Chapter Four

      Mairead mostly prided herself on her impulsiveness, but right now she felt no pride. Right now she was in danger. Especially when she had no plan and there was a well-armed, vexed stranger following behind her and closing the door.

      Her anger and fury had disappeared and her legs didn’t feel as if they would hold her much longer.

      In the dark and quiet room, she could almost hear his mind making connections between her and the thief.

      If it wasn’t for her family, she’d have run. They needed the money that dagger represented. Not that her mother and sisters knew about their predicament, but Ailbert had known. Ailbert had... Oh, she didn’t want to think about him. Not now. There was no time.

      She had to choose: humiliate herself here, or in front of her entire clan. She’d prefer to do it here.

      Straightening what was left of the top of her gown, she took a candle and walked to the fireplace. The fire was dim, but enough to light the wick.

      ‘Not now.’

      ‘I was just lighting it. It’s dark.’

      ‘We doona need light to sleep.’

      But she did. She needed the light to see if his expression matched the biting tone of voice. Setting the unlit candle by the table, she turned towards him.

      He had rested the sword by the bedside and was right behind her. Quickly, he took his tunic off. ‘Here.’ He gestured with the tunic.

      As she tugged on the fabric of her hopelessly torn gown, she tried not to look at him. ‘What will you wear?’

      ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He shoved the tunic into her hands and turned towards the door. ‘And I’ll not be doing any more thinking tonight.’

      She clutched the tunic and tried to think of an excuse to stay. But instead of opening the door and demanding she leave, he retrieved his boot dagger still embedded in the thick wood.

      Her fingers eased on the fabric, but she wasn’t completely safe. He turned around and gazed pointedly at the tunic still in her hands. Walking past her, he placed his boot blade on the windowsill.

      She wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension. But he acted as though he felt none and he was still...naked. He might be comfortable, but his state of undress played havoc with her emotions.

      Even thanking him seemed moot as he straightened the bed covers and lay down. Just above his head, he placed her dagger.

      Not only was she mute, but she didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t only his tone of voice that was different. He was different. His speech was shortened. The warm lilting voice that made her limbs go heavy was gone. He wasn’t even looking at her any more.

      So she just stood there.

      ‘My head’s aching and I’m tired. You can either put that tunic on or not, climb into the bed to sleep or not, makes nae difference to me.’

      Feeling helpless, Mairead stared. The bed creaked as Caird adjusted himself. His back was to her now and he was partially covered with the thin blanket he pulled up around him.

      It wasn’t daylight yet, but it would come and soon. There was still a chance to get the dagger, but only if she stayed. Pulling on the tunic, she climbed into bed. It wasn’t a large bed and she adjusted her position so as not to touch him.

      He might be a heavy sleeper. If she hadn’t upended the stool and made a noise, she might have made an escape, but it wouldn’t do to think of her mistakes.

      For now, she’d just have to wait until Caird fell asleep.

      * * *

      Mairead woke with the sudden awareness of the sun rising. The room was just growing light, but she did not need the daylight to see her impulsiveness had landed her in danger. Again.

      She didn’t need to see at all. All she had to do was feel.

      Her upper body was still contorted away from Caird, but her legs were wrapped neatly under his. Her feet were warm, which was probably why she’d slept. Her feet were never warm.

      She kept still, waiting to see if Caird woke as well, but his breath remained steady and his body relaxed. He still slept.

      The dagger still rested above his head.

      To keep silent, she held back her sigh of relief. There was still a chance to get the dagger and walk away. Then she could grieve. She needed to grieve. Her nerves frayed more with every delay.

      Carefully, almost painfully, she reached for the dagger.

      ‘Oomph!’

      A fierce grip on her wrist, a twist of a large body and she was on her back, hand above her head, her fingers wrapped around the dagger.

      ‘Admiring its beauty?’

      His tone was calm, but not idle.

      And he was heavy. She couldn’t breathe to protest. She shoved her legs up.

      ‘You’re...’ She huffed.

      He eased his weight, but not his hold on her wrist.

      His loose hair fell forward. A long scar curved from his right shoulder into the splattering of dark hair on his chest.

      And his eyes were a changeable shade of grey.

      ‘Answer me!’ He shook her wrist.

      * * *

      Caird hadn’t been thinking last night. The fact he could even remember last night was a miracle after the amount of ale he and Malcolm had drunk.

      The woman lay absolutely motionless beneath him and she hadn’t said a word. But she didn’t need to.

      Her dark-brown eyes were wide with fear and something else making them darker still. Her cheeks were flushed from sleep and her lips were full and impossibly pink. Beneath his hips and legs, he could feel her ample hips and buttocks cushioning him.

      He had not dreamed of this woman beneath him, or the effect she had on him. She was not some fantasy conjured from the wedding celebrations.

      She was like having Spring’s first ripe berry after a hard winter, and just as tempting.

      ‘What do you want with this dagger?’ he repeated.

      ‘I...was looking at it.’

      It was more than that. There was the admiring gleam in her eyes, but also one of intent. ‘You were doing more than looking.’

      ‘Nae, it was just there. I picked it up. That’s all.’ She shook her head. Her abundant dark brown