She supposed he would have sounded less surprised and more suspicious had she been more than three-quarters his size, but she also noticed that he had placed himself between her and the exit, and his hands remained above his waist.
She swallowed hard. “Hannah Leon.” She spoke it as proudly as she could. “Two villages over. I daenae think ye ken what’s happening there, and I’ve arrived to—to make ye ken.”
“Is that so?” His eyebrows rose again, still looking amused at her expense, which was one of her least favorite things.
She already knew how infrequently men took women like her seriously, and when he smirked, it made her want to snarl at him. The only thing that stopped her was her little sister. She would let him find herharmlessif he would help Violet.
“Aye.” She reached into her carefully kept satchel, withdrew the bottle, and held it out. “This is a whiskey I hand-brewed at Leon Distillery. Ye may nae ken me, but ye ken the name. It’s yers for some of the angelica in yer garden. Ye willnae miss it. We need it. Me family… me village… the illness is getting worse every week.”
“Are ye bribin’ me?”
He still looked amused, but she could see just a touch of a frown at the corners of his eyes. He shifted, folding brawny arms over a broad chest. He was beginning to realize she was serious, then.
Despite herself, she glanced down to where his forearms bulged against rolled-up sleeves, corded muscles standing out strongly.
She swallowed.
“Nay. I’m givin’ ye a gift. I would like to think it’d be enough for ye to help us.” She swallowed again and forced herself to keep her voice and her stance steady, inhaling through clenched teeth and holding the bottle up to him more intently.
They were still practically nose-to-chest, she was nearly shoving the bottle into his sternum as she stared up at him, still held in place by the table she’d backed into. She tried very hard not to acknowledge how rapidly her heart was beating in her chest and how much heat the man before her seemed to be radiating.
“Tell me of yer village, lass.”
Hannah mumbled the name, gesturing toward the map as if inviting him to find the proof of it there, and desperately hoped he would simply take the bottle. She wasn’t as weakened as her sister, but she had her limits, and she’d reached them trying to find this man and his castle after spending a part of the day riding in the wrong direction to the wrong castle.
“There’s an illness, the angelica may help ease the symptoms. Here. Please.” She pressed the bottle again.
He considered. Then, mercifully, he took the whiskey and withdrew from downright inappropriately close. He strode across what she now realized was a study, not a library, and sat at the desk as if he owned the place. Which he did.
As she stood and watched, still hugging the table at her back with her heart in her throat, he thumbed the cork from the bottle and drew a long swig.
They were both silent for a long moment.
“Five.”
“Pardon?”
“I want five of these…” He gestured to the bottle in his hand, and for a moment, she perked up.I can do that. “… one every week. Ye’ll bring them yerself.”
Relief died in her throat. Four more weeks. Four more rides to this castle. Four opportunities for him to reconsider, or for her to lose her nerve. “What—But?—”
“Do ye need me help or nae?”
Hannah clenched her jaw hard and tried to remain calm. “Aye… I … we would appreciate yer help.”
She hated the way he was smirking. He looked so pleased, as though he was certain he had her at his mercy. He also wasn’t wrong.
“That’s the cost,” he said simply as he stood and approached her, still holding the bottle of her proudest whiskey in his hand so casually it made her want to snatch it back. “Five weeks. Five bottles.” He leaned down and spoke directly next to her ear, and her breath hitched against her will. “I wouldnae be late. Daenae make me hunt ye down.”
3
Hannah Leon.
Aiden watched as the girl bravely held her chin up, as she thrust what may be the best bottle of whiskey he’d ever had into his chest, and as she gave in to his demand and repeated her request to be allowed into his garden.
He was impressed by how she’d managed to fight the clear urge warring on her face to try to run for the door. By how she’d stood before him and bravely insisted he take the bottle from her shaking hand.
He drew a long breath, considering, and then nodded and jerked his head to the side.
