this!’ Caird indicated with his sword. ‘Is this your friend?’
Mairead didn’t even think. Caird seemed...uncontrolled. His stance widened, his tunic not covering the aggression and tightening of muscles in his legs. He looked like he was about to spring. Maybe she did have a weapon she could use. Her practised Buchanan lying would come in handy.
She nodded haughtily. ‘Aye, and now he leaves like a thief in the night.’
‘A thief?’ Caird looked at her closely. His eyes narrowed, his posture becoming even larger. ‘He’s ripped your gown!’
She looked down. Somewhere between Caird’s expert hands and the impact with the murderer, her well-worn gown had torn. Horrified, she frantically adjusted the thin strips of cloth covering her breasts. It was useless and she kept her hands across her chest.
The murderer sensed the change in the air and attempted to put up his hood. ‘I never touched the wench! This is all untoward; I bid you both goodnight.’
The swift whip of air was all she heard as Caird’s sword came up in front of the man. He could move, but only if he wanted to be cut in half.
‘She called you thief,’ Caird said. ‘Exactly what were you thieving?’
‘Nothing, the wench—’
‘Stop...calling her wench; she’s a lady compared to the likes of you.’
The man’s entire demeanour changed from umbrage to overly pleasing. He raised his hands, and shrugged his shoulders as if in defeat. ‘You are welcome to the lady. It was an accident. She bumped—’
‘It wasn’t an accident!’ she interrupted. Mairead wouldn’t let the man’s false humbleness ruin her only chance for retrieving the dagger. ‘This is the man I was to meet. But he saw me come from your room and in a rage he tore my gown!’
The man’s eyes widened in fright; if it wasn’t dark, she’d swear she saw sweat break over his brow. Even better, he looked guilty. Good, he should feel guilt. Especially since she was wishing him dead.
Caird’s sword sliced the cloak’s tie under the man’s chin. The cloak billowed to the ground, revealing her dagger and a sword strapped to his belt.
‘You need to apologise to the lady,’ Caird said.
‘But I didn’t—’
Another slight movement and this time the sword neatly slashed the man’s tunic. Right across his heart.
Mairead bit her lip to hide her reaction. Grief, desperation, anger...and now this?
Caird did everything she wished to do, but it wasn’t enough, not for what this man, this thief, had taken from her. She wanted to swipe the sword and slice the black heart of her brother’s killer.
The man’s eyes grew wide. There was no calculating gleam there now. His eyes darted to the sword, to Mairead and then to the staircase; his right hand visibly twitched. Was it because he feared Caird? She hoped so.
Being half-undressed didn’t make Caird look vulnerable. In fact, his well-muscled, well-trained body looked more formidable than the sword he held. She couldn’t believe she had curled her body around the man as if he was safe. Right now, he looked anything but safe.
A flash of movement.
‘The stairs!’ she yelled.
Caird lunged, but the murderer wasn’t planning escape. He had the dagger in his hand and he swung it around. Moving his sword and body to the side, Caird pounded his great fist on the man’s head.
The murderer teetered on the edge of the stairs. Caird clutched the man’s shredded tunic. It tore and the murderer tumbled down the stairs like wet clothes in a river.
A door opened behind them and a tall lean man stepped out. His short dark hair was tousled, and a lock fell over his forehead. A recently healed scar ran the length of his left cheek and down across his bare chest. He looked menacing even as he carelessly leaned against the doorframe and looked pointedly at Caird, Mairead, then the man crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.
His lips quirked before he burst out laughing. When he was done, he pretended to wipe his very green eyes and asked, ‘Need any help?’
‘You took your sweet time, Malcolm,’ Caird said.
Malcolm shrugged. ‘I was occupied. You left me with two of them.’ He pointed to Mairead. ‘Who’s this?’
Caird frowned.
Malcolm laughed again. ‘How about that down there?’
‘I doona know about that either.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly kept yourself entertained.’
Giggling floated out of Malcolm’s room and he closed the door.
Mairead desperately wanted to run down the stairs, grab the dagger and escape. But now there were two of them. She must keep lying.
Trying her best to look worried for the murderer, she asked, ‘Shouldn’t we see if he is dead?’
Caird’s eyes narrowed on her. To avoid his stare, she looked down the stairs and bit her lip.
‘I’ll go.’ Malcolm’s mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Out of the three of us, it seems I’m the only one decently clothed.’
Mairead snatched her hands to her breasts again. She’d forgotten about her gown.
Malcolm went down the steps and checked the inert body. ‘Not dead,’ he whispered up.
Her immediate relief surprised her. She’d thought she wanted him dead.
Malcolm ripped the torn tunic and tied the murderer’s arms behind him. He then searched the man’s pouch and boots before he ran up the stairs. ‘His pouch held a few coins, but nae seal or any identification.’ He pulled his hand from behind his back. ‘He did have this in his hand.’
Malcolm held Mairead’s dagger. The rubies winked.
She tried not to gasp, but part of the sound escaped. Caird’s eyes went to hers briefly and she quickly lowered her gaze. Now what was she supposed to do? Say the dagger was hers, and that she’d be on her way? They wouldn’t believe her. She’d have to stay quiet.
Caird took the dagger, his fingers caressing the decorative handle. When he looked again at Mairead, his eyes were no longer soft from desire or drink. Instead, they were as cold as the dagger in his hands.
‘The man’s clothes are too poor for such a fine piece,’ he said.
‘I agree,’ Malcolm replied. ‘Most likely it is stolen.’
Caird nodded. ‘Aye, a thief.’
Was it her imagination, or did Caird emphasise the word thief? Feigning nonchalance, she fiddled with her bodice.
‘Doona harm the man,’
