“I should have kent ye liked danger, lass. What ye have just done,” he said calmly, “could send ye both tae the King’s dungeons.”
CHAPTER TWO
His words struck like a blade laid flat against her throat. They were cold, precise, and meant to be felt. Still, Margaret didn’t flinch.
“Only if ye tell the King,” she replied in a tone that tried to suffocate the loud beating of her own traitorous heart. “And I see nay reason why ye should, me laird.”
Eleonor made a small, frightened sound beside her.
Margaret shifted at once, angling her body to block her sister from view.
“Go,” she said softly, without turning. “Now.”
Eleonor caught her hand. “I willnae leave ye.”
“Ye must,” Margaret insisted more sharply now. “This was always the plan. Leave.”
The man watched them, but his expression was utterly unreadable behind the mask. He had helped her before, but that was before he knew she was doing something so perilous for anyone involved.
“Ye are playing a dangerous game,” he warned. “The Masquerade is nae kind tae those who think themselves cleverer than it.”
Margaret’s stomach tightened.
He will call the guards.
She lifted her chin. “Then perhaps ye should look elsewhere,” she snarled. “We are finished here.”
“We arenae,” he replied. “If ye are discovered, there will be consequences. Nae only fer ye, but fer yer families.”
Her fear sharpened into a deadlier weapon.
“And what pleasure dae ye take in delivering us tae them?” she demanded. “Is it duty or curiosity?”
For a moment, he did not answer. The pause stretched, heavy with intent. Margaret did not wait for it to end. She movedwithout warning. Her foot drove up and forward with every ounce of strength she possessed, striking him squarely where no man, armored or not, was invulnerable. He grunted sharply, with his breath driven from him.
“E––” Margaret bit her lip before she could reveal her sister’s identity. “Leave,now.”
Her sister hesitated only a heartbeat. Then, choking back a sob, she turned and fled down the corridor. Margaret turned to follow, but she was hauled back with brutal speed.
The man had recovered far too quickly. His hand closed around her arm, iron-strong, and in the space of a breath she was slammed against the stone wall. The impact jarred her teeth, while the chill of the stone seeped through silk and skin alike.
“What dae ye think ye are daein’?” he demanded, and she could hear danger in every syllable.
She met his gaze without apology. “Protecting a loved one.”
“Ye have just assaulted me,” he growled.
“Ye threatened her,” Margaret shot back. “I would dae worse.”
His grip tightened. “Are ye a maid,” he asked, “or a noblewoman playing at one?”
“That,” she said, ignoring the ache in her shoulder, “is none of yer business.”
His eyes searched her face, as though weighing her worth in a manner she did not care to invite. That was when she becameawareof him, of how close he was standing, how his forearm braced beside her head and how his body was a solid barrier she could neither slip past nor ignore. Heat radiated from him, stark against the chill of the wall, caging her in.
Worse still was his scent. Leather and salt, smoke and something clean beneath it, wind or water. It was not the perfumed sweetness of court, nor the sour tang of wine she had endured before. It washim, undeniably so, and it caught her breath in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
She hated herself for noticing.
