Page 12

“Valuable?” Mabel repeated bitterly. The word tasted like ash on her tongue. She took a slow step backward, wrapping her arms around herself. “Is that all I am now? A title? A piece of land waiting for the next man to claim it?”

Caelan flinched, an honest, unguarded flinch, the first crack she’d ever seen in him. His mouth opened as if to take the word back then closed again, his jaw locking hard enough to ache.

“From now on,” Caelan said, his voice dropping all emotion, the terrifying mask of the Black Laird sliding perfectly back into place, “ye daenae leave the keep without me permission. We had a deal, Mabel.”

Mabel stared at him. The tears she had shed for her father were gone, burned away by a fierce, blazing anger. She lifted her chin, refusing to let him see how deeply his coldness had cut her.

“Ye may command yer warriors,” Mabel said, her voice shaking with quiet, fury, “but ye daenae command me.”

She did not wait for his response.

She stepped forward, determined to walk away. The pathway was narrow, bordered by the steep drop of the cliff and the heavy stone wall of the armory.

To pass him, she had to walk incredibly close.

She stepped into his space. The distance between them vanished.

As she moved past him, her shoulder firmly grazed the hard, solid muscle of his chest.

Caelan froze.

Mabel stopped dead in her tracks.

Neither of them moved. The howling wind seemed to vanish, replaced by the sudden, deafening roar of their own rapid heartbeats.

Mabel was standing slightly in front of him, her side pressed intimately against his chest. She could feel the immense, burning heat radiating from his frame, chasing away the freezing chill of the cliffside. The sharp, intoxicating scent of worn leather, rain, and the faint, masculine trace of pine flooded her senses, making her head spin.

She turned her head slowly, looking up at him over her shoulder.

He was already looking down at her.

The cold, emotionless mask of the Black Laird was gone. His piercing gray eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide, blazing with a wild, terrifying hunger that he could no longer hide. His jaw ticked violently.

Mabel’s breath hitched. Her lips parted, a soft, involuntary sigh escaping her throat. She could not look away. The sheer gravitational pull of him kept her paralyzed in his space.

Caelan’s chest heaved rapidly against her shoulder. His gaze dropped heavily from her eyes to her parted lips, the intense focus of his stare sending a sharp, electric jolt of pure heat shooting straight down to her core.

She saw his large, scarred hand twitch at his side, his fingers curling inward, lifting a fraction of an inch before going deliberately still again, as if he’d caught himself before he could reach for her.

The air between them turned incredibly thick, heavy with undeniable, dangerous anticipation. The silence stretched, agonizing and crackling with raw physical tension.

Caelan squeezed his eyes shut. A harsh, jagged breath tore through his gritted teeth.

He clenched his hand into a brutal fist, dropping it back to his side. He forced his eyes open, staring blankly over her head toward the dark stone of the keep, locking his body down.

“Go back to yer chambers,” Caelan commanded. His voice was incredibly rough, a strained, gravelly whisper that betrayed the physical effort it took to speak.

Mabel blinked, the heavy, electric tension shattering instantly.

A hot flush of pure, stinging humiliation burned across her cheeks. She turned away quickly, gathering the heavy skirts of her dark blue gown in her fists, and practically fled down the narrow pathway toward the iron gate.

She walked away, her soft slippers making almost no sound against the damp earth, her entire body trembling violently from the overwhelming heat that still lingered on her skin long after she had left his side.

4

The door of the guest chamber slammed shut behind Mabel.

She leaned her entire weight against the thick wood, her breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. Her dark wool cloak slipped from her shoulders, landing in a heavy heap on the stone floor. She pressed her cold palms against her burning cheeks, trying desperately to calm the frantic hammering of her heart.