Page 27 of Taken By the Exiled Laird

Was this the truth of it, then? The truth she'd spent her whole life blind to? She'd seen her marriage to Malcolm MacFarlane as a way to finally shed her past, and she'd hoped that her new husband, her new family would be good. But even if Malcolm was kind to her, could she marry him and live in comfort as his Lady, knowing that children were left to starve and widows left to suffer?

She shook her head, trying to clear those thoughts away. Her stomach knotted and she wanted to cry.

"Briana," Theon said, so quietly she almost thought she'd imagined it.

The sound of her own name made her shiver and gooseflesh erupted over her skin. She didn't think she'd ever heard him use it directly before, at least not to address her… not since they'd met again. Something about it felt raw, personal, and her body tingled just as it had when he'd held her in his arms and kissed her. The hand on her shoulder lowered to touch her elbow, turning her slightly to face him.

"Ye're pale."

"I'm…" she stammered. "This is…"

He nodded. "I ken. I've never seen ye look so sad."

Briana looked back to the children, who were greedily gulping down water that the innkeeper had given them, and her despair tightened into fury. How could this be happening around her? How could anyone allow this?

"I'm nae sad," she said quietly. "I'm furious."

Theon's gray eyes widened in surprise, then his lips curled into a grin. With a new sparkle in his gaze, he said, "Well, then. Care tae be an outlaw for the day, lass?"

Briana furrowed her brow and tilted her head, confused, then saw the way his gaze flicked toward the drunken brutes at the table. One of them wore a very fat, very obvious money pouch on his belt, and as soon as she saw it, she knew.

Her pulse quickened with the adrenaline of what she was considering, but she heard the children talking in a low voice to the innkeeper behind her, and she met Theon's eyes and saw the expression there, and it was enough.

She returned his grin with a fierce smile of her own. "Aye."

Theon's gut was uneasy and he didn't understand why. He had planned much more elaborate thievery than this, even teaching his baby brother to steal and fight when necessary. The innkeeper, who'd revealed her name was Helen, had ushered the two children behind the bar while he and Briana had discussed their next move. Theon had been ready to suggest any number of plans, but Briana led with her own idea.

"I was thinkin'," she said, toying with a loose strand of her own hair. "What about usin' the same trick ye did earlier?"

He raised an eyebrow, confused. "Which trick would that be?"

Her cheeks turned pink, and Theon understood, his nostrils flaring. His body growled in response at the memory of her pressed against him, and for a moment he almost stepped forward to take her in his arms again, forgetting where they were. But then she spoke again, snapping him back to reality.

"Me skirt is ruined anyway, is it nae?" she said. "And there's nae fear of them recognizin' me. Father never let me be seen by men from other clans, and, even if they happened tae glance me when MacFarlane visited, these types of idiots would never look any further than their own cups. I can get that pouch."

Theon suddenly realized what she was suggesting, but he still couldn't quite believe it. Surely he must be mistaken. Surely Briana—uptight, rich, spoiled Briana who had spent her whole life pampered in a castle—couldn't be implying what it seemed like she was.

But even as he thought it, she hitched up her skirt slightly, revealing the tear he'd ripped in her skirt, stopping just short of the scars he had discovered. Theon's eyes lingered on the soft skin and the surprisingly toned muscles almost against his will, his fingers prickling where he had so recently touched her, hunger and joy and pure, unadulterated admiration shooting through him.

She winked at him and stepped forward, ensuring her bare skin was on display.

The uneasiness replaced the enthusiasm in Theon's heart as she stepped further away from him and closer to the soldiers. He didn't like exposing her to danger, even if she herself had been the one to suggest it. He didn't like leaving her defenseless, even if he was close enough to intervene. He would rather not be filled with this need to protect her, but he also knew that if she got hurt now, he would destroy every last one of them. He tried to convince himself it was only because of her value to him as a hostage, but the letters still burned in his pocket, accusatory in their silence and in the knowledge he was no closer to sending them than he had been before arriving.

Briana moved with a confidence he had never seen in her. The soldiers took notice of her in moments, nudging each other and smirking or wolf-whistling as she approached. She wore a coy expression on her face and held her back straight, tucking her cloak behind her, emphasizing the curve of her chest, the length of her legs, and the overall shape of her body. Did she know the effect she was having on these men? He knew she was aiming to be seductive, but he doubted she understood her true power.

If she looked at him like that in earnestness, he doubted that even he would be able to resist. Where had this come from? And why did it fill him with an absurd shudder of anger to see those men watching her?

"Come closer, pet," one of the men encouraged. "Come have a wee chat with us."

"Me?" Briana asked in a perfectly faked tone of astonishment. She raised a hand to her chest, ostensibly in surprise, but highlighting the skin at her collarbone as she did so. "Why, I'd be honored. I'm so hungry, ye ken, and I'd do just about anythin' tae share yer meal."

The men chuckled and Theon's monster reared its head inside him. He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth, reminding himself that he must keep control.

Another man spoke—the man with the pouch. "Join us by all means, ye bonny thing," he called, lust and wine mingling in his voice. He patted his lap. "Come, sit."

Briana laughed airily. It sounded nothing like it did when she really laughed—none of the warmth and none of the song that Theon associated with the sound echoed through the tavern. She moved closer to the man after he beckoned a few more times, and when he held out a hand toward her, she took it.

Theon turned away, his hands gripping hard on the bar, unable to bring himself to watch. This was a terrible idea. He had to intervene—and yet, he knew that if he did, he'd ruin everything. He forced himself to look back over.