Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
His words struck like a blade laid flat against her throat. They were cold, precise, and meant to be felt. Still, Margaret didn’t flinch.
“Only if ye tell the King,” she replied in a tone that tried to suffocate the loud beating of her own traitorous heart. “And I see nay reason why ye should, me laird.”
Eleonor made a small, frightened sound beside her.
Margaret shifted at once, angling her body to block her sister from view.
“Go,” she said softly, without turning. “Now.”
Eleonor caught her hand. “I willnae leave ye.”
“Ye must,” Margaret insisted more sharply now. “This was always the plan. Leave.”
The man watched them, but his expression was utterly unreadable behind the mask. He had helped her before, but that was before he knew she was doing something so perilous for anyone involved.
“Ye are playing a dangerous game,” he warned. “The Masquerade is nae kind tae those who think themselves cleverer than it.”
Margaret’s stomach tightened.
He will call the guards.
She lifted her chin. “Then perhaps ye should look elsewhere,” she snarled. “We are finished here.”
“We arenae,” he replied. “If ye are discovered, there will be consequences. Nae only fer ye, but fer yer families.”
Her fear sharpened into a deadlier weapon.
“And what pleasure dae ye take in delivering us tae them?” she demanded. “Is it duty or curiosity?”
For a moment, he did not answer. The pause stretched, heavy with intent.
Margaret did not wait for it to end. She moved without warning.
Her foot drove up and forward with every ounce of strength she possessed, striking him squarely where no man, armored or not, was invulnerable.
He grunted sharply, with his breath driven from him.
“E––” Margaret bit her lip before she could reveal her sister’s identity. “Leave, now.”
Her sister hesitated only a heartbeat. Then, choking back a sob, she turned and fled down the corridor. Margaret turned to follow, but she was hauled back with brutal speed.
The man had recovered far too quickly. His hand closed around her arm, iron-strong, and in the space of a breath she was slammed against the stone wall. The impact jarred her teeth, while the chill of the stone seeped through silk and skin alike.
“What dae ye think ye are daein’?” he demanded, and she could hear danger in every syllable.
She met his gaze without apology. “Protecting a loved one.”
“Ye have just assaulted me,” he growled.
“Ye threatened her,” Margaret shot back. “I would dae worse.”
His grip tightened. “Are ye a maid,” he asked, “or a noblewoman playing at one?”
“That,” she said, ignoring the ache in her shoulder, “is none of yer business.”
His eyes searched her face, as though weighing her worth in a manner she did not care to invite.
That was when she became aware of him, of how close he was standing, how his forearm braced beside her head and how his body was a solid barrier she could neither slip past nor ignore.
Heat radiated from him, stark against the chill of the wall, caging her in.
Worse still was his scent. Leather and salt, smoke and something clean beneath it, wind or water. It was not the perfumed sweetness of court, nor the sour tang of wine she had endured before. It was him, undeniably so, and it caught her breath in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
She hated herself for noticing.
Her body betrayed her in small, treacherous ways: the warmth curling low in her stomach, the sudden awareness of where she ended and he began, or the way her breath shortened as if her lungs had forgotten their proper rhythm.
She clenched her jaw, furious at her own disobedient senses.
“Ye speak like a lady,” he said, still too close.
“And ye speak like a gentleman,” Margaret replied. “Yet here we are.”
The silence between them pulsed.
“Answer me,” he demanded. “Which are ye?”
Margaret lifted her chin, every inch of her refusing to bend. “I willnae.”
For a deadly heartbeat, she thought he might press harder, that he might demand obedience as so many men before him had done. Instead, his grip eased, though he did not step away.
“Very well,” he acquiesced. “Keep yer secrets.”
His hand shifted, no longer restraining but reaching instead into the fold of his cloak. Margaret watched the movement warily. When he opened his palm, recognition struck like a spark. Her bracelet lay there, the delicate gold unmistakable even in the low light. Her breath caught despite herself.
“Ye dropped this,” he said. “In the corridor. I followed ye tae return it.”
“Ye…” She stopped, considering his words and their implied meaning. “Ye followed me.”
“I did,” he admitted unperturbed. “It seemed wiser than letting it be found by someone… less discreet.”
She took the bracelet, and her fingers brushed his skin despite her intent to avoid it. The contact sent an unwelcome shiver up her arm. She closed her hand around the gold as though it might anchor her.
“Thank ye,” she said stiffly. “And now that yer errand is complete, ye may forget everything ye have seen.”
His mouth curved, and he seemed faintly amused. That only seemed to make him even more attractive.
Damn it!
“That is nae how forgetting works.”
Margaret huffed a breath. “Then consider it a request.”
“A request?” he echoed. “From a woman who refuses tae answer a simple question?”
“From a woman,” she returned, “who has naething tae gain from yer attention and everything tae lose from yer interference.”
He seemed to ponder her words. “Ye are very certain of yerself.”
“I have tae be,” she explained, but only made that explanation even more convoluted. “Especially taenight.”
That was when footsteps echoed at the far end of the corridor. A few voices were laughing. Margaret stiffened.
“People are coming,” she said under her breath. “If ye intend tae ruin us both, now would be the moment.”
“I dinnae,” he replied, much to her surprise.
“Then stay silent,” she urged sharply. “Please. Say naething of what ye saw tae anyone.”
“And what would ye offer me in return?” he asked mildly.
Margaret shot him a look. “Is me gratitude insufficient?”
“Entirely.”
She exhaled, feeling irritation flaring. “Name it, then.”
His gaze flicked toward the approaching figures, then back to her. “Anything?”
The word lodged unpleasantly in her chest. She hesitated and it was enough.
“Anything within reason,” she amended.
He smiled then, properly this time, and the expression unsettled her more than his severity had. “We will discuss it later.”
Before she could protest, voices rounded the corner. They were close now.
“Come,” he said quietly, taking her hand.
She stiffened at the contact, but he did not give her time to object.
His grip was firm, unyielding, and he drew her forward into the flow of bodies moving toward the main hall.
Margaret forced her steps to match his, schooling her expression into calm as torchlight brightened and the murmur of the Masquerade swelled around them.
As they crossed the threshold into the great room, she leaned closer. “Ye are playing a dangerous game.”
“So are ye,” he replied, releasing her hand at last. “The difference is that I ken it.”
The music swelled around them, with violins cutting clean through the murmur of voices. Margaret felt suddenly exposed, as though the light itself might betray her. She turned to go.
“Wait,” he said.
She paused despite herself.
“Who are ye?” he asked, falling into step beside her as though they were merely acquaintances drifting through the crowd. “And dinnae insult me by pretending the question is idle.”
Margaret kept her gaze fixed ahead. “Ye ken the rules of this evening,” she reminded him. “Names arenae spoken.”
“I didnae ask fer yer name,” he countered. “I asked who ye are.”
She glanced at him then, one eyebrow lifting beneath the mask.
“Persistent,” she observed. “Is that a habit, or am I a special case?”
His mouth twitched. “Both.”
“I willnae answer, me laird,” she said. “It would be against the rules.”
“Very well. Then answer this instead.” He slowed, forcing her to slow with him. “Are ye a laird’s daughter or a maid helping a noble girl escape?”
The question landed with surgical precision.
Margaret smiled sweetly. “If I were the latter, would ye turn me in?”
“And if ye were the former?”
“Would ye bow?”
He eyed her, then gave a quiet laugh. “Ye evade like a seasoned courtier.”
“I had excellent teachers,” she replied. “Most of them men who believed they were cleverer than I was.”
The music shifted into an invitation and the floor opened as couples formed with practiced ease. She was surprised to see he offered her his hand as well.
Margaret looked at it as though it were a challenge laid bare. “Ye presume much.”
“I have a proposition,” he divulged. “And for that, I require proximity.”
She considered refusing. She considered causing a scene.
Against her better judgment, she placed her hand in his.
The contact sent a sharp awareness through her, which was immediate and unwelcome.
He drew her into the dance with effortless authority, his hand settling at her waist, as if it somehow belonged there.
“Careful,” she murmured. “Someone might think ye are enjoying yerself.”
“Someone already daes,” he replied.
She shot him a look. “Ye are insufferable.”
“And ye,” he said, guiding her smoothly through the turn, “are very much nae a maid.”
“Because I can count steps?” she asked, refusing to show him how amused she was. “Or because I dinnae avert me eyes?”
“Because ye act like a noble woman,” he clarified. “Although ye kicked me like a farmer’s daughter.”
She smiled then, but it was as sharp as a blade. “Ye deserved it.”
The dance tightened, the space between them narrowing with every movement. She was acutely aware of his hand at her back and of the way his attention never drifted, never softened.
“Ye still have nae answered me,” he looked at her then and she felt a tidal wave of warmth wash over her. “Noble or nae?”
Margaret leaned closer, her voice pitched just for him. “If I were a laird’s daughter, would ye treat me differently?”
“Aye.”
“And if I were a maid?”
His gaze held hers. “Also, aye.”
She laughed softly. “Then it seems me answer changes naething.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “It changes everything.”
She arched a brow. “Ye speak in riddles.”
“I speak in offers,” he corrected. “And before this night is done, ye will hear mine. But before I make it, I need tae ken yer position in society.”
Margaret turned beneath his hand, meeting his eyes through the mask. She could feel her pulse quickening from the challenge he had just posed.
“Then ye had best choose yer words carefully,” she urged. “I am nae easily persuaded.”
His grip tightened, just enough to be felt. “Neither am I.”
They completed the turn, their bodies aligned by the dictates of the dance.
For a moment, Margaret said nothing. Despite everything, or perhaps exactly because of everything, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
His control astounded her, and the way he watched her as though she were not merely a puzzle, but a decision.
“Fine,” she said, forming a decision of her own. “I am noble.”
The admission cost her more than she expected. It was not fear that followed, but strangely, fleeting relief.
He smiled. It was the first time she had seen it, and it unsettled her more than his severity had done. The expression did not soften him.
“I thought so,” he said quietly.
“And yet ye pressed,” she replied. “A discourtesy.”
“A necessity,” he countered. “I wished tae ken how far ye would go tae protect yer loved ones.”
She stiffened. “Ye ken naething of me motives and who I am protecting.”
“I ken enough,” he assured her. “Which is why I will make ye an offer.”
The music slowed down, drawing them closer. His hand at her back did not move, but she felt the question in it.
“I will keep yer secret,” he continued. “I will tell nay one what I witnessed taenight. Nae the King, nae his men and nae the lairds who fancy themselves judges.”
Her heart thudded. “And in return?”
“If,” he said, carefully choosing each word, “I am commanded by the King tae take a wife and be forced intae a union… I will choose ye.”
The words struck with such force that she nearly missed the rest.
“Ye will come without protest,” he went on. “There will be nay scene and nay attempts at delay. It will be a white marriage. Ye will ask nay questions of me household, me past, or me rule. And ye willnae interfere with the governance of me clan.”
Margaret’s breath caught.
Marriage. Claimed… bound by royal writ and his choosing.
“And if I refuse?” she asked.
“Then I speak,” he said simply.
She searched his face through the mask, looking for cruelty. She found none. There was only resolve in his eyes.
“This is extortion.”
“This,” he replied, “is me offer. Take it or leave it.”
The dance ended. Applause rippled through the hall, a tide that carried them apart by inches, not enough to escape the moment. Margaret closed her eyes for half a breath.
I would dae anything fer her.
She opened them. “Very well.”
His brows lifted a fraction. “Ye agree.”
“I dae,” she said, sealing her fate.
Before she could speak again, a man approached, wearing a mask that was plain but well-made.
“Me laird,” he said quietly, but close enough that only they might hear. “The King has spoken.”
The stranger did not turn. “Go on.”
“Five lairds are commanded tae leave the Masquerade with a bride,” the man continued. “Their presence is requested in the council chamber. Yers included.”
The hall seemed to tilt.
The stranger looked at Margaret. “It appears that I am forced tae take a bride after all.”
Her pulse roared. “Ye cannae mean—”
“I dae,” he cut her off. “And ye have already agreed.”
He offered his hand neither gently nor tenderly, but in a manner one might offer terms that could not be renegotiated. “Let us see how well ye keep yer promises, me lady.”
Then she placed her palm in his. And the Masquerade closed around them like a door.