“I’m not here for your opinions,” Charity stared at him, pulse quickening with irritation. “I need to speak to him.”
“Aye, I can see that,” Malcolm’s smile widened. “And what, exactly, do ye need from His Grace at this hour? He told ye he’d send ye home in the mornin’.”
Charity’s cheeks warmed as she realized that there was something in the way he said it that made her suddenly self-conscious.
“I need to talk to him,” she said firmly.
“I’m only wonderin’ what could be so urgent that it cannae wait until daylight. It would cause less gossip that way…”
“Gossip about what?” Charity’s brows drew together.
“About a young woman goin’ to a man’s bedchamber in the middle of the night.”
Was he… implying… God, no.
It clicked then, though she did not understand the implication fully. Only that it was not something desirable or respectable.
“That’s….” she began, “I only need answers, and I need help, and he’s the only person here with authority. I do not know what you are on about, but you must dispel any sort of wayward thought from your mind.”
Malcolm sighed dramatically, like a man surrendering to a foregone conclusion, but still appeared rather amused. “If he gets cranky, I’ll tell ye now, I warned ye.”
But Charity did not seem to have much regard for consequences right now. They walked through a turn in the corridor, then down a short set of steps, then into another hall that felt wider and darker. Charity tried to keep track of the route, but the castle was a maze of stone and turns. Even if she wanted to leave, she wasn’t sure she could find her way back alone.
That made her even more determined to speak to Duncan now, while she had Malcolm to guide her. If she waited until morning, Duncan might arrange her departure in a way that kept her blind.
Finally, they reached a heavier door at the end of a corridor that seemed quieter than the rest, and Malcolm stopped.
“Here.”
Her stomach flipped as the situation suddenly became very real for her. She was about to knock on a man’s door in the middle of the night.
Charity felt heat creep up her neck.
“Go on, then,” Malcolm said. “Knock.”
Charity forced herself to face the door fully. It was too late to turn back now, in any case. So she knocked, but nothing happened.
Charity frowned, irritation rising quickly because she’d already come this far.
She knocked again, a little harder.
Still nothing.
Malcolm leaned back against the wall, arms crossing loosely. He looked entirely at ease, like he could stand here all night if he pleased.
She knocked again, harder. Again, it was the same.
Malcolm didn’t move, but Charity could see the mirth in his eyes.
“Maybe he’s asleep.”
Charity shot him a look. She did not derive the most pleasure out of waking a sleeping man, but she did not quite have a choice either. She began knocking without a break.
Finally, there was movement, and the door swung open.
Duncan stood in the doorway with his hair slightly disordered and his expression carved into a glare. For a moment, he just looked at Charity with a face that clearly saidwho dares wake me like this.
Charity gulped and hoped that he would not yell at her.
