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The king remained frustratingly silent, although his smirk made her itch to rake her fingernails down his face.

What did his refusal to answer mean? Was Darach indeed dead, executed the day of their arrival here? Or was he imprisoned in a pit somewhere in the fort?

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Ailsa,” Niall said finally. No, he wasn’t going to answer her about Darach. “When you first arrived in Craeg Aonaranach, you caught my eye … you still do.” He paused. “You don’t have to live as a prisoner here.”

She stiffened. Here we go.

She’d sensed he’d had a purpose from the moment she walked into this hall, and she was right.

“If you wish it, you could be my consort,” he went on. “You don’t have to sleep in a cell. Say the word, and you will share my furs instead. You will also eat at my table. You will be free to roam this broch when you’re not working. I will give you fine tunics and furs. You will have slaves to do your bidding.” He paused then, his gaze never leaving her face. “And I will kill any warrior myself who dares disrespect you.”

Ailsa’s fingers curled into fists under the table.

What an offer he’d just made her.

Freedom.

Fresh air.

The sky again.

All she had to do was climb into his furs.

The thought made her stomach tighten.

Of course, she’d marked the way Niall looked at her on the day they’d arrived at the fort. At the time, she’d thought his interest had been deliberate, aimed at vexing Darach. The brothers certainly had a twisted enough relationship. But now?

Whatever his motivations, there was a part of her that was tempted. At present, she and Kayla were shuffled between their cell and the workshop, always heavily guarded, always under someone’s eye.

Becoming his consort would allow her to roam. She’d be able to find out a bit more about this broch, its layout, possible escape routes, and possibly even about Darach’s fate too.

Her nails dug into her palms, stinging.

Aye, but there was a price.

She didn’t want to be bedded by Niall mac Lachlan. She didn’t want to become his—or any man’s—pet.

You could always use it as an opportunity to get close to him, a cold voice whispered. And then, once he’s vulnerable, you’d open his throat.

Ailsa considered the possibility for a few moments, even as queasiness rose. Aye, she could. It was what a bavaan would do. It was what her mother had done.

That thought alone doused icy water over her.

No, she wouldn’t take the route. She wasn’t desperate enough. Not yet. And she hadn’t forgotten that back in their cell, just before guards had marched her off to meet with the king, Kayla had revealed that she’d come up with a plan.

They might be close to escaping this fort.

Just as well, for not seeing the sun or the sky for so long was taking its toll on her. With each passing day, her self-restraint wore ever thinner. And if she snapped, what then?

“Your silence intrigues me,” Niall said then, shattering the quiet. “Does this mean you’re considering my offer?”

Ailsa studied his handsome face, wishing she could read minds. “Would that mean you’d trust me? You’d let me go around unguarded?”

Accept his offer! The voice was back, more insistent now. I’d wager his blood is delicious.

Dizziness swept over her. Gods, she hated how tempting that was. It should have disgusted her, and yet excitement now coiled in her belly.

The king’s lips quirked. “Don’t take me for a fool, Ailsa. Such liberty is earned. You will always be guarded … at first.” His gaze hooded then. “Except for when you share my sleeping nook.”