When her eyes lifted, green and sharp as glass, they met his without flinching, and something in that steady defiance stirred his interest at once. His gaze moved over her without haste, taking in the remnants of a well-made gown now torn and dirt-streaked, the posture that spoke of upbringing rather than chance.
“Ye’re nay peasant,” he said at last, his tone measured.
She did not answer immediately, her chin lifting just slightly as if to meet the weight of his scrutiny.
“And ye’re nay fool, I take it,” she replied.
A faint smirk touched his lips, though it did not soften the sharpness in his eyes.
“Careful, lass,” he said, stepping closer, “ye’ve yet to earn the right to speak so freely in me own hall.”
She held his gaze, unyielding, and answered, “And ye’ve yet to prove I should earn it at all. Vile to take a woman and bind her so.”
The guards shifted uneasily at her tone, but James only studied her more intently, intrigue flickering beneath his controlled expression.
“Bold words for a woman found skulkin’ near me stables,” he said, circling her slowly, each step deliberate. “Who are ye?”
“I am nay one,” she said.
“Aye, ye are someone that tried to steal a horse from me stables,” he said.
She gasped. “I am nae a thief!”
“Then what?” he asked as he circled her.
She turned her head slightly to follow him, refusing to cower even as she knelt bound before him. “Why do ye circle me like an animal? Would ye have me tremble, then?” she asked, a trace of challenge in her voice.
He stopped before her, the faintest narrowing of his eyes betraying his reaction.
“Respect is earned, nae given,” he said coolly.
She gave a slight tilt of her head and replied, “Then perhaps ye’ve yet to earn mine, Laird.”
The title did not go unnoticed, and he leaned closer, his voice lowering as he said, “So ye ken who I am, yet ye’ll nae say who ye are.”
She held her silence for a moment, then said, “I ken enough to see that a man givin' orders in a castle is the Laird, I am nay fool.”
“Nay, nae a fool. So what are ye?” he asked, his tone probing now, calculated and precise.
He watched as she looked down at the floor.
“Leave us. Wait outside the door,” he said to the guards, who obeyed and left the room.
James drew his sword with a smooth motion. He lowered the tip beneath her chin. With a slight lift, he forced her to raise her face fully to his, her gaze locked with his despite the precarious position.
“Ye will look at me when I speak,” he said, his voice calm but edged with command.
She did not flinch, though her breath caught briefly as she replied, “I’ve been lookin’ at ye all this time.”
“Then ye’ll see I’m nae a patient man,” he said quietly, the blade steady beneath her chin. “And I’ve little tolerance for lies or half-truths.”
“Then ye’d best stop askin’ questions ye’ve nay right to and let me go,” she shot back.
“Nay right to ask?” he repeated, a hint of amusement threading through his tone. “Ye stand in me hall, on me land, attemptin' to steal me livestock, and ye think I’ve nay right to demand answers?”
She met his gaze with equal intensity and said, “Aye, I do, for I’ve given ye nay cause to claim otherwise as I was nae stealin' a horse, merely looking for a warm place to rest.”
“I am nay bampot, lass. A lone woman, dressed like a lady, wanderin’ near me grounds, and ye call that nay cause? Are ye a spy?” he pressed.
