Page 46 of Plaid Attitude
But somehow, he did.
“I need ye,” he rasped out, emotion making his voice tight.
He needed her. Whatever it was, whyever he was here,hewas more important than this impotent arguing.
Coira didn’t hesitate.
She gave him a brisk nod, then scanned her sisters and their husbands. “Go see Da without me,” she commanded. “Just tell me who to congratulate when I get back.
Then she brushed past them all and went to the man she was beginning to suspect she loved.
Chapter 9
He explainedon the way to the stables, but Doughall couldn’t seem to make the words come out right. Oh, he communicated the main points; Bessetta was missing, and she’d gone willingly with Edgar and Arnold.
But the rest…
Thefear…
“I dinnae ken—” he began, then swallowed and shook his head and started again. “She thinks this bastard isspecial, and…”
St. Berthwald’s mouthflaps, why couldn’t he make sense?
Beside him, Coira’s attention seemed to be on buckling her sword belt to lie properly against her hip, but she was nodding along. He tried again.
“I ken ye were busy with yer family, Coira, and I’m sorry, but I thought… Bessetta trusts ye, and—” He broke off with another muttered curse as they reached the large stable doors.
Coira sent him a crooked smile and slipped inside the darkness first. Blowing out a breath, he followed.
“Coira, I trulyamsorry.” He was already starting to wonder if he’d done her a disservice, pulling her away from her family during what had to be an important meeting. He’d heard what she’d said on the way out… “But—”
“Doughall.” She emerged holding the reins of two of the fastest runners. “Thank ye.”
His eyes widened, even as he reached for the bridle of the animal on the left. “For…? For interrupting ye?”
“For trusting me.”
She stopped in front of him. The stables were dim, but he could see the wry way her lips curled on one side. His fingers itched to reach for her, but he knew he’d lost his chance to touch her again.
But then…
Thenshetouched him.
She reached up and cupped his cheek, and Doughall forgot how to breathe.
“Bess means the world to me, Doughall, and she thinks Edgar cares for her. I ken ye want to rush after them and rip her away, but if she loves the man, she’ll no’ thank ye.”
His chest ached.
Fear, aye, and the whole not-breathing thing. But also a strange, fierce sort of joy. Joy at her touch, joy at herwords.
She understood.
“I had to,” he croaked, then lunged for her, grabbing the hand which held her horse’s reins and pulling it to his chest. “I’m sorry, Coira, but ye—Bessetta— The two of ye…”
She smiled grimly. “Aye, and it means everything to me that ye came to me. This is a delicate situation.”
“Delicate,” he repeated.
