“Stay here?” she scoffed. “What does that mean?”
Laird Moore stood between her and the locked door with the key still in his hand, looking as if he had announced the hour for supper rather than the loss of her freedom.
“It means ye willnae leave Moore Castle with the bairn.”
“I didnae ask what it meant for the bairn.” Her fingers curled around her torn sleeve. “I asked what it meant for me.”
“It means ye are alive, which is more than ye were promised when ye were dragged down here.”
“How generous. Shall I thank ye before orafterI start rattling the bars?”
His expression did not change, and that made her want to throw something at him. Her fear had teeth now, and every tooth wanted to bite.
He stood too calmly for a man who had just decided the trajectory of another person’s life. He did not pace or even try to raise his voice. He simply occupied the space as if stone, iron, and every breath in the dungeons answered to him. The exit stood behind him, and he was broad enough to make it feel further away.
Violet forced herself to look at him properly, because only a fool feared what they refused to understand. She had learned that repeatedly with several of her customers.
He was taller than he had first looked in the poor light, tall enough that she had to lift her chin to hold his gaze. His shoulders filled the rough fabric of his coat, and his strength seemedtrainedinto him. It was the kind of strength that came from steel in hand and boundaries over and over.
His long dark hair had been tied back, though a few strands had slipped loose, likely due to the speed with which he had come down here. The strands made his face look rougher rather than softer. His eyes were dark brown, nearly black in the torchlight, and much too steady.
That steadiness annoyed her, most of all. If he had been ugly, she could have hated him with cleaner satisfaction. Since he was not, she had to hate him with effort.
“Ye are staring,” he noted.
Violet lifted her eyes back to his. “I was deciding whether ye look more like a tyrant or a brigand.”
“And what have ye concluded?”
She swallowed. “The dungeons givetyrantthe advantage.”
“Then I shall endeavor to disappoint ye later,” he responded.
Violet hated his dry tone.
“Daenae trouble yerself,” she said. “Ye have already made a fine beginning.”
His gaze moved over her face in a slow, assessing pass as the silence between them grew even more solemn.
There was something about him. Beyond the broad shoulders and domineering attitude, there was actually something else. Something she was trying hard to see. But no matter how hard she tried, he successfully kept it hidden.
“Where did ye come from anyway?” His voice broke through her musings.
She raised an eyebrow. “Through yer very impressive halls, obviously.”
His jaw tightened. “A village? A clan? A house?”
“Why do ye need to ken?”
A short breath escaped his lips. She was proving difficult.
Good.This would not be easy for either of them.
“So what, are ye here for money?”
Violet laughed. The sound came out hard, with no humor in it. “If I wanted money, I wouldnae be standing in yer dungeons.”
Something shifted across his face. It was almost too subtle to catch, but she was watching him as hard as he was watching her.
