Page 21 of A Highland Healer Captured
Cora.
The girl lingered half in shadow, perched on a low stool with her skirts neatly arranged. She hadn’t stirred since Skylar entered, though her eyes followed with keen interest.
“Ye’ve met,” Zander said, watching Skylar.
“Aye,” she answered carefully. “Briefly. But nay names were given.”
“Then I’ll remedy it.” He gestured toward the girl. “This is Cora Hughes. She keeps the surgery and the apothecary. She’ll see ye from yer chambers come morning.”
Cora rose with quiet grace, dipping her head. “It’ll be me pleasure, mistress. The halls twist here. I’ll show ye the way.”
Skylar’s voice softened a fraction. “Thank ye. The surgery is well-kept.”
Cora smiled faintly, then slipped out the door, silent as she’d come.
When it shut, Zander was left with Skylar alone again. He felt the air change. He forced himself behind his desk, gesturing to the chair opposite. “Sit.”
She scowled. “I prefer to stand.”
His brows lifted. “I insist.”
She sighed and flung herself onto the edge of the seat, muttering, “What now? Another lecture on how clever ye are for kidnapping me?”
He ignored her jibe. Instead he drew a sheet of parchment forward, placed a quill atop it, and set the inkwell within her reach. “Ye’ll write to yer family.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Ye’ll tell them ye’ve arrived at yer destination. That ye’re well. That ye’re occupied. Nothin’ more.”
“Ye’d have melieto them?”
He met her glare steadily. “Or let them believe ye’re dead in a ditch. Choose.”
Her jaw clenched, but at last she dipped the quill.
Zander watched her work, watched the furrow form between her brows, the quick flick of her eyes as she weighed each word. He knew that look. He knew it from council chambers and from enemies across the field. It was the look of someone planning a game inside a game.
When she slid the page aside, he caught it up at once. His eyes scanned the lines.
She’d written cleverly. Too cleverly. Phrases chosen for double meanings, half-hints tucked like blades in folds of cloth. Her kin would read them and smell danger. That was her aim.
Good lass.
Zander smiled but his hand closed around the parchment, crushing it to a ball.
Her eyes flared, outrage sparking. “Ye bastard! That was me one chance —”
He was already moving, heat roaring in his veins. In two strides he rounded the desk and caught her chin in his hand, her body half out of the chair, forcing her to look up at him.
She spat venom through her gritted teeth.
“Daenae,” he growled.
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away.
Saints, those eyes —furious and unyielding.
She trembled under his grip, not with fear but with fury, and the heat of it seared straight through his palm into his chest.
