Something tightened low in her stomach. It was suspicious that a Laird would intentionally venture into Hallow lands through the bushes.
Was he nae invited?
“Then I shall direct ye properly,” she offered. “If ye follow the path past the?—”
“I have no interest in the path.” The interruption was gentle. Nearly pleasant. The smile remained on the man’s face, though the coldness in his eyes unsettled her now more than ever. “I came seekin’ someone.”
Edith’s pulse quickened.
I shouldnae have waited.
“I am certain I can fetch whoever ye require, sir,” she said carefully. “If ye tell me their name.”
The older man regarded her for another long moment, then smiled again. “The soon-to-be Lady Hallow.”
Her heart lurched.
“I wish to congratulate her.” The man paused again, still holding her gaze. “And I wish for it to be somewhere private.”
The chill that swept through Edith had nothing to do with the breeze.
Surely he doesnae ken me.
“I shall inform her of ye wish,” she said, taking a careful step backward, her expression as neutral as she could manage. “If ye would excuse?—”
“There is nae need.”
The second voice came from behind her, and she spun. It was the second rider. She had not even heard him move. He stood squarely between her and the path that led back to the festival.
Her heart pounded so violently that she feared he might hear it, and she swallowed.
The older man swung down from his horse with far more ease than his age suggested.
“YeareEdith.” His voice had changed, now devoid of any trace of false courtesy. “Lady Hallow. Or soon to be.”
Edith staggered backward.
He kens. He has ken the entire time.
“I daenae understand—” she started.
The man waved a dismissive hand. “There is little need for yer understanding,” he said, his gaze moving over her with thinly veiled disdain. “I have watched ye all afternoon, and I have seen the way yer Laird watches ye.”
Edith froze, and he took a slow step toward her, a cold smile touching his lips.
“Ye dance well enough,” he said, his voice dropping to a sneer. “I nearly forgot ye are only a lowborn.” He spat on the grass before her.
Edith flinched, disgust curling through her.
“I have merely been waiting for ye to wander far enough from the crowd,” the man continued calmly.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She looked quickly at the man and his companion behind her. There was no one around but the three of them. Music drifted faintly from the courtyard. Perhaps if she ran fast enough, she might run into a guard before they caught up with her.
“I shall take yer message,” she said, already edging sideways. “The Laird will gladly receive?—”
“I have no message to send.” The words washed over her like ice. “I have business withye.”
Edith’s mouth went dry. She forced herself to keep her breathing steady, though every instinct screamed at her to bolt.
