Chapter 12
Raphael sat at his desk, poring over a map carefully laid out before him. Across from him, Dallas, his devoted man-at-arms, leaned in attentively.
“We’ve received fresh intelligence on the man we’re trackin’, Dallas,” Raphael said, a note of urgency in his voice. “He’s been elusive, but this might be our chance.”
He did everything to focus on the task at hand, but that was more difficult than he’d initially thought.
Keira kept permeating his thoughts at every turn, even during a conversation as grave as this one, where not a single mistake could be allowed, for that might mean the difference between life and death.
Dallas leaned closer, studying the markings on the map intently. “What is the plan, m’Laird?”
Raphael traced a path with his finger on the map.
“Our source mentioned a hamlet near the border. It is likely that he has taken refuge there, blending in. If this proves to be true, we must go there quickly and quietly. We cannae afford to alert him. But we need to be absolutely certain it’s him. A mistake could jeopardize everythin’.”
Dallas nodded in agreement. “Indeed, m’Laird. We’ll need to gather more information, discreetly observe and verify.”
“I’ll contact our network of informants,” Raphael decided, reaching for a parchment and quill. “They might provide more details—crucial details. We can then cross-reference their reports with what we have.”
Their plan began to take shape—a meticulous strategy born from years of experience in dealing with covert affairs. Raphael was well aware that rushing in without substantial confirmation was a perilous path. This was where he felt most like himself—protecting his clan, his people.
They could count on him for anything, just like they had from the moment when they’d had nothing. He had brought them from the ruins of their wretched existence and given them meaning.
In turn, they worshipped him for it. However, he didn’t let this go to his head. He took it on as a role to keep them safe and guarded, even at the price of his own life.
“We’ll proceed cautiously, Dallas,” he stated firmly. “Our objective is to protect the innocent and uphold justice. We shall not waver in our pursuit of the truth.”
They needed to ensure every aspect was meticulous, each detail ironed out, when the door suddenly burst open, startling both men.
Keira stood at the threshold, her countenance a mix of determination and frustration.
Her eyes were ablaze with a fire that Raphael hadn’t seen before, making it evident that she was impassioned about whatever had driven her to this point.
“We need to talk,” she declared, her voice firm and unwavering. “Now.”
Raphael almost burst into a chuckle at her defiance. No one would ever dare barge into his study in such a manner and demand an audience with him. If she had known anything about his past, she would think twice before doing this.
Still, the last thing he wanted to do was punish her. At least not in the way he punished other people—men mostly. For her, he could come up with a different punishment, but that would come later. For the time being, he had to find out what had her so flustered.
He exchanged a meaningful glance with Dallas, who got the hint without a single word being said.
Dallas nodded and quietly excused himself, leaving the room. Raphael then leaned back in his chair, waiting for this entertainment to unfold further. He gestured for her to take a seat opposite him.
“I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind,” she spat at him in a way he hadn’t expected.
He frowned at her. “Do ye mind finally tellin’ me what made ye barge into me study like this?”
Her eyes seemed to burn with fire the likes of which he had never seen. Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned. He could tell that much. She believed she had been wronged, and she had come for retribution—whatever that meant.
“You had been avoiding me all morning, Laird MacCurtney,” she said, her nostrils flaring.
Usually, he liked it when she called him that.
But not this time. This time, it bore nothing of that close intimacy, that tantalizing sound of her voice that drew him near.
This feisty vixen was out for war, that much was obvious.
Only, he still had no idea what he had done.
Despite this confusion, he found the situation amusing.
“I havenae been avoidin’ ye, Keira,” he said.
He tried to keep this sentence brief and succinct for one very simple reason. This sentence was a lie, and he hated lying. It made him feel that knot in his stomach, taking him back to his childhood when he would feel the same way every time he spoke something that wasn’t the truth.
He was avoiding her. But that was irrelevant now. Obviously, that wasn’t why she was so upset with him. Otherwise, she would have come earlier. No. Something must have happened.
He inhaled deeply, then got up as well. He didn’t like to be seated while the person he spoke to was standing. It felt unfair.
“What is this all about, Keira?” he asked as gently as he could, curiosity eating him alive.
She locked eyes with him, almost as if expecting him to confess whatever it was she held him responsible and guilty for. Seconds felt like an entire eternity when she finally spoke.
“How dare you invite me here when you are almost betrothed to someone else!?” she demanded to know, her cheeks a fervent red, the words spewing out of her like an avalanche. “Even worse, that woman is here, under this very roof right now, with me!”
So, she figured it out. He was certain that his mother had a hand in this, but that was irrelevant now.
He was no fool thinking that he would be able to keep this a secret.
He had hoped that he would manage to keep Keira in a blissful state of ignorance for a while longer though.
As it turned out, they forced him to put his cards on the table, and he had no trouble doing so.
He frowned at her. “As if ye yerself dinnae have some well-mannered gentleman waitin’ for ye back in England with a ring!” he exclaimed a bit more loudly than he had intended to.
“As a matter of fact, I do!” she shouted back at him.
Raphael felt a sudden surge of frustration and confusion upon hearing Keira’s revelation. He had not anticipated this, the news hit him like a thunderclap. It stirred an unexpected storm of emotions within him, leaving him grappling to understand why he was affected so.
“A betrothal, Keira?” The words left his lips sharper than he had meant them to, his tone laced with a hint of anger. He could sense his own agitation, yet the reasons behind it eluded him. “And ye didnae think to mention this before, hm?”
Keira, taken aback by this sudden shift, stammered out, “I… I didn’t think it mattered to you.”
“Then why would me being almost betrothed matter to ye?” he asked fervently, demanding more explanations. But in fact, he was merely masking his own inadequacy in this conversation that seemed to be getting out of hand.
“Because I am in your home, not the other way around,” Keira replied, her nostrils flaring, although he could see that she had calmed down a little. But she was still bursting into flames with each sentence.
“As opposed to ye, Keira, I have no intention of marryin’ anyone.
” Raphael finally revealed what had been his plan all along.
Truth be told, this was not the way he had intended to do it, but he could not delay it any longer.
“And since ye are here anyway, ye could help me get rid of Violet. In fact, I’d be most grateful to ye for that. ”
At first, Keira thought she didn’t hear him well. She hoped she didn’t, because what he was saying was horrible. The woman in question was there, hope emanating from every pore of her body, and this man spoke of her feelings in such a manner. Keira could not believe it.
“You… want me to help you get rid of Violet?” she asked.
“Aye.” He nodded as if it was the most natural reaction in the world, and they would soon shake hands on it. It made her quiver with anger.
“I will do no such thing!” she exclaimed passionately. “In fact, I will leave this place right this minute and go back to Joan’s!”
She quickly turned around, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back to where she was standing.
They were facing each other, their hot, angry breaths intertwining to such an extent that she didn’t know whether she was exhaling or inhaling.
He was so close to her that she believed a kiss was inevitable, despite this storm they had found themselves in.
His body towered over her, like a mountain over a brook.
The imagery was more than adequate because her body reacted to him in a way she couldn’t explain.
Instead of pushing him away, she wanted to pull him closer.
Instead of telling him to go to hell, she wanted to tell him to come closer, to never let her go.
She cursed her mind for not having the slightest idea how to behave under pressure.
“Ye cannae leave, lass,” Raphael told her in a resounding voice, commanding attention and stirring desire.
The timbre was low and husky, like the smooth notes of a cello, drawing her in with its velvety allure.
There was an additional hint of raspiness lending him an edgy quality that only made him sound even more irresistible.
“I can do whatever I please,” she squeezed through clenched teeth, not taking her eyes off him.
“I completed me end of the bargain,” he reminded her. “What about ye?”
Each word was carefully enunciated, dripping with sensual languor that left a lingering impression. She wanted to damn him to the deepest pits of hell for having a voice that so effortlessly turned from soft murmurs into intense declarations, leaving her hanging on every syllable.
She had never been more tempted to kiss him than at that moment.
Her pulse quickened, and her senses were heightened to the brim by his proximity.
Every fiber of her being yearned for the closeness that seemed within reach, the forbidden allure of his presence.
But she managed to resist, remembering what he had done.
She headed for the door, grabbing the doorknob, when his voice called out to her.
“Keira…” she heard him say.
She didn’t turn around. She feared if she did so, she would stay here. She would get lost in his eyes, in his arms. No. She had to think about herself, about not getting hurt.
“Wait for me tonight,” he said, his words hanging in the air, carrying a promise she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she tried to.
The allure in his voice made her heart race, leaving her torn between what she wanted to do and what needed to be done.
The scent of temptation hung in the air like a dagger, threatening to fall, its fragrance intoxicating and dangerous. She walked out of his study without a response, although her body already knew what she would do.