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But he might well be planning to turn it over to Prince John.
A great gift, born of betrayal, would go a long way in proving his loyalty to his new master.
It was precisely the sort of thing d’Argent would do.
And precisely the sort of thing that would make him reluctant to give it up if his new alliance depended on it.
Even if his daughter’s life also did.
Which was exactly why Máel must be swift and lethal in his response, for if Moralltach made it into the hands of a prince, or a king, he would never get it back.
He inhaled a slow, calming breath and stared up at the latticework of intersecting tree limbs. Her gaze was waiting for him when he brought it down again.
“So you mean to have me go back into the castle,” he said, “through rebels and king’s men, through soldiers and swords and pikes?”
“If that is where it lies.”
“That is a poor plan.”
“Have you a better one?”
Again, with his lack of planning.
“Of course, I could go alone, if that would help...,” she suggested, sounding hopeful.
He did not smile. Instead, he brushed her hair back and dipped his head, to whisper directly into her ear, “If you are lying, Cassia. it will not go well for you.”
She turned her head the barest inch required to meet his eyes. “I am noble,” she whispered back. “I do not lie.”
Her gaze burned with the light of truth.
But the real truth was, she did not yet know her line in the sand. Everyone had one. A boundary, a perimeter after which nothing mattered. And everyone, when pushed over it, became something other. Something worse.
She would too.
He dropped his hands. “How fortunate. I have found the only honorable peer in the realm. Let’s go.”
Chapter 17
Released from the bondage of his gentle, ironclad hold, and his relentless gaze, Cassia drew a deep breath and tugged on her skirts, straightening them.
She did not like Irish conversations.
But this one had secured her release. She’d bargained with an outlaw and it had paid off. She felt a small touch of pride as she gave her gown one last brush.
“I could not agree more,” she said coldly. “Let us go at once.” She turned to march off.
He caught the edge of her gown between two fingers. “Not so fast.”
“No, we must be quite fast,” she disagreed. “I must return at once.”
Return to normalcy. To feasts and wine and men who complimented her and did not hold her hostage. Men who did not awaken powerful desire in her body. Men who did not use her.
As Father does.
The thought flitted through her mind like the beat of wings, but it just a baby bird’s wings, the faintest flutter. And thus it was easy to set aside, seeing as the man holding her tunic exuded a much stronger presence.
The eyes staring down at her were as hard and dark as the black pearl she’d seen glimmering in the hilt of the sword her father had shown her six weeks ago. The same night he’d informed her they were traveling north, to a grand tournament at Rose Citadel.
