Moments later, the burly, bearded man entered—the one who had delivered her food to the dungeon. She glared at him but said nothing. He had only been following Gavin's orders when he'd refused to answer her questions. He wore the same belted plaid and leather brigandine and carried a sheathed sword on his side.
He closed the door and strode forward. "Aye, m'laird." He gave a brief bow.
"I've a new task for you. Clean up this hall. Sweep out these old rushes and burn them. My lady wants fresh ones. Kill the rats and mice while you're at it."
Finch's eyes rounded, and his gaze darted back and forth between them. "But… m'laird, I'm a guard, nay a—"
"I've just reassigned you," Gavin snapped in a grumpy tone.
"But—with all due respect—the curtain wall has nay been repaired. Who will watch the bailey?"
"I will. All the chiefs in these parts fear me too much to attack anyway."
Finch's eyes lit up. "Hewie cleans the stables well. He could clean here also."
"As you well ken, he has gone to trade for butter and supplies."
The guard's shoulders drooped. "What about your cousin and Lady MacRae? What if they should invade?"
"I've nay seen them in many months. Have you?"
Finch shook his head, still looking upset about his new job.
"If they'd meant to come here and do us harm, they would've done so by now. Make haste, and you will have the task done within the hour."
Finch quirked his brows as if Gavin had lost his mind. Gavin, in turn, sent him a look reminiscent of the evil eye.
Dani bit her lip to keep from laughing outright at the stern way these men stared at each other. She had not meant to cause conflict. She would offer to help out, but exhaustion weighed her down. Besides, after the way Gavin had held her prisoner in the dungeon for close to twenty-four hours, she wasn't feeling benevolent.
"Don't you have an employee who cleans?" she asked. "Since you're a laird."
"The maids all left, as I said," he muttered.
Why did women do all the dirty work? "I meant a male cleaning crew."
He observed her as if she'd lost her senses. Sometimes she suspected he didn't understand half of what she said.
"Manservants?" she clarified.
"Just Crocker. The rest are gone, and he cannot do everything." Gavin glared at his immobile guard again. "Other clansmen must help out, especially after they've gorged on stew."
"As you wish, m'laird." Sighing, Finch placed his sword on the table and started moving benches.
"Come." Gavin placed her hand around his elbow and escorted her toward a doorway at the end of the great hall. Drawing closer, she peered up into the spiral stone staircase. The steps resembled stacked and splayed wedges, broader near the wall and skinnier at the center of the helix. Again, no rail.
She placed a hand against the rough exterior stone wall. "Do you guys have a phobia of handrails?"
"What do you mean byguys?" Standing behind her, he placed his palms on either side of her waist, his warm, firm touch distracting her.
She turned her head a bit to see him from the corner of her eye. "Men. People."
"Andphobia?" he asked.
"A fear."
"Ah. Well, a handrail would benefit an invading enemy, aye?" His face not far from her ear, his warm breath fanned her hair, tickling and sending delicious shivers down her neck.
"I suppose," she mumbled, her mind having taken flight. What on earth was wrong with her? She didn't get airheaded when a man murmured about an enemy in her ear. He was not even trying to seduce her. He could've done so in the dungeon during the kiss, but he had controlled himself like a gentleman. Knowing he was anything but a gentleman, she took two steps up the dark stairwell.
