Chapter 2 #2
He was also possibly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, ink-black hair bound at the nape of his neck, and intense blue eyes that glared directly into her bones.
If he hadn’t frightened her halfway out of her wits, she might have blushed. Instead, she found herself gawking as her heart thudded in her throat.
“Were ye lookin’ for something specific to steal?” he asked, not as unkindly as she might have expected, even as she felt her stomach drop and her legs go numb.
It took her a moment to find her command of language again.
“I’m nae a thief.” She pressed her palm to the leather binding of the book behind her, as if reasserting its position as still located safely inside the room.
“Aye?” He smirked down at her. “Then why are ye here? Quite sure I didnae invite ye. And ye just walked right in, did ye? Is that what ye do with yer friends and neighbors? Just waltz into their homes, unannounced, without even knocking? Tut-tut, lassie. That’s bad manners.”
Hannah’s chest swelled in outrage.
Daenae do it, she warned herself. Daenae rise to the bait. Stay calm. Remember that ye need his help.
“I came for ye. Ye are Laird MacBain, aye?” She had nothing more than gut instinct upon which to base her query, supposing as much from his easy confidence and overt amusement at finding a strange woman in what was presumably his home.
His eyebrows shot up, hair much darker than hers and stark against those blue eyes that reminded her of her sister’s. “And who’s askin’?”
She supposed he would have sounded less surprised and more suspicious had she been more than three-quarters his size, but she also noticed that he had placed himself between her and the exit, and his hands remained above his waist. If she tried to leave now, she suspected that it would not be as easy leaving as it had been entering.
If I made a run for the door, would he snatch me up as I ran past?
No, that’s stupid. Why would he do that? Besides, why would I do that? I cannae leave. I have something to accomplish here.
She swallowed hard. “I am Hannah Leon.” She spoke it as proudly as she could. “Two villages over. I daenae think ye ken what’s happening there, and I’ve arrived to—to make ye ken. To make ye understand, Laird.”
“Is that so?” His eyebrows rose again, still looking amused at her expense, which was one of her least favorite things.
He’s nae scared of me. He’s nae even wary. And why would he be? I’m harmless. Or so he thinks, at least. He’s taken me measure and decided that nae only am I nay threat, I’m an entertainment for him. Something to liven up a dull afternoon.
Bastard.
She already knew how infrequently men took women like her seriously, and when he smirked, it made her want to snarl at him. The only thing that stopped her was her little sister. She would let him find her harmless if he would help Violet.
“Aye.” She reached into her carefully kept satchel, withdrew the bottle, and held it out. “This is a whisky I hand-brewed at Leon Distillery. Ye may nae ken me, but ye ken the name.”
“A gift?”
“Nae exactly. I want something of ye in exchange for it. It’s yers for some of the angelica in yer garden.
Ye willnae miss it. The angelica, I mean.
We need it. Me family… me village… the illness is getting worse every week.
It’s bad, the sickness. Stomach trouble.
Folks cannae eat, they vomit it all up, they waste away.
It’s nasty. And angelica is the only thing that helps.
It lets them keep food down, lets them stay strong until the sickness passes.
So, this whisky for the angelica. That’s what I want. ”
She let out a long sigh at the end of this speech. Her carefully rehearsed sentences, eloquent and efficient, had vanished immediately from her head.
At least he didnae interrupt me babble, she thought miserably.
“Are ye bribin’ me?”
He still looked amused, but she could see just a touch of a frown at the corners of his eyes. He shifted, folding brawny arms over a broad chest. He was beginning to realize she was serious, then. She really did want the angelica.
Despite herself, she glanced down to where his forearms bulged against rolled-up sleeves, corded muscles standing out strongly.
He had large hands, laborer’s hands. There were callouses on his fingers and palms which likely came from extensively using a sword, and there were other rough patches which could have come from anywhere.
Needless to say, he was no softly reared dandy, with lily-white hands and elegant fingers.
No, they were square, blocky hands, the sort of hands with jaw-dropping strength in them.
She swallowed.
Daenae look at his hands, ye idiot.
“Nay,” she continued, as smoothly as she could imagine. Had he noticed her staring at his hands and arms? She prayed not. “I’m givin’ ye a gift. I would like to think it’d be enough for ye to help us. There’ll be nay hardship to ye.”
There. She’d said her piece. She had laid her cards down on the table. Her arm was beginning to ache from holding up the bottle, and he made no motion to take it from her. His eyebrows flickered once more, his gaze raking unhurriedly up and down, taking her in, absorbing every detail.
She swallowed again and forced herself to keep her voice and her stance steady, inhaling through clenched teeth and holding the bottle up to him more intently.
Patience. Wait. This long silence is all about willpower. Whose will is stronger?
Mine. Me will is stronger.
I have more to lose.
She lifted her chin a notch higher, meeting his eye squarely and holding his gaze.
Daenae blink first.
They were still practically nose-to-chest, she was nearly shoving the bottle into his sternum as she stared up at him, still held in place by the table she’d backed into.
She tried very hard not to acknowledge how rapidly her heart was beating in her chest and how much heat the man before her seemed to be radiating.
“Tell me of yer village, lass.”
Hannah mumbled the name, gesturing toward the map as if inviting him to find the proof of it there, and desperately hoped he would simply take the bottle.
She wasn’t as weakened as her sister, but she had her limits, and she’d reached them trying to find this man and his castle after spending a part of the day riding in the wrong direction to the wrong castle.
“There’s an illness, the angelica may help ease the symptoms. Here. Please.” She pressed the bottle again.
He considered. Then, mercifully, he took the whisky and withdrew from downright inappropriately close. He strode across what she now realized was a study, not a library, and sat at the desk as if he owned the place. Which he did.
As she stood and watched, still hugging the table at her back with her heart in her throat, he thumbed the cork from the bottle and drew a long swig.
They were both silent for a long moment.
“Five.”
“Pardon?”
“I want five of these…” He gestured to the bottle in his hand, and for a moment, she perked up. I can do that. “… one every week. Ye’ll bring them yerself.”
Relief died in her throat. Four more weeks. Four more rides to this castle. Four opportunities for him to reconsider, or for her to lose her nerve. “What—But—”
“Do ye need me help or nae?”
Hannah clenched her jaw hard and tried to remain calm. “Aye… I … we would appreciate yer help.”
She hated the way he was smirking. He looked so pleased, as though he was certain he had her at his mercy. He also wasn’t wrong.
“That’s the cost,” he said simply as he stood and approached her, still holding the bottle of her proudest whisky in his hand so casually it made her want to snatch it back.
“Five weeks. Five bottles.” He leaned down and spoke directly next to her ear, and her breath hitched against her will.
“I wouldnae be late. Daenae make me hunt ye down.”