Page 13 of Dark Side of the Laird
“How dare ye question his loyalty!” Whatever wall she’d dropped a moment ago was racked back up and this time with barbs as she thrust herself toward me in a move that might have been menacing if she was closer to my size.
“’Tis a question that begs an answer.”
“Iandmy family are most loyal to the crown.”
Lady Isabella was a lot more clever than I gave her credit for before. Indeed, she was a pawn, but her thoughts may have been so darkened that she may never come back to the light. She never mentioned James’ name, only king and crown. And MacDonald believed himself to be entitled to both of those.
“Seems ’twas my mistake,” I said with a quick bow. “Will not happen again.” I backed away a couple of feet and swept my arm toward the stairwell. “After ye, my lady. I’ve many duties to complete today.”
She humphed, raising her chin even higher as she gave a wide skirt around me.
“Mistake, indeed. See that it doesna happen again. Often wolves hide in sheep’s clothing. One would not want to mistake ye for a traitor,mylaird. And to be clear, if need be, King James made it clear he would be happy to take that whore off your hands.”
The viper was back. I reached for her, grasping her arm just above the elbow and pressing on the spot there that would make her arm tingle uncomfortably. “Mind your tongue,” I ground out.
She tried to wrench free, but I didn’t let go. If she wanted to voice threats, best she understood who held the upper hand.
“Mind your tongue,” I repeated, slower this time.
Isabella opened her mouth to reply, but bit the tip of her tongue instead. What vile words was she about to hiss?
I let go of her, glaring fiercely. “On with ye, now.”
She grumbled, whirled away and lifted her skirts higher than was necessary as she took to the stairs, revealing black-knit hose that if I’d seen them on Emma, I might have dragged her back upstairs. Mayhap that was the woman’s intention, to entice me.
She’d be in for a rude awakening, as I was not to be enticed by anyone but Emma. Only she could quench my thirst. Only she could move me in ways I never thought possible.
I listened until the sound of Isabella’s slippers on the stairs disappeared, then I returned to both our doors, making sure they were locked. Isabella had revealed much during our short exchange, especially that she was not to be trusted. Sent here, no doubt on a mission, to discover the secrets, or at the very least to marry me to bide her time in finding them. Marrying me also gave her uncle access to me. Not that I would grant it—if for some unearthly reason I did marry her. Nay, not in this lifetime, the next, or eternity would I say vows with that woman.
I whirled on the nearest wall and crashed my fist into it, pain radiating up my arm as my knuckles split against the stone. A roar of anger, frustration, pain ripped from my throat. I stared up at the ceiling, not seeing it, chest puffing, heart pounding.
From the moment James had crossed my threshold gifting me with the news of our blood ties and offering protection in exchange for his own, my life had not been my own. I was utterly out of control as much as I wanted, needed to govern my own destiny. At every turn, some new intrigue gave birth to itself. Not a moment of peace, except for when I was in Emma’s arms and now he wished to wrench that from me as well.
I stormed down the stairs. No place in mind that I was to go, but knowing I couldn’t stand there any longer, not with the stench of Isabella’s bitterness and my own brother’s betrayal so ripe in the air.
And then I was there, without realizing my intent, the hidden alcove that stared out onto the gardens. I slipped inside the narrow, darkened recess and sat on the stone bench in order to see out the thin slit in the two foot thick walls. The gardens were filled with clanswomen working, and I looked from one to the other until my eyes caught the glimmer of fiery hair.
Emma.
She was crouched before a patch and rooted through the dirt, upending what looked to be onions. I swelled with pride watching her, seeing how those around her looked on her with respect and even something akin to friendship. She’d found her place here, even if she lamented often that she didn’t think she had. My people loved her, just as I did.
They would want her for their mistress, I was sure of it. I watched her swipe at her face as she went. Tears brought on by irritation from the onions, or some other aggravation?
My heart pulsed harder, and the keen urge to rush outside and pull her into my arms, demanding who had done her wrong was powerful. And I would have done it, too, if it weren’t for several reasons, one being that I was fairly certain her frustration with Isabella was the reason behind her tears and I had no answer for her there. I was just as frustrated.
My conversation with the traitorous witch had gone nowhere. I didn’t want to speak to Emma about it until I could offer her some measure of comfort. With one last longing look in her direction, I left the alcove in search of Ewan.
One thing was for certain, Isabella’s presence only meant imminent danger to the clan. We needed extra lookouts and the dear wench needed a body guard—or rather a spy—to relay all her dealings to me.
There was no way in hell she as going to win. I am the Guardian of Scotland. I guard the king’s secrets and I guard them well.
And damn if I was going to let anyone take Emma away from me. They’d have to claw through my dead body and then my devil spirit before they did. I would remain victorious.
5
Emma
The hair on the back of my neck prickled, stood on end. Dirt covered the tip of my nose as I scratched it a half a dozen times trying to get rid of the incessant tickle. Signs. All signs of someone watching me. That was, if I believed in superstition. An ominous feeling churned in my gut. I believed all right.
