a struggle, he wrenched his arm free. ‘The dagger. Where is it?’
‘Here,’ Caird called out.
Malcolm resumed his hold and the man struggled to remain upright. ‘The dagger’s mine,’ he argued. ‘Surely you wouldn’t take that. A man’s got to have some defence.’
Mairead stayed silent and dug her fingers into her bodice. She glared all her hatred at him. She’d never forgive or forget what he did.
‘You have the sword,’ Caird replied. ‘The dagger’s not yours.’
The man tugged uselessly to free his arm. ‘I’ve got to have the dagger. Take my pouch, take my sword, but the dagger holds sentimental value to me.’
‘Nae.’
The man stopped his pleading, his movements frantic now. Anger and fear flashed in his eyes as he pierced them on Mairead.
‘You stupid wench. It wasn’t me who did it. If you—’ The man tried to butt his head against Malcolm, but Malcolm cuffed him on the jaw and the man slumped heavily in his arms.
‘I may have wanted to hear the end of that sentence,’ Caird said drily.
Malcolm shrugged. ‘His head must have still been ringing.’
Caird looked at the dagger again. Mairead did, too.
‘Take him away,’ Caird demanded.
‘Nae, wait!’ Mairead said. ‘Shouldn’t we wait until he wakes to see what he was going to say?’
‘Too late. I’m missing my sleep,’ Caird said.
Oh, but she needed to hear what the man was going to say. It had all happened so fast when Ailbert was killed. She had only seen the one man running away. This man. Had there been another? If this man was only a thief, then who was the murderer?
‘But he should at least be awake for his journey,’ she argued.
‘I think not,’ Caird replied. ‘I ask my brother too much as it is. An unconscious burden will be easier for him.’
Malcolm’s door flew open and two dishevelled women came out. They clutched one piece of bed linen and each other with equal amounts of clumsiness. ‘Malcolm,’ one of them trilled. ‘Malcolm, come back. Where are you?’
‘Oh!’ The brunette stopped so suddenly the red-haired one stumbled and lost her share of the linen covering her naked body.
‘Look at this one here, Annie.’ The brunette pointed to Caird.
‘Oooh, now he’s a triumph,’ slurred the redhead, trying in vain to reach for the corner of the linen. She curled her lips at Caird. ‘Come with us, pretty.’
Caird, clothed only in his tunic, lightly held his sword to his side. He was covered, but barely. Mairead’s anger switched from Malcolm for hitting the thief to Caird for having no modesty. Did he intend to parade around for all the women of Scotland and why did she even care?
‘The man you want is downstairs,’ Caird began, ‘and, as you can see, I’m well taken care of by a friend of yours.’
Mairead wanted to punch him in the stomach.
‘Oh, she’s nae friend of ours,’ said the brunette.
‘Never seen her before in my life,’ said the redhead. ‘Malcolm’s downstairs?’
‘Lasses!’ Malcolm cried jovially.
They stumbled towards the stairs.
Caird didn’t watch the women, he watched Mairead. From the look in his eyes, he wasn’t surprised the two women didn’t know her.
She was right in thinking he was too intelligent. If she wasn’t careful, he would link her trespass in his room with the dagger and the thief.
But she couldn’t just leave. Caird had the dagger. So how was she to get it and keep his mind from making the correct assumptions? The only way she knew how.
Mairead dropped her hands from her gown. His eyes flickered to her chest. But they didn’t stay there.
Instead his eyes narrowed, his cheeks hollowed and his lips pressed tight together.
‘Get in my room,’ he said.
Mairead mostly prided herself on her impulsiveness, but right now she felt no pride. Right now she was in danger. Especially when she had no plan and there was a well-armed, vexed stranger following behind her and closing the door.
Her anger and fury had disappeared and her legs didn’t feel as if they would hold her much longer.
In the dark and quiet room, she could almost hear his mind making connections between her and the thief.
If it wasn’t for her family, she’d have run. They needed the money that dagger represented. Not that her mother and sisters knew about their predicament, but Ailbert had known. Ailbert had... Oh, she didn’t want to think about him. Not now. There was no time.
She had to choose: humiliate herself here, or in front of her entire clan. She’d prefer to do it here.
Straightening what was left of the top of her gown, she took a candle and walked to the fireplace. The fire was dim, but enough to light the wick.
‘Not now.’
‘I was just lighting it. It’s dark.’
‘We doona need light to sleep.’
But she did. She needed the light to see if his expression matched the biting tone of voice. Setting the unlit candle by the table, she turned towards him.
He had rested the sword by the bedside and was right behind her. Quickly, he took his tunic off. ‘Here.’ He gestured with the tunic.
As she tugged on the fabric of her hopelessly torn gown, she tried not to look at him. ‘What will you wear?’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He shoved the tunic into her hands and turned towards the door. ‘And I’ll not be doing any more thinking tonight.’
She clutched the tunic and tried to think of an excuse to stay. But instead of opening the door and demanding she leave, he retrieved his boot dagger still embedded in the thick wood.
Her fingers eased on the fabric, but she wasn’t completely safe. He turned around and gazed pointedly at the tunic still in her hands. Walking past her, he placed his boot blade on the windowsill.
She wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension. But he acted as though he felt none and he was still...naked. He might be comfortable, but his state of undress played havoc with her emotions.
Even thanking him seemed moot
