Page 13 of Highland Ruse

He let his gaze wander over her stiff gown. “Do ye have any weapons?”

Her brows lifted. “Of course I do not. And you’ve still not answer—”

“No needles?” he pressed. “Sewing scissors?” He’d never kidnapped a woman. In fact, he’d never been in a situation where he would need to pursue a woman in this regard. Still, he didn’t want to underestimate his foe, no matter how unassuming she seemed.

The hand in her pocket had not moved again.

Her head tilted a fraction of an inch higher, and her gaze remained steady. “I have no sewing items on my person.”

She’d been disciplined like all the other girls of the English court to keep her emotions bottled beneath an expressionless exterior. And while she was indeed far calmer than her high-pitched maid, he detected a hint of breathlessness in her words.

The lass hid her fear well.

He stepped toward her, and his foot squished into the thick mud. He would draw out the truth.

Her haughtiness slipped for a moment and gave way to a flash of vulnerability that left her mouth soft and the delicate muscles of her neck standing taut against her creamy flesh.

“Do ye have nothing in yer pocket then?” he asked and stepped closer.

This time she did not respond, which was answer enough.

She pulled her hand from her pocket.

He stalked toward her until he was close enough to feel the brush of her heavy skirt against his shin. A delicate floral scent caught his attention, which he recognized from their close quarters inside the coach. Doubtless her perfume, and doubtless expensive.

“What’s in yer pocket?” he demanded.

His intent was to intimidate. His closeness, the harshness of his words, his unbreaking stare. And it worked as far as he could tell. Her eyes were wide, as if she wanted to turn away.

But she did not. “You stand too close,” she said in a snide tone. “Move away, Kaid.”

Her disparaging demeanor caught at his nerves, and his name on her lips left his muscles tight. “I think ye have something.” He reached toward her heavy brocade skirt. “Here.”

Her hand shot out like a striking snake and connected with his cheek in a ringing slap. His cheek stung where her palm had made contact. Some men he knew would have struck her back. Tempting though it might be, he would never be one of those men.

“Dinna ever hit me again.” He let the warning come out low and composed. A threat calmly delivered held more promise than one bellowed in rage.

A thin, high-pitched scream came from the woods. They both turned in time to see Leasa break through the tree line in a wild thrash while pealing out her earsplitting cries.

“Leave her,” she shrieked and rushed in their direction.

Her hasty steps were clumsy on the muddy path, and she slipped once. At first she caught herself, but then stepped on her dress and pitched forward into a tangle of skinny legs and flailing arms.

Kaid shared a shocked look with Donnan from his place by the horses.

It was Elizabeth who ran forward to help her maid. She knelt into a thick patch of mud at the girl’s side to better aid her to her feet.

Leasa was weeping again. The snuffling, wailing sound carried with it an endless stream of apologies. Elizabeth’s voice murmured beneath the sobs, not with chastisement at her clumsy servant, but in soothing tones.

Thick mud caked the front of Elizabeth’s skirt, but she did not appear to notice. She asked the maid something, and Leasa offered a shy smile to Elizabeth, who beamed back in return.

Kaid couldn’t help but watch the exchange. This was not the entitled noblewoman who challenged him at every turn and had only recently slapped him. This woman in muddy clothes was patient and compassionate.

Her action had been immediate, the kind one does not realize they are doing until it is being done. The kind borne of instinct and displaying a person’s true heart.

Guilt squeezed at Kaid’s chest like a vise.

Despite the man she’d been sent to marry and the entitlement of her upbringing, she was a good person.