Page 22 of When the Laird Conquers

“Rule three: ye daenae interrupt me,” he cut her off sharply.

She opened her mouth to try again, but caught herself before a sound could emerge.

No, he was not being unfair or unkind. He was the one thing keeping her safe. If that meant being temporarily obedient, then she would do it, for Lizzy’s sake. Besides, she had made herself his burden, and he had allowed her to stay when he could have easily kicked her and her niece out.

I can hold my tongue.

“Good. Ye have some sense after all,” he said with a satisfied nod. “Rule four: ye are never to visit the eastern tower.”

“Why? What is in there?” The words were out of Agnes’s mouth before she could think.

But it was not a broken rule. She had not interrupted; she had not asked about his past; she was not in his way. She just hoped that he would see it like that. Surely, she could not be denied a modicum of curiosity.

He sipped his wine, and as he lowered his cup, he brushed his thumb across his lip as if to wipe away a droplet. She couldn’t see one, but the gesture fixed her attention on his mouth, concealed beneath that dark beard of his.

What do you look like beneath all of that?

She knew of several gentlemen in society who grew whiskers to hide a distinct lack of chin or to strengthen a weak jaw, but she doubted he possessed any weakness at all, not in body or in mind.

He set his cup down and gave a dark smile that made her breath catch. “According to yer keen English scholars, I’d say the heads of me enemies, stuffed and nailed to the walls like stags. Piles and piles of bodies. Ye can barely move in there for separated limbs.”

Any desire to eat the succulent piece of meat on the plate evaporated as she gawped at him. It was quite the visual. Shock reverberated through her in a sweeping chill.

Then, Iona’s voice crept in through the fear: Ye mustnae believe everythin’ ye hear.

Agnes laughed, a high and anxious sound. “I did not realize you were a comedian, my Laird,” she said through her nervous giggles. “You are joking, yes?”

He simply sat back and took the last bite of the meat.

“Of course you are,” she insisted, deciding to trust the housekeeper.

Iona would not have allowed her to come down to dinner if she had actually thought Agnes might be in danger, nor would the kindly old woman remain in a castle where there was a tower full of corpses.

“You must think me terribly gullible,” she added with a smirk, feeling rather proud of herself as she sipped her wine.

“I daenae think anythin’ of ye,” he scoffed, pouring vinegar into an earlier sting.

Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “So, am I to understand that these are all your rules?”

“Aye.”

“I am surprised. I assumed there would be more than four.”

She thought she caught a glimpse of a smile, but it was hidden behind the rim of his cup, denying her confirmation.

“I thought it best to keep it simple,” he replied.

Defiantly, she took up her knife and fork and cut into the meat. It had cooled, but the scent was mouthwatering: rosemary, something sweet like blackberries, a punch of wild garlic, and the comforting aroma of butter.

She chewed with a vengeance, the rich juices coating her throat, the taste sublime on her tongue.

Swallowing, she cut another piece and paused before she popped it into her mouth. “Well then, I suppose it is now my turn.”

“Excuse me?” He furrowed his brow.

She chewed more slowly, echoing his tactics. After all, it would have been rude for her to talk with her mouth full, and she had been raised as a proper lady who would never break such etiquette.

Her mouth longed to curve into a grin as she sensed his impatience, that wolf-like gaze flitting from her lips to her eyes. The drumming of his fingertips against the bowl of his wine cup proved to be even more satisfying than the delicious taste of the meat. Venison, if she wasn’t mistaken.