a great show of turning, finding her mere inches from him. “It would be a good reason tae kill him,” he said softly, searching her eyes, “especially after wot he does tae ye.”
She gave him a coy smile. “Perhaps those were meant tae gain yer attention.”
“Mah attention?” he asked, arching a brow. “But why?”
“I thought ye would stand in the way of the alliance,” she said, her hand running over and down his arm. “But I didnae realize ye had such high aspirations, Erik. It pleases me greatly tae hear ye talk like this. Perhaps I chose the wrong Scot after all.”
Though he didn’t wish to, Erik grasped her about the waist and pressed her into his body, hearing her slight gasp as he did so. “So ye wish tae be laird, and I wish tae be laird,” he said. “Wot do we do aboot that?”
Her husky laugh filled his ears. “We kill the lairds.”
“Like ye killed that warrior?” he purred, his hand sliding over her hip.
She arched against his touch. “I dinnae know wot ye are talking aboot, Erik.”
“Come on,” he replied as his knuckles grazed the side of her breast. “I know ye well, Isabel. I know ye always go for the heart when ye kill. ’Tis how ye trained.” He had trained her the best he could since she was living in the tavern, and while it was a stretch to casually bring it up, Erik could only hope that she would fall for it.
His former love gasped as he made a pass over her breasts. “Och, Erik, I didnae mean tae get ye in trouble like this. I thought ye were standing in the way of mah future.”
