Chapter 3 #2
“A message for you?” she asked. “But we do not know each other. How could it be a message to you?”
“You turned up in my woods,” he said as though it was obvious, and then continued when it became clear that she was still confused, “People don’t leave drugged women on the land of a duke unless they want something, or unless they want trouble.”
“So this is your concern,” Charity’s mouth twisted. “Not what happened to me, only whether it’s inconvenient for you.”
“If someone is using you to reach me, then you’re in danger again the moment you leave this room,” he seemed visibly annoyed now, even angry.
Charity’s fear flared, but she shoved it down with anger. Her mind was spiraling in all different directions. What was the truth?
“I think what you’re saying is rather clever,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “It is a way to make me think you weren’t involved, and to make me feel like I need you.”
“You think I’m playing a game with you,” Duncan’s expression went colder, so much so that it was frightening.
“I think you’re capable of a great many things,” Charity snapped. “You and your men. I woke up with an arrow in a tree beside me.”
“That arrow wasn’t meant to kill you. Malcolm is an idiot sometimes, but he’s not a murderer.”
Charity’s hands clenched under the blanket.
“If you didn’t kidnap me,” she said, “then tell me who did. Tell me how I got here?”
“I don’t know,” Duncan held her gaze. Somehow, she wanted to believe him, but then forced herself to snap out of her daze.
“You must have some idea,” Charity pressed, and she could hear the crack in her own voice now despite her efforts. “You must have enemies or someone who would do this.”
“Most men with land have enemies,” he shrugged, as though it was the most casual thing.
“So you’re telling me you have no way of knowing who drugged me?”
“I suppose that is what I am saying.”
Charity stared at him, breathing hard. Her mind went haywire with questions that piled over each other.
Was it Uncle? Was it Robert? But what good would that even do? Was it someone in York? How long had I been gone? Did Augusta know? Was Matilda crying?
“You still haven’t answered my first question,” Charity said. “What are you going to do with me?”
“I’m going to find out who you are, and then I’m going to send you away from my land,” he said in a calm manner.
“You keep saying you need to know who I am,” she said, and a bitter edge crept in. “Why? So you can decide whether I’m worth helping?”
She had learned to be taciturn when it came to her identity. Surely, there were enough people who would not hesitate to prey on her once they found out about her true status.
Duncan’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed rather unimpressed.
“So I can decide whether sending you back puts my men at risk, or whether keeping you here puts you at risk. If you have family looking for you, they’ll come here eventually, and I’d rather know who will be pounding at my gates.”
“My family is in England,” she said tightly.
“Then tell me,” he said. “Who. Are. You. Why do you insist on making this difficult?”
Charity’s mouth opened.
“Because I have tremendous…”
Because I have tremendous wealth. The vulnerability she had felt ever since her parents passed and her uncle’s insistence on keeping inheritance close, all of it flashed in her mind so fast it made her dizzy again. But she tried to keep her steady.
She would not hand this man information without understanding what he would do with it.
“Go on, then. Say it.”
Charity’s cheeks heated, and she grasped for any sort of excuse.
“I don’t owe you answers,” she muttered under her breath.
Duncan’s patience snapped at that, and he stepped closer to the bed, not so close that he touched her, but close enough. It made her shiver slightly, and it answered the question that she had earlier in her mind.
Yes, she seemed to be having the same reaction to him the second time around.
“Listen carefully. I found you on my land, drugged and not even able to stand. You can sit there and act proud all you like, but pride won’t serve you well. If you are smart, then you can answer the question like an adult. I do not wish to keep sparring.”
Charity seemed to wilt at his tone. It was the first time that he had properly raised his voice at her. He noticed her reaction immediately and softened.
“Give me something to work with,” he replied. “Who are you?”
Charity stared at him, and the anger in her chest battled with fear and suspicion. He didn’t seem clever enough for the kind of deception Edward used, all smiles and politeness. This man was direct. If he wanted to frighten her, he could do it without pretending to be reasonable.
She hated that it made her trust him a fraction more.
“I’m Charity Cluett,” she said finally, “My father was Lord Orton. He died six months ago, as did my mother. My uncle holds the title now. I was living at our estate near York with my two sisters. The last thing I know is that I went to bed in that house and woke up in your woods.”
Duncan repeated the name slowly.
“Charity Cluett.”
The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine, and she hated that too. How was he able to have such a reaction from her?
“Now what?” she said, thinking it was easier to be impatient rather than confront the strange feelings this beastly man was invoking inside of her.
Duncan stared at her for a second longer, then his gaze moved to her shoulders. Only then did Charity realize she was shivering again. His brows drew together, and he turned, taking a thicker cover from the chair nearby, then draped it over her shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re shaking, cover yourself.”
His hands brushed her upper arm through the fabric for half a second as he settled the cover, and Charity’s heartbeat kicked hard in her chest.
There it was again, that same reaction. She swallowed, angry at herself for behaving like this.
“I’m not cold,” Charity lied.
Duncan didn’t argue and sat down on the edge of the bed after fixing the cover in place. From this point, she could see the scars more clearly now, the roughness of healed skin against harder planes of his face. She wondered, unwillingly, what had happened to him to leave marks like that.