His hand lifted, while his fingers angled toward the edge of her mask. A sharp edge of fear slipped past her control. Margaret’s pulse roared in her ears. If he removed it, everything would collapse into scandal and blood.
Then a third voice cut cleanly through the corridor.
“The lady daesnae seem interested.”
The hand stilled.
Margaret turned her head slightly. A man stood a few paces away, towering and broad-shouldered. His mask was darker than most, wrought in subdued silver. He did not sound amused nor angry… only certain.
“This daesnae concern ye,” laird MacGregor said sharply.
“It daes,” the stranger replied. “The lady is obviously nae feeling comfortable.”
“She is a maid,” the other man scoffed. “And a bold one.”
“Or,” the stranger corrected him, “she is a woman asking tae be left alone.”
Something in his tone shifted the balance of the space. Margaret felt it as one feels a change in weather, a pressure easing.
Laird MacGregor studied him for a moment, with his eyes assessing. “Ye would interfere on her behalf?”
“I already have.”
A pause followed, thick with danger.
At last, MacGregor laughed under his breath. “Very well. Nay sport in it if the lady needs tae be rescued.”
He stepped back, though his gaze lingered on Margaret a fraction too long. “Another time, perhaps.”
Then, the two men withdrew down the corridor, with their footsteps fading into the noise of the palace. Margaret remained where she was until she was certain they were gone.
“Are ye hurt?” the stranger asked.
She shook her head quickly. “Nay, I am well.” She dipped into a hurried curtsy, which was more reflex than courtesy. “Ye have me gratitude. I truly appreciate yer help. I dinnae ken what would have happened otherwise.”
He stepped closer and she caught the faint scent of clean leather from him. Though his face was half-hidden by the mask, there was no mistaking the strength of his jaw, the confident line of his lips or the way his dark eyes seemed to take in far more than they should.
He was handsome, and undeniably so, in a way that made her suddenly and painfully aware of herself.
He studied her, though not with the invasive scrutiny of the others. “Ye should be more careful,” he advised. “This is nae a forgiving place taenight.”
“I am aware,” she replied, feeling as if she were unable to take a deep breath because of the tightness in her chest.
“Then why wander it alone?” he pressed, with a gaze that was lingering on her, as though he meant to memorize her. “Who is it ye seek?”
The questions came too easily and they were dangerously close. Her heart began to race. She suddenly felt seen, stripped of the safety she had clung to moments before.
“I… I have tae go,” she stepped around him and hurried away.
As she did, her hand caught on something solid. She assumed it was his arm or the strap of his glove, and there was a brief, unmistakable tug at her wrist. She did not stop, nor did she look back. Her steps lengthened into a near run as she wove through the corridors, counting turns and steadying her breath. Only when she reached the narrow passage that led to the disused service rooms did she slow, and only then did she glance down at her wrist.
Her bracelet was gone.
For a moment, panic flared hot and blinding. The bracelet was unmistakable. It was court-made. Worst of all, it wasrecognizable.
Margaret closed her fingers over the bare skin, forcing the fear down by sheer will.
Later.Ye will think of it later.
