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She had spine. She had stood up to Murdoc’s handling without falling apart.
But she did not trust him.
“Persuade her,” Conn had said.
Griff let his gaze travel from those wide, wary blue eyes to the delicate line of her lips and further, to the pale constellation of freckles that starred her collarbone. He thought of all the ways he could bind her to him if he were willing to use his kind’s usual methods of persuasion.
He could make her or any human woman respond to him.
Dubh, Murdoc could have made her respond if he weren’t a ham-handed ass with no thought beyond his own satisfaction.
But something in Griff rebelled at taking even that small choice from her.
He must win her trust some other way.
“I will leave you now,” he said.
“Where are
you going?”
He was not used to having his actions questioned. “To get you food.”
“And clothes,” she said. “My own clothes, please.”
Spine, he thought again, amused and appreciative. “What is wrong with the clothes you have on?”
“Nothing. They are very nice, thank you. However, the, um, castle is rather cold.”
Selkies, even in human form, did not feel the cold. But of course she was not selkie.
“Iestyn will build you a fire.”
“And there isn’t much to them,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
Griff narrowed his eyes. The long red cloak draped her from her slender white neck to her pretty bare feet. “You look covered to me.”
“Well, I’m not. Not underneath. I don’t mind giving up my corset, but I can’t run around without a petticoat and stockings. Oh!” She pressed her palms to suddenly rosy cheeks. “I cannot believe I am discussing undergarments with you.”
Griff grinned. He did not understand her embarrassment. Hadn’t he seen her naked? But he took her frankness as a good sign, an indication she was slowly lowering her barriers with him.
“It was your petticoats that nearly drowned you,” he said. “But you can have them if they make you comfortable.”
Opening the trunk at the foot of the bed, he rummaged under layers of linen and wool until his hand closed on a hard, solid object at the bottom. He withdrew a knife in its sheath and offered both to her.
“Maybe this will make you more comfortable, too.”
Her eyes widened. She regarded the dagger in his hand as if it were a sea urchin or a spiny lobster or some other creature dangerous to touch. “You said I would not be bothered again.”
Griff scratched his jaw with the hilt. Any bull could disarm her before she inflicted a scratch. But they would recognize the blade—and the woman—as his. “If you say ‘no,’ they will hear ‘no,’” he promised. “But you may need to get their attention before you say it.”
“With this.” She took the broad black hilt in hand as gingerly as a virgin with her first lover.
Griff felt the pang in his belly. Shaking his head at them both, he adjusted her grip. He showed her how to draw smoothly and guided her hand through the thrust. “Like that.”
She sheathed the knife and smiled at him, her blue eyes rueful. “I don’t feel very dangerous.”
The look, the tone, cut him to the heart. So beautiful, she was. So achingly human.
