Isla felt a subtle shift in the air in his words, the way he called her a man, not once but twice.Perhaps it was a subtle relaxation of his shoulders the more she spoke, or a change in his tone as he called herLord Dalrigh. Whatever the cause, she could feel it in her bones.
He is baitin’ me… he kens somethin’ is awry.
Her hands, hidden in the folds of her brother’s coat, tightened into fists. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, but she knew that she had to stand her ground no matter the cost.
She had protected her family before with her life, and she would do it again.
Still, I am in over me head.
She was trapped, pinned by the chilling intensity of his stare as they stood in heavy silence. Her eyes flitted down from his eyes to his coat, then she saw it. A pang of dread shot through her as she suddenly noticed the subtle shape of a pistol tucked into the inside breast pocket of his coat. There was no mistaking it.
“Are all Scottish lords so careful with theirtone?” the Duke asked, taking another step toward her. “So… measured?”
“Not all of us are so eager for bloodshed.”
“I confess, your note hinted of a most fiery temper. I hate to press, but I am most perplexed as I do not see evidence of thathere. You seem… nervous, Lord Dalrigh. I say, you are like a gazelle in front of a lion.”
“Daenae mistake me reason for weakness. Ye were wrong. Me words in that bloody letter were written in haste,” she said as she took a step forward, instantly regretting the movement as her hips swayed.
“And not all of us move with suchpoise,” the Duke said as he took another step toward her, his gaze dropping to her feet.
I should have worn Callum’s boots, but I was afraid I couldnae walk! Oh, bloody Hell!
A hot flush crawled up her neck as her stomach began to wretch. Her carefully constructed facade, the hours she’d spent practicing this exchange, had all been for naught.
“I daenae ken what ye mean, Yer Grace,” she said, her voice cracking.
“I think you do,my lady.”
At that moment, a gust of wind tore down the alley, catching the edge of her hood and yanking it from her head. Her dark blonde hair, pinned back in a desperate attempt at a man’s style, sprang free with a vengeance.
There was no hiding now, yet Isla held her shoulders high as she considered her next move.
She watched the Duke’s eyes widen as he took in her face.
“An explanation. Now,” he barked as he stared at her.
She knew that look. He was surely examining the hideous, diagonal scar that went from her brow to her nose, just passing her lips and ending on her jaw. She felt the familiar burn of shame, and her shoulders slumped.
“Yer Grace…I apologize for me deception,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Ye must understand… I only wanted to stop the madness.”
“Madness?” he repeated, his eyes still fixed on her face. “A duel is madness, to be sure. But for a woman to intervene in such matters?”
“It is for me family…”
“Ah, I see. You are perhaps here… to stand in for your brother?”
“Aye. I am Lady Isla MacDougall.”
“Well, this act is another sort of madness entirely. Do you have any idea the danger you put yourself in? You could have been hurt, or worse. You are lucky I am a sensible man.”
What would that matter to ye?She thought, unable to understand why his gaze still held hers so tightly.
“Please, Yer Grace,” she pleaded, her voice regaining its strength as her protective instincts resurfaced. “I beg ye, put an end to this. Use yer influence to silence the rumors about me sister. Truthfully, I daenae ken how they even started. From what I understand, ye had only crossed paths at Lady Marchand’s party without a single word!”
“I cannot force the gossips to hold their tongues. This rumor is not of my making,” he said, his voice now devoid of its earlier taunting lilt. “And I do not believe in running from a problem. I prefer to face it head-on. That is what a true man does.”
“And what about honor then, Yer Grace?” she shot back, her temper finally getting the better of her.
