Duncan had accused Robert so quickly, as if he’d seen this kind of thing before.
Charity didn’t know what to do with that.
CHAPTER 4
“Ishall give you a week…”
Charity got startled to wakefulness, and for a moment only lay rigid, heart pounding, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling above her, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
“Oh,” she said, sitting up in her bed. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, which had now garnered a thin layer of sweat on its surface. “It was only a dream.”
Disturbingly, it had been a little too close to reality. In her dream, she had been transported back to her drawing room. It was the close of the six months, and she was having the marriage conversation with her uncle and Robert.
Nightmare-inducing stuff, really. But as she looked around the room, she was unsure if her current reality was any better.
Charity threw back the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet hit the floor, and she steadied herself against the mattress. She was still weak, but not helpless. Moving as quickly as her body allowed, she grabbed a robe from the chair and pulled it around herself. The fabric was thick and not hers, but it covered her properly enough.
I must get out of here. I cannot wait till morning.
She crossed the room and went to the door. Her hand closed around the latch, and she yanked it open…. and stopped short.
Malcolm stood directly outside, leaning against the stone wall with a relaxed posture.
“Evenin’,” Malcolm said, and the way he said it suggested it was long past evening. “Or mornin’, dependin’ on what you call it when the day’s nearly finished.”
Charity was irritated to see him.
“Are you guarding my door?” she asked, putting her hands firmly on her hips.
“Aye,” he said, his grin easy. “The duke sent me. Said I was to bide right here outside yer door, in case ye needed anythin’ at all.”
“He stationed you here?”
Malcolm shrugged lightly.
“He said ye’re still weak, and the castle’s unfamiliar to ye, and if ye tried to wander about on yer own ye’d end up lost, or ye’d pitch yerself down a stairwell.”
Charity sighed, as though she had been snapped back to reality. He was not wrong, as she wouldn’t know how to navigate this place. She didn’t even know what direction the stairs were.
Still, Malcolm standing guard outside her door made her uneasy.
“So you’re my jailer?”
“Jailer?” he repeated, sounding genuinely amused. “I’m nae keepin’ ye in, lass. If ye wanted to walk out the front gate, I’m nae sure anyone would stop you. They’d only think ye’d lost yer sense.”
“Don’t call me that,” Charity narrowed her eyes.
“Call ye what, then?” Malcolm asked, still smiling. He was an oddly cheerful lad. “Lass? English lady? Half-dead stranger? I’ve only a few options.”
“I need to see the duke,” she announced, thinking to herself that he was the only person who might be able to tell her anything. Everyone else in the house answered tohim,so it would make sense to go to the source directly.
“Do ye?” Malcolm’s expression shifted.
“Yes,” Charity replied, “I’d like to go now, actually.”
She could not imagine herself falling back to sleep, no matter what the hour was. Malcolm glanced down the corridor then looked back at her with something that might have been teasing in his eyes.
“It’s late,” he said, drawing out the words. “Most folk who want to see the duke at this hour are either bleedin’ or very bold.”
