Still, she persevered. “Guidance that is typically given by the lady of the keep.”
“My mother is grieving. Her attention is justly scattered.”
Isabail nodded. “I understand. But a castle runs more smoothly when all within are assigned specific duties and are held accountable.”
He frowned. “My people have served the clan for many a year. They know their tasks.”
“Would your soldiers be well organized if their captain had been slain in battle?”
“A new captain would be appointed.”
She smiled tremulously. “Exactly. The seneschal is the captain of the household. Without him, even your seasoned staff feel lost and at cross-purpose.”
“It’s my mother’s duty to appoint a new seneschal.” He shrugged. “She’ll take care of it in due time.”
“And while she grieves, your caretakers struggle to work together and keep food on the table.”
The note of disapproval in her voice did not sit well. “We are surviving,” he said coldly.
“Aye,” she said, “and you will continue to survive... until you do not. But how much longer do you have? A week? A month? Without someone regularly counting the supplies and visiting the menus, how can you know?”
Aiden crossed his arms over his chest. Her words were an echo of his own concerns. And the conversation he’d just had with his men had only heightened those concerns: Food was becoming a problem. According to Udard, the reason the hunting party had been captured by MacPherson was that they were venturing farther north in search of game. The forest around the hill fort had been hunted out. Still, Aiden wasn’t willing to cede the point. Not to Lady Isabail. “My household is none of your concern.”
“Of course it is,” she insisted. “I am your prisoner. My safety is at stake. A brave warrior can hold off an attacking army indefinitely. A starving warrior has only days before he must bow in defeat.”
Her brazen challenge drew Aiden forward. “Now you impugn my ability to keep you safe? By God, woman, you are too much.”
She took a hasty step back, a rapid pulse fluttering in her long, elegant neck.
A very obvious sign of fear, which twisted his guts. She believed he would harm her. Good sense told him to back away, to let her run. But he did not. Instead, he gave in to impulse and closed the gap between them to mere inches. Her eyes widened, and one trembling hand flew to her throat.
Aiden grasped that hand in his.
It was cool and delightfully soft-skinned. The temptation to press a kiss to her knuckles came and went as he stared into her eyes. This was not the time for such an indulgence. He placed her hand on his chest, just above his heart. “Know this. Never, no matter how angry my words or how furious my stance, will I do harm to a woman,” he said. “If ever you need to know that you are safe in my presence, simply place your hand here and push. You have my word that I will back away.”
He let his hand drop. Hers remained on his chest.
With their gazes locked, he pressed lightly forward, encouraging her to test his vow.
And she did. She pushed.
Aiden stepped back. “I am a passionate man, lass. I’ve been known to shake the rafters with the sounds of my fury. But I’ve never lifted a hand to a woman, and I’ll not start now. You possess information that I am determined to get, but I can assure you that my methods will never include beating it out of you. Understand?”
She nodded, her eyes meeting his more easily.
With her fear contained and her trembles calmed, Isabail’s pale face regained its ethereal beauty. Smooth skin the color of milk, long-lashed eyes that rivaled the woodland bluebell, and rosy lips that begged to be kissed. What was not to admire? The desire that sang through his veins came as natural as breathing.
He took her chin lightly in hand, rubbing his thumb over the silky softness of her flesh.
“Lovely,” he said.
She flushed but did not draw back. Nor did she attempt to push him away.
“I’ve traveled the length and breadth of Scotland and met many a lass, but none as bonny as you,” he admitted. One or two had come close, including his once-betrothed, Fiona MacDonald. But Isabail’s silvery blond hair and blue eyes charmed him in a way none of the others had. Of course, those other lasses had not given him near as much trouble, either.
He shifted the path of his thumb upward, across the velvet texture of her lips.
As he tugged on her bottom lip, a gentle sigh escaped her mouth. The sound made his pulse pound and his head spin. Up until that moment, he’d fully intended to pull away, to let the tension between them ebb and the passage of time add strength to her trust in him. But that sigh was so full of promise, so sweetly encouraging, he could only bow to it.
