Page 158 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“It matters not if every piece is here. Ye will spend it when and how you please—despite the fact the money is mine.”

“It was your husband’s, I wager,” he replied.

“As much mine as his,” she shot back, remembering the countless hours spent buying and selling goods, saving, counting, hording money and valuables against the storm that had brewed in Scotland. But her efforts had been in vain. The storm had come to her. She suddenly remembered the dagger she’d come for—and her grandfather. “What has happened with my grandfather?”

“Aodh Roberts intends to settle a score.”

“Aodh is a bitter man, who takes what he wants rather than work for it.”

“I have yet to meet him,” St. Claire replied in an even voice, but Rhoslyn was certain she detected a hint of amusement.

“You will meet him tonight at Longford Castle.”

“Who said I was going to Longford Castle?”

“I overheard your men say so, and your chainmail tells me ye plan for battle.”

He nodded, but said nothing. Rhoslyn realized he didn’t appear surprised that she had escaped from his bedchamber, and he had clearly known where to look for her.

“You have made yourself comfortable in my home,” she said.

“My home,” he replied.

Anger knotted her stomach. “King Edward is not a priest, and our marriage has no’ been officiated or consummated.” Sweet Jesu, she must sound like a madwoman.

He straightened. “You are right.” He reached her side in three steps. She was forced to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. He grasped her arm, but she pulled free and retreated a step.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you plan to stay here the night?” he asked.

She glanced at the chest.

“Never mind the chest,” he said. “We will lock the door when we leave.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but grasped her arm again and drew her toward the door. She wanted to protest, wanted to return the small chest to its hiding place—more than anything, she wanted to grab the dagger from the larger chest—but wants would not help her at this moment.

He stepped into the hallway, then pulled the door shut and waited.

She lifted her chin. “You must have a key. Lock the door yourself.”

He shrugged.

Rhoslyn cried out when he pulled her against his side. “What are ye doing?”

“I have no wish to be conked over the head or stabbed in the back while I lock the door.” His tone was mild as he opened his palm to reveal the key he’d been holding.

“For pity’s sake, release me,” she said. “I dinna’ plan to kill you by stabbing ye in the back.”

His arm tightened around her waist as he inserted the key and she was suddenly aware of his fingers pressing into her stomach and her arm wedged against the hard muscle of his chest. Her heart picked up speed. He turned the key in the lock and his fingers flexed when he withdrew the key and straightened.

“So you intend to look me in the eye when you kill me?” he asked.

“Aye,” she replied.

He drew her down the short corridor without loosening his hold. “I am gratified my wife has some honor.”

“I am no’ your wife.”