Page 5 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Both guards lowered their gazes while the captive remained on the ground with one hand closed around her mask. Oscar could see that she was terrified; her slow breathing failed to hide the quick flutter of her pulse.

Lennan stepped closer to the men. “Perhaps ye should wait outside before the Laird decides to test the edge.”

“Leave,” Oscar ordered.

The men obeyed.

Festival music drifted in when the flap opened and died down once the canvas fell closed behind them.

Oscar lowered the blade as the woman pushed herself upright before he could offer assistance. She kept her weight off her scraped hand and positioned herself where she could watch him and the entrance at the same time.

Then she removed her mask.

Long dark hair had loosened around the ties, and the ribbon had left a faint mark across one temple. Her green eyes held anger sharpened by fear, and the fine gown and silver ribbons identified her as the woman Angus intended to marry, though the mud and torn sleeve suggested his men had found her somewhere other than the betrothal gathering.

Oscar noticed the full shape beneath the gown before returning his attention to her face. The lapse irritated him. She was leverage; that was all. No amount of beauty altered the purpose she served.

Her gaze moved over the blade, the scars visible above his collar, and the space between him and the exit. She watched his hands more often than his face. Whatever fear she felt had left her thinking clearly.

“Who are ye?” she asked, her fingers tightening around her mask. “And what do ye want from me?”

“Oscar Barr. Laird MacKane.”

Her breath caught. The reaction was brief, though he saw recognition in the sudden tension in her shoulders.

“I see ye have heard of me,” he said.

“I have heard ye are a ferocious warrior.” She raised her chin and forced her voice to remain even. “Seein’ as this isnae a battlefield, I would like to ken what ye need from me. Then I will leave.”

The audacity in her voice seemed to come more easily to her than pleading. For some rather odd reason, Oscar found he preferred it. It made this entire situation just slightly less unbearable. Just slightly less.

“Ye are supposed to get betrothed before the festival ends.”

Her gaze dropped to the mask in her hand. “Aye.”

He narrowed his eyes at her reluctance. He could not tell whether it came from fear of Angus or something else entirely.

“Are ye eager to return to yer intended?” he asked.

Her eyes rose at once. “Whatever I feel about Angus gives ye nay right to put a sack over me head.”

He sighed. “Angus married me sister nearly a year ago. Muriel disappeared from his castle, and the only explanation he offered was a convenient note claimin’ she had chosen another life. Now he intends to take a new bride while I still have nay proof that me sister is safe. So, forgive me if I am nae very keen on lettin’ ye go back out there.”

Some of the anger left the woman’s face. Her scraped hand closed more tightly around the mask, and when she spoke again, the mockery had gone from her voice.

“I have a sister as well,” she mumbled. “And I would do anythin’ to protect her.”

Oscar believed her. The certainty arrived before he could examine why. “Then ye understand me purpose.”

“I understand yer fear. I daenae understand usin’ me to quell it.”

“If ye care so fiercely for yer sister, why would ye willingly marry the man who may have harmed mine?”

Her guarded expression returned. “Family choices are rarely as simple as men like ye make them sound.”

The answer was too vague, and she sounded protective of someone. Oscar could not tell whether it was Angus, her father, or something else. Whatever it was, he had no time to investigate. For now, having her here would have to do.

He placed his sword on the table and stepped closer. “Angus responds to offenses and pressure. Takin’ the woman he intends to marry will force him to reveal where me sister is.”