Chapter 7 #2
The next report read the same, and the next, and the next. Often, hostages were not taken, and if they were, they were released.
So if Margaret was taken by these people, somethin’ went wrong. Or perhaps these reports are full of lies.
Besides, the reports were all dated within the previous month. That was after Margaret disappeared.
Almost petulantly, Nora tossed the reports back onto the bed, biting her lower lip until she tasted copper. There was no mention of Margaret here, no description of a woman who might have been her.
I will need to delve deeper.
The last report, however, had turned over when she tossed it, revealing a scrawled message on the back.
Review the hostage list. I’ve left it here for ye to read, me Laird.
Hostage list? Hostage list?
Heart pounding, Nora scrabbled through the papers on the bed, hands shaking. At last, she pulled out a long, thin scroll of paper, secured with red ribbon. Confidential was written on it several times.
If Margaret is on this list, then that…
The thought cut itself off neatly. Footsteps approached.
A cold chill filled Nora’s chest. She scrambled off the bed, one blanket wrapping itself around her ankle and half-falling off the mattress after her.
It might just be a soldier walking past. I could stay here and wait…
No. That was beyond foolish. A risk she couldn’t take.
Sparing a quick glance at the bed—surely it didn’t look much more rumpled than before she’d sat on it—Nora hurried to the secret passage door. There was no time to replace the stacked books. Stepping into the hallway beyond, she eased the door closed, waiting, breathless.
A key turned in the lock. With a squeak of alarm, she pulled the door shut and backed away, heart pounding, to her own room. She pushed the door closed on her side and slipped into her bed. It felt childish, hiding in her bed at a moment like this.
Just for a few minutes. I’m sure he willnae be in his room long. Once I think he’s gone, I’ll return…
Was that a creak of the door opening? The door leading to her room? Nora’s heart clambered up into her mouth. Then slowly, oh so slowly, the door into her room inched open, bit by bit, pushed by a large, rough-knuckled hand.
She watched, transfixed, as Creighton stepped into her room.
“Nae locked, I see,” he rasped. There was a heavy, thick quality about his voice which baffled her now.
“I… I thought I had locked it,” she managed. “Why are ye in me room, then?”
“I could ask ye the same.”
“I daenae understand,” she lied, as smoothly as she could manage.
He pushed the door shut with his heel.
“Ye were in me room just now, Nora.”
She inched off the bed, standing upright. It wouldn’t do too much to put them at eye level, but it would help her from feeling too loomed over.
“I daenae ken what ye’re talkin’ about,” she murmured, as evenly as she could. After all, how could he know? There was no way…
“Me bed smells as though ye have been sleepin’ in it,” he responded sweetly.
“Smells like…” she gasped, and he gave a low chuckle.
“Herbs. It smells of herbs. Like ye do.”
A blush crossed her face. Of course. All healers had a strong, herby, medicinal scent.
It was only natural, considering how often they spent crushing, blending, and grinding herbs.
The medicines stained their fingers and clothes too, if they weren’t careful.
It was easy enough to get used to the scent, so easy that you might forget others weren’t used to it.
“And there were books in front of the door,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“I…” Nora managed, trying and failing to claw some reasonable explanation together out of her beleaguered mind. “I didnae…”
He took a few slow, languid steps toward her, moving with a catlike grace. With decidedly less grace, Nora backed away, scurrying around the bed in hopes of putting something between them.
That did not work. He simply followed her around the bed, and now she was cornered. Now there was the wall corner behind her, Creighton in front. She could probably vault over the bed to her right, if necessary. If he let her.
“Why were ye in me bed?” he whispered, voice cracking. His eyes were dark, fixed on her, and something equally dark began to swirl in her gut. Something that tugged on her insides as if there was a hook buried in them. Something that inched lower, pulsing between her legs, right at her core.
She swallowed thickly, willing the sensation to go away.
It did not.
“I was nae in yer bed,” she managed. Denial was probably not the best solution here. “I… I only sat on it. And I shouldnae have gone into yer room, but I meant nay harm, truly. I’m just a curious sort of person.”
He growled, actually growled, low in his throat. “Well, I can smell ye on me pillow, now.”
She reddened further. “I’m sorry. It’s the medicine, all the herbs we use. I… I’ll take more thorough baths in the future, I promise. And more frequent baths. Startin’ tonight.”
She didn’t relish the prospect of summoning the surly maids and asking for a bath, but if her betrothed—what a strange word that was—thought she smelled unpleasant, then this was probably the best way to avoid humiliation.
And she certainly was humiliated. The throb of desire in her gut felt plainly stupid. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t she feel desire for some other man, some ordinary man? Why him?
“I’m startin’ to think,” Creighton whispered, taking another step forward. “That ye were put on this earth to torture me.”
She took another step backward and immediately knocked the small of her back against a dresser. He reached forward, curling his fingers around her chin. The touch took her by surprise. She squeaked, eyes widening, and he leaned closer.
“Now ye want me to imagine ye in the bath?” he breathed. “Fine. So be it.”
Nora opened her mouth to respond sharply that it was not her intention, but there was no time to get the words out, because he kissed her.