Claiming Her

He picked up the chair and carried it over. “He seems to believe you are in danger.”

She stopped so short, her skirts foamed around her ankles. “But I am not, am I?”

“That depends entirely on you, my lady.” He shrugged, as if the matter was out of his hands. She felt her face growing hot, and he made a sympathetic sound. “Aye, it doesn’t look good for you, does it?”

She ignored the veiled threat, and eyed him thoughtfully as he carried the other chair over and positioned it by the fire. “But they did not do it, did they? My men, they did not stand down.”

“Sadly, they did not. Again, they seem to wish to hear directly from you on the matter.” She smiled, but he shook his head slowly. “’Tis as unwise now as it was before, lass.”

“Oh yes, I know,” she agreed happily. Even a minor resistance, when one was hard-pressed for victory, was most satisfying. “Somewhat like you taking Rardove.”

“Aye, we’re quite a pair,” he agreed, setting trays of food on the table. “You should marry me.”

The urge to smile came again. She resisted it.

Arching a brow, he gestured toward the table. Covered with trays of food and pitchers of drink and several chests that had been carried in by the servants, it resembled a stall at a merchant’s fair. “Do you want anything?”

“My liberty,” she said tartly. “Peace from the incessant raids of the MacDaniels clan, a hot bath, and a great large salmon.”

That earned a quirk of his handsome mouth. “Well, Katarina, some of those things are easier to secure than others, and one is entirely in your keeping.”

“Nothing, then,” she said staunchly, then hesitated. “Perhaps…some wine?” Your exquisite wine.

“The wine, we can manage.” He turned to pour.

She watched the silky red folds of liquid splash into a large cup, then he set it on the table and waved his hand toward the rest of the items that did not bear closer inspection, for what other treasures might the Irish warlord have, beyond a map of the world and wine? Certainly, the silent message of his hand was clear: Look at all you can have when you are mine.

She sniffed at it, but did take the wine. “May my page visit?”

“Little one, so high?” He held his hand at about his waist. She frowned. Dickon was taller than that. Although admittedly, he was quite small for his age. “Indeed he may. The moment we locate him. He has thus far eluded detection.”

“Has he?” That was encouraging, wasn’t it? “He is quite nimble,” she allowed, smiling out the window.

“He will get himself hurt, my lady. If my men stumble upon him at the wrong moment, and perceive the wrong thing…”

His words drifted off but the warning was clear and genuine; these were battle-hardened men in the midst of a rebellion. They would not brook much, certes not a young renegade, be he intent on matters of espionage, or simply hungry.

Taking her goblet, she stepped away and circled the room, entirely ignoring the chests—of what?—that sat on the table. The lid of one had been lifted slightly and beckoned like a siren. Which was no doubt the point, the arrogant devil.

Still, the longer she paced, the higher the flames in the fire licked, the louder the rumbles of thunder outside grew, the more difficult it became to ignore them, because they did, after all, look a great deal like treasure chests. Anything could be inside.

Only slowly did she become aware of what Aodh was doing as she paced. He was shuffling…playing cards.

She turned incredulously. “Cards?”

He glanced up. “Why, can you not play?”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Of course I can play. But…you cannot expect me to sit and play cards?”

He raked his gaze down the front of her gown. “You may stand.” He went back to his cards. “But no peeking.”

Her jaw, already at half-mast, fell entirely. “No peeking?”

His blue eyes came back up. “Is that going to be difficult for you, Katy? You’re not the sort who goes about peeking at other people’s cards, are you?”

She pursed her lips tight together to combat the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to smile. “I will restrain myself.”

“Good.” He began dealing. “Putt?”