Page 2 of When the Laird Conquers

A tremor shivered through her as she walked straight through the gate into a sawdust-strewn courtyard. It was eerily empty, most of the castle asleep.

And the Laird is about to get a rude awakening.

But first, she had to figure out where he was.

It didn’t take long, nor was it particularly difficult. All she had to do was remove her eyepatch, wipe some of the dirt off her face, and ask the next guard she saw where the Laird was. The baby didn’t make a peep.

“I’ve been sent for to please him,” she had said, hoping the gloom covered the embarrassed flush in her cheeks.

The guard had smirked. “Hurry along then. He’ll be in a better mood in the trainin’ yard if ye do yer work well.”

She had been directed to a stone outbuilding that adjoined the barracks, a solitary window standing slightly ajar. A strange place for a laird to be sleeping, but she wasn’t going to argue.

Unless, of course, she had been led astray and was about to climb into a room full of bloodthirsty, lusty soldiers instead.

“Just stay sleeping a while longer,” she whispered to her niece.

The baby didn’t stir.

Wincing at the slightest squeak of the hinges, Agnes eased the window wider. She took one last look around to make sure no one was watching and hoisted herself up onto the ledge.

She crouched there on the sill for what felt like an eternity, her eyes attempting to adjust to the darkness within. It was only the sudden sound of men talking and the patter of nearing footsteps that prompted her to slide down into the room, lest she be caught breaking into what she hoped was the Laird’s chamber.

There in the gloom, she tucked herself behind long drapes and poked her head around, squinting. She could make out a narrow bed and not much else.

And a shape in the bed.

“Who dares to open me window?” a deep voice growled, chilling her to the bone as she ducked back behind the drapes.

There it was, the voice of a man so infamous for his ruthlessness that he had earned the name ‘the Cruel One’ and the almanac of Scottish lairds had warned an entire nation not to go anywhere near him.

At least, she thought it was him. Her body certainly seemed to think so.

Well, it’s too late to rethink this now.

Her aim had been to choose the most fearsome laird, notorious enough to make Edwin think twice about any pursuit. Perhaps she could have chosen one slightly less terrifying.

The shape in the bed began to move. “I ken ye’re there.”

Agnes gulped. Time to make a good first impression.

And not get herself killed.

“I can see yer feet under the curtains,” he snarled, sitting up. A faceless shadow, so large that she was certain it was some trick of the light. “Ye’re nae as clever as ye think ye are.”

She clenched her jaw and cursed inwardly. She had forgotten about her feet.

“Were ye sent here to kill me or seduce me?” he asked, the creak of the bed letting her know she probably had seconds before he found her. “Speak, lass. I daenae want to have to wait for the sun to rise for ye to show yerself.”

Lass? How does he know I’m a lass?

“I can smell yer perfume,” he added, as if reading her mind. “A sweet scent. But do ye taste as sweet? I’ll soon find out.”

“Excuse me?” Agnes blurted out, too insulted to remain silent.

Besides, he already knew she was there.

“That is no way to speak to a lady,” she added haughtily. “Well, two ladies, actually.”