Then he opened his hands and she scrambled back. “I could still scream,” she said as she rubbed at her wrists.
“But then we wouldn’t be able to waltz tonight.”
“You aren’t the type to get an invitation,” she drawled. “You won’t be allowed in.”
He grinned. “Leave that to me. Just save the dance. And mind that Sadie gives me one as well.”
She shook her head. “Sadie’s been in enough trouble. She cannot afford any more scandal.”
Ah yes. The murdered dance partner. She might have been cleared of the crime from the constabulary, but society could be a lot less forgiving. “Then you best buy my silence. Accusations of witchcraft against either of you could bring all that ugliness back up.”
She stiffened. “It’s not true. None of it is true!”
He didn’t bother repeating what he’d said before. Truth never mattered, only the strength of the story around a person made the least bit of difference. “I just want a dance,” he said. A waltz with a well-sponsored girl at a high society ball. It was the toehold he needed into theton.
“And you’ll return my necklace?”
He grinned. “I’ll put it on your neck myself.” Right in front of the entirehaut tonif he could manage it. Then he swooped down and pocketed her dirk.
“That’s mine!” she exclaimed.
He shook his head. “I make a habit of keeping every weapon that is used against me.” He spun it between his fingers as he grinned at her. “And this is a lovely one.”
“But it’s the only thing I have,” she whispered.
He cracked the door to her bedroom. The hallway was quiet now, but he couldn’t tell how long it would stay that way. Still, he couldn’t resist her outraged expression. She was gathering her fury but was still off balance. That meant he had enough time to steal a kiss.
A quick press of his lips against hers. A tease of his tongue against her soft lips.
She gasped in surprise—the opening he needed—and he was swift to slip inside. Not a bold thrust. He was not a man who stole such things from a lady. But a slight press, a flick of his tongue to give her the idea, and then a retreat.
He grinned. “Now you have something else,” he said. Then he slipped out her bedroom and down the stairs. He was light on his feet and fast, gone out the front before any of the servants looked up from their tasks.
The only thing left was to figure out how he was going to break into a ball, dance with not one buttwodebutantes, and not get arrested or thrown out on his very handsome arse.
Chapter Three
Iseabail was running,her feet icy cold and cut such that every step was agony. It was the dead, she knew, reaching up from the soil to grab at her. She searched for a place to stand. She needed to catch her breath and think—always she needed to think—but every time she stopped, the fingers of the dead broke through the soil to grab her.
She had to keep moving. She had to find rocks where they couldn’t dig through or climb to the top of a tree too far above the ground for them to reach. But no matter how she scrambled, the rocks shifted beneath her feet. And what trees she climbed broke, dropping her down to the soil where the dead finally caught her.
They cut through her ankles first, forcing her to crawl. But once her hands hit the dirt, they caught her wrists and began to pull.
She fought them, but there were too many. Her blood ran in rivulets, and she saw the mouths of the dead drinking it like wine.
One cut through her belly next, and she knew death was near. Best to surrender to it now. Best to let it come quickly. But she couldn’t let herself die, not while she still breathed. So she fought and she sobbed until she woke with her blanket binding her tight and her scream trapped in her throat.
Even in nightmares, she never screamed. She hadn’t the breath. And she wouldn’t give the dead the satisfaction of hearing her terror.
Breathing heavy, she fought to steady her breath. The room was dark without Sadie’s comforting snore. That was because her friend had moved into Mairi’s empty bedroom. And without her friend here, the nightmares had come back.
It took time to unwind the blankets. It took calm to pull her arms free and push the heavy fabric away. She hated the fabric that twisted around her, couldn’t stand to feel anything touch her skin. So she stripped it all away. The blankets, her night rail, even the ribbon that bound her hair. She mentally threw them at the devil while she kicked them off her bed.
Then when the sweat began to dry on her naked body, she sat upright in the middle of her bed and she cursed the dead to hell. No matter how far she ran, the dead chased her. Her mother, her father, the sick ones she’d failed to save, and all the men who’d perished in Culloden.
She wasn’t responsible for anything that had happened to them. She hadn’t even been alive when the clans perished in battle. And yet they came to her at night when she slept, and nothing she did sent them away.
She closed her eyes, but the dream was too clear for that. With a shudder, she opened them again. She couldn’t sit here on the bed like a frightened child. In Scotland, she would rouse a maid to accompany her to the stillroom to mix unguents or check on the food that kept the clan alive. Always something to do in Scotland. But here she had no responsibilities except to be pretty, to dance well, and charm a man into marrying her. Here she had nothing to do but worry that no Englishman could stand strong against her brute of an uncle.
