Page 34 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Donaldina glanced toward the practice blades she had placed against the wall.

“That proves only that I came prepared.”

“It proves ye expected me tae surrender before the argument began.”

“Nae. It proves I have begun tae understand how long yer arguments generally last.”

Roy leaned back in the chair and studied her. The bruises Cormac left upon her wrist had faded from black to yellow beneath the edge of her sleeve. The cut along her forearm had nearly closed. There was no mark upon her throat now, though Roy continued to see the thin line where a blade rested beneath her jaw whenever he looked too closely.

“Nae,” he repeated.

Donaldina’s mouth tightened. “I willnae remain helpless merely because helplessness is more convenient for the men assigned tae protect me.”

“Yer safety shouldnae depend upon whether ye can defeat an armed man alone.”

“Me safety depended upon MacNicol guards finding their courage upon the cliff path. Ye saw how well that served me.”

The words struck because they were true.

Roy rose from the chair. “Then the guards will be replaced.”

“And when Cormac’s next man is already inside the walls?”

“He willnae reach ye.”

“Cormac reached me twice.”

Roy went still. Donaldina did not soften her tone, though she should not have needed to. The fault was shared by every man who stood by as Cormac pulled her away from her brother’s funeral, and also by Roy, who came in with a royal decree and the overconfidence that danger would be obvious enough for him to eliminate. Cormac proved him wrong.

Roy walked around the table. “A little swordcraft willnae make ye safe.”

“Nae,” she agreed. “But it may make me difficult.”

Despite himself, Roy remembered her upon the cliff path, informing Cormac that she intended to be very inconvenient. Then, he looked toward the practice swords.

Donaldina followed his gaze. She said nothing. It was the silence, more than argument, that defeated him. She was standing before him with her chin lifted, but he saw what pride attempted to conceal. She remembered the blade against her throat. She remembered calling for help and watching men hesitate.

She was not asking because she wished to play at war. She was asking because someone had taught her what powerlessness felt like, and she could no longer endure its shape.

Roy exhaled slowly. “One hour.”

Donaldina’s eyes brightened.

“Ye will follow every instruction I give,” he continued, with his index finger lifted at her in warning. “Ye willnae attempt anything because it looks impressive, and ye willnae mistake holding a sword for possessing skill.”

“I would never mistake appearance for substance.”

Roy looked at her. She held his gaze with perfect innocence.

“One hour,” he repeated.

Her smile came swiftly and disappeared almost as quickly. It altered her face enough to make Roy regret several choices that brought him to that room.

Most particularly, the present one.

The training yard was still damp from last night’s rain, with puddles between the stones mirroring fragments of the pale sky. The air was filled with the scents of wet earth, horses, smoke, and the sharp saltiness of the sea below the walls. Near the far palisade, several MacIver men practiced their swordplay. Their movements slowed instantly when Donaldina arrived beside Roy, who shot them a glance. Recognizing the signal, they immediately discovered an urgent interest in the opposite wall.

Donaldina removed her cloak and laid it across the fence. Beneath it, she wore a plain dark gown with the sleeves fastened closely at her wrists. She had braided her hair, though the sea wind had already drawn several strands loose around her face.