Page 29

Elsie swallowed hard.

The cook tried quickly, “It’s only chatter, m’laird. The girl’s been . . .”

“Quiet,” Gavan snapped, and the single word cut the kitchen in half.

The cook’s mouth shut.

The boy at the hearth went very still.

Sorcha kept scrubbing, though her hand shook so hard the rag slipped.

“I told you,” Gavan’s voice came soft as snow falling. “She is under my authority.”

Silence answered him.

Gavan continued, “That means what happens to her happens under my roof.” His voice sharpened like a blade drawn slowly. “Not yours.”

Elsie’s breath was quick now, frightened.

“I will not have you taking your vengeance out on her where the law and I have chosen restraint.” Gavan’s gaze moved to Sorcha. “You,” he said.

Sorcha’s breath hitched. She looked up quickly, eyes stinging.

Gavan’s gaze flicked to her hands, raw, red, swelling, and his jaw tightened.

Then his eyes returned to her face. “Stand,” he ordered.

Sorcha pushed up to her feet. Her legs trembled. Her shoulder screamed. She held herself upright anyway.

Gavan spoke to the cook without looking away from Sorcha. “Bring her lard and cloth. Wrap her hands. She will blister and bleed instead of being of any more use.”

The cook blinked. “M’laird—”

“Now,” Gavan said.

The cook hurried to obey, flustered.

Gavan turned back to Elsie. “If I hear you speak her name with disrespect again,” Gavan said softly, “you will be looking for work in another household.”

Elsie swallowed hard, face white. “Aye, m’laird,” she whispered.

Gavan’s gaze flicked over to the spit boy, then back. “Any questions?”

No one spoke. Not even the crackle of the fire seemed loud enough to fill that silence.

Gavan’s gaze returned to Sorcha again. “Do you understand?”

Sorcha’s throat tightened. She did not know what he meant. Did she understand that he had defended her? Did she understand that she belonged to him now? Did she understand that he would not allow others to harm what he considered his responsibility?

Sorcha did not know, so she answered carefully. “Aye,” she whispered.

Gavan studied her for a few seconds, then, quietly, so only she could hear, he said, “Do not speak back to them again.”

Sorcha blinked, startled.

His voice remained cold. “They will bait you until you break. I will not have it.”

Sorcha’s heart twisted. It was not tenderness or forgiveness. It was control, but it was also at least a kind of protection.