Her hands were clenched.
Good.
A woman who meant to plead opened her palms. A woman who meant to run watched the door. This one watched him, the key, his sword, the distance between them and the guards, all in the space of three heartbeats.
Connor stepped into the cell, despite the uneasy look on her face.
“Daenae close that door,” she tried to say, but it was too late.
He closed the iron door behind him and slid the key free. The lock gave a heavyclickthat echoed through the narrow space. He let the key rest in his palm.
“Ye broke into me castle,” he said. “Ye daenae get to give orders.”
“I didnae even do anything.”
“That is yer defense?”
“I have no defense because I. Did. Nae. Do. Anything.”
One of the guards shifted outside the door, perhaps amused, perhaps nervous enough to mistake foolishness for humor.
Connor did not look at him. He did not need to. The woman’s gaze flicked to his hand—thekey—then to his sword, then back to his face.
She was considering options she did not have.
One guard cleared his throat. “Me Laird, should we… stay close?”
Connor lifted two fingers toward the passage.
The guard bowed his head at once. “Aye.”
Soon enough, his footsteps retreated toward the passage, and the second guard followed without being told.
The woman watched them go, desperately trying and failing to keep her breathing steady. Connor registered it without pleasure. He recognized fear as a tool and knew it was useful only when it made people honest. Too much of it made them stupid.
“Ye send them away before questioning every prisoner?” she asked.
“Only the ones with a mouth on them.”
Her chin lifted another fraction. “Then ye misjudge me already.”
Connor took a step toward her. She did not move.
“Name,” he demanded.
“Do ye ask all women so sweetly?”
“All women arenae caught creeping toward a bairn’s room in stolen clothes.”
“They areborrowed.”
He folded his arms. “From whom?”
She shrugged. “Someone who wasnae using them at the moment. Plus, ye should be more worried about the weak security measures in yer castle instead of me clothes.”
A wave of irritation touched the back of his neck. It was a clean, sharp thing, made worse by the fact that she was right.
She had crossed his halls, passed his servants, reached the nursery passage, and forced Moira to raise the alarm herself.That was not luck. Luck tripped at the gate. This woman had a purpose.
