Aiden ignored the thunderous expression on Niall’s face. “This isn’t a case of ransom. I do not need to return her in the same state I found her. I just need those names.”
Niall was silent for a moment, his lips tight. “You are a better man than this.”
Aiden frowned. “You dare to judge me? You, the man who coerced a woman into helping him enter Duthes Castle and steal a ruby necklace from a baron?”
“I never forced myself upon the lass.”
Aiden grabbed the torch from its bracket and made his way back to the granite slab entrance. “I do what I must to protect my clan.”
Niall put a hand on his shoulder, halting his progress. “Just be careful. We’ve lost everything but our honor. Do not sacrifice that in your attempt to regain what’s gone. It’s not worth it.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
* * *
Having gone without supper on the MacCurran’s instructions, Isabail’s belly growled repeatedly over the course of the evening. Hungry and at a loss for something to do, she decided to seek an early sleep. She and Muirne had just settled themselves on the lumpy straw mattress and shut their eyes when Beathag entered the room with a torch.
“You’re to come with me,” the MacCurran woman said.
As Muirne rolled off the pallet and stood, Beathag shook her head. “Not you; just the lady.”
Isabail pushed to her feet. “And where are we going?”
“The chief has given you quarters more suited to your station,” Beathag said, studying the floor with odd intensity.
“Then surely my maid should accompany me.”
“Nay. Now, come along.”
Muirne opened her mouth to argue, but Isabail waved her hand. “Rest your ankle. I’m sure all will be well. Seek me out in the morning.”
Still unhappy, Muirne nodded. “If you insist.”
Isabail followed Beathag across the inner close, stars winking at her from the indigo sky above. The clouds had drifted away, leaving a crisp, cold night. Beathag stopped before a roundhouse hung with a wooden door instead of the standard fur pelts. A very simple door with no fancy pulls or hinges. She knocked.
“Come.”
Isabail’s heart stumbled. The voice that beckoned her inside belonged to MacCurran. She took a step back. “Why am I here?”
Beathag shrugged. “The chief demanded your presence.” She pushed the door open. “Ask your questions of him.”
Light poured out of the roundhouse, bathing Isabail’s cold feet in a golden glow. Given the kiss they had recently shared, she was not at all certain she wanted to be alone with the MacCurran. He had a rather taxing effect on her willpower. But more than light reached her from the chief’s room. Her stomach growled at the savory scents of venison broth and fresh bread.
He had refused her supper... but perhaps he’d changed his mind?
“In,” Beathag prodded.
Still uncertain, Isabail caught Beathag’s eyes and arched a questioning brow. The other woman’s initial request had been for her to sleep elsewhere for the night. Surely she didn’t mean here.
Beathag returned her stare for a moment, then looked away. “Ask your questions of the chief,” she repeated. Then she gave Isabail a light push.
Despite the prompting, Isabail was seriously contemplating running back to Muirne. Even the promise of a warm meal was not enough to coax her into MacCurran’s chamber. But the man himself stole her choice away. He appeared at the door, latched a big hand onto her arm, and dragged her into the room.
Then he shut the door with a decisive snap.
Isabail’s mouth went dry.
His size never failed to make her heart pound. He towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking her view of everything. Everything, that is, except the tawny skin visible at the neck of his tunic and the barest suggestion of hair.
