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His fair-haired captain leaned around from his other side. “Ye’ve gone a grand colour, my laird.”

“Eat yer supper, Gavin,” Alasdair said.

“I’m only saying,” Gavin said low, and the chipped tooth showed. “By the terms, I’d count that as mine.”

“Eat it,” Alasdair said, “or wear it.”

Gavin ate it. Seumas went back to his bench. Iona drank her ale with the heat of him burning the length of her arm, and enjoyed her supper more than any meal she had eaten in this keep.

• • •

She left the hall early, before the pipe had started, and took the passage that led to the yard and the tower beyond it.

It was dark there. The only light came from the hall door at her back, and it threw her shadow long on the flagstones. She had nearly reached the yard door when the light behind her went out, blocked by somebody tall, and she heard boots on the stone, coming fast.

She knew the stride. Her heart leapt up into her throat.

“Iona,” Alasdair said.

She turned around. He was already on her. He caught her wrist and swung her away from the yard door, and she wrenched against his grip and could not break it.

“Ye’ll stop playing games with my men,” he said.

“Games?” Iona said. “If I were playing a game with ye, MacVey, ye’d know it. Ye’d be losing.”

“Ye asked him in front of my whole hall,” Alasdair said.

“And who else was I to ask?” She tore her wrist free and stood her ground, so close that her breath touched his throat. “Ye walked out on me this afternoon as if my hands were filthy. Ye kicked yer own basin over to get away from me. And now ye chase me down a dark passage to tell me who I may smile at?”

“Aye,” Alasdair said. “That’s about the size of it.”

“Then stop me,” Iona said. “If ye can.”

“Ye put yer hand on his wrist,” Alasdair said, low and rough. “Ye laughed at his grandmother’s spoons as if they were the best thing ye’d heard in yer life. And ye made very sure I saw ye do it.”

“Did I?” She tilted her head and let him see her smile. Her pulse was racing, and she had never enjoyed anything so much. “Ye said not one word at table, MacVey. Ye sat there and cut yer meat. Anybody would think ye were jealous.”

His jaw tightened. “And if I am?”

“Then ye’re a fool, and a slow one.” She stepped in, close enough to see the scar. “This afternoon ye couldnae get away from me fast enough. Tonight ye cannae bear another man near me. Which is it, MacVey? Do ye want me, or do ye no’?”

The words hit him. She saw them hit. He leaned in and set his hand on the stone beside her head, slowly, so close that the heat of him came through her gown, and her breath caught. Heat gathered low in her belly, and she hated how glad of it she was.

“Dinnae ask me that,” he said, rough. “No’ unless ye want the answer.”

“I’ll ask whatever I please,” Iona said, though the words came out hoarse. “Answer it.”

He came the last step toward her. He slid his good hand around her waist and drew her in hard against him, until there was nothing at all between the brown wool and his chest. The heat of him and the smell of rain still in his hair went to her head like strong wine, and she hated how her body went soft against him while her hands were still fists on his shirt.

“I dinnae like other men looking at what’s mine,” he said.

“I’m no’ yours.” The words came out breathless, and she made them strong. “I belong to no one. I said so in yer chapel, and I’ll say it in yer passage.”

He moved, and she moved with him. Her back met the cold stone of the wall, and he let go of her waist and set both hands flat on the stone, either side of her head. She was caged in his arms and he was not touching her anywhere. That was worse. His face came down until his mouth was almost on hers, so close that she felt his breath on her lips when he spoke. This near, in the bad light, the grey of his eyes had gone nearly black.

Her heart was hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it.

“Say it all ye like, lass,” Alasdair said. “But if ye mean to make me jealous, then go on and try it. I’ll make ye regret it.”